by B. L. Berry
He probably knows the whole damn story and has been playing both sides this entire time. I'm not sure if I want to hit him for making me relive the whole thing or kiss him for helping me figure my shit out.
Quickly Brock comes over to me and wraps me in a bear hug. I don't stop him and loosely drape my arms around his waist.
“Ugh! What’s that smell?” Brock wrinkles his nose in disgust, but I no longer care that I reek of rotten eggs and filth right now.
“Betrayal.”
He pulls back to look me in the eye. “What are you talking about?”
“I know he’s been staying with you.” I hold the wrinkled piece of paper with Phoenix’s confession up for him to see. He tries to pull the page from my hands to read his letter, but I whip it away before he gets the chance. How we could work together the past week without him ever slipping up and saying something about Phoenix staying with him is beyond me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What? And spoil all my fun?” He winks, trying to lighten the mood. “I promised him I wouldn’t poke the bear. I figured that if you knew that I was helping him out, you’d castrate me. And frankly, I’m a little fond of my dick, as are half the men in Manhattan.”
He's right about that. If I had known, there's a strong possibility I would have inflicted bodily harm. But secretly I'm relieved that Phoenix wasn't left to his own devices. The thought of him not having anyone in the city to lean on or talk to never sat well in my stomach. I guess it's nice to know he was able to find friendship in this bizarre man and still have a link to me.
It also means he knows exactly what Phoenix has been up to. How he's been. How he's feeling about our fight ... about me.
I swallow hard and bite my thumb. “How is he?” I ask softly.
The look on his face tells me everything I need to know. Brock chews on the inside of his cheek and simply shakes his head. My body deflates as I exhale slowly and shift my eyes to the ground. I'm not sure my heart can handle any more heartbreak today.
“Phoenix is ... well, Phoenix is really hurting. And that’s putting it lightly. He misses you. He feels helpless. He just wants a chance to explain. He's still pussy whipped by your pussy, and he's immune to my charm. In short, he's still hopelessly yours.”
I smile weakly at his last two comments. I’m sure Brock had a field day torturing Phoenix.
But even if he really still is whipped and mine, he probably hates me, and rightfully so. I deserve to be hated right now. I kicked him out and refused to give him the time of day while we both carried on with our lives in a world of hurt. He deserves so much better than me. I don't know why he hasn't realized that yet.
At the very least, I need to apologize. I need for him to hear me out.
I am such a bitch.
My eyes shift from the ground and then back to Brock.
“Do you think I'm too late?”
He smirks at my question. “Nah. You could never be too late when it comes to him. You're all Phoenix talks about and he has been nothing but a pathetic moping puppy dog. Besides, you do realize that time doesn't exactly exist, don't you?”
“What are you talking about?” I look at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand creep slowly toward the six at the bottom. “Of course it exists. It's 3:01.”
“No. Time is merely a figment of our imagination. It's something that the human race created to measure an infinite series of intangible, untrackable moments. The only thing that actually exists is the here and now, and even that is fleeting. This one moment, right now is the only thing that matters.”
I look at him blankly, trying to wrap my head around the concept of moments strung together in not actually being time but something bigger and more elusive.
Brock reaches out and touches my arm gingerly. “And because time doesn't exist, you're technically never too late, Ivy. So just embrace the moment.”
I smile at his logic. “And you really think he’ll have me back?” I’m cautiously hopeful and silently praying that my stubbornness hasn’t ruined whatever chance we had of fixing things.
“I don’t think. I know. And with the amount of bitching and moaning and crying I’ve seen him do the past few days, once things are good you better treat him nice. Celebrate steak and blow job day early or something. But I’d be more than happy to help you out in that department,” he says suggestively.
I smack his shoulder with the back of my hand. Brock ducks out the way, laughing at me. “Well, Phoenix was right about one thing. You are a little firecracker. An erratic piece of dynamite.”
I let him hug me one more time, but I don’t tell him that Phoenix is wrong. I’m not dynamite. Our love is. Together we are strong enough to crumble mountains. Transform landscapes. Tear down buildings. And … if we let it … self-implode.
We are explosive in all the best ways possible.
And apparently the worst ways, too.
I pull away from Brock and walk to the desk. I snatch my purse out from the bottom filing cabinet and fling it over my shoulder before leaving without saying a word. Walking with purpose, I throw my arm out and slip into the first taxi that pulls up to the curb.
As I slide into the back seat, he crinkles his face in disgust, presumably catching a whiff of my stench. Ignoring him, I grab my phone from the bottom of my purse and quickly type a message before I have the chance to second-guess myself.
Ivy: I’m ready to talk. When do you get back in town?
MY PLANE TOUCHED DOWN A few hours ago.
I drove aimlessly around the city trying to summon the courage to see my dad. It wasn’t until I went to the park at the bottom of the St. Louis Arch that I found the strength to head home.
A weight was lifted off of my shoulders when I confessed, but Ivy continues to carry that weight and refuses to let me help her. Since Friday night, my old nightmares have finally stopped—only to be replaced with new ones of hurt, loss and solitude. And the new nightmares don’t even wait for me to be sleeping. I live each day toeing the line between heaven and hell. Every waking moment without Ivy in my life is a nightmare, torn between wanting to sleep away the pain of my past and wanting to make Ivy see that we belong together.
You just can’t force someone to love you though.
Surely this is how my dad felt back when my mom and I walked out on him.
When I walk through the door, my dad looks up over his newspaper and nearly spits out his hot tea. He looks weaker than before. The chemo and radiation are really doing a number on him.
“Phoenix,” he says in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” He pushes his chair out and places his weight in his palms against the table to stand.
“Oh my God ... Dad ...” I have no idea what to say, but the sight of him is absolutely heartbreaking. I lean my bag against the wall and walk over to him, taking in his frail frame. He's lost an ungodly amount of weight. He can see the immediate concern in my eyes.
“I know, right? That damn poison they keep injecting me with makes me throw up all the time. It's a perfectly good waste of food.” He cracks a smile, trying to ease the tension. But instead I instantly feel guilty for not coming to visit him sooner ... for not working to make amends before now. His days are clearly numbered and honestly, I had no idea he would deteriorate this quickly.
“Come here, son.” His eyes glass over a little and he stretches his arms open wide. I walk into them and he claps his hands against my back. It feels weird but good. I honestly can't remember the last time we hugged. I had to have been a little kid.
We stand like that for an indefinite amount of time, taking the moment in. It's not as awkward as I thought it would be. I know that Mom would be proud of me. Of us. We've come a long way…
Dad is the first to let go. He slowly makes his way back to the kitchen table to pick up his teacup and walk over to the couch. It's the same tan woven couch from my childhood. I sit down next to him and smile at the cigarette burn on the side of the seat cushion, remembering the night a few
friends snuck over and tried to convince me to smoke for the very first time. It ended in a glorious coughing fit, a permanent burn mark on the fabric and my sorry ass getting grounded for a month. Who knew you couldn't cover up the tobacco stench with Lysol?
“So what brings you back to St. Louis? And where's that lovely lady of yours, Phoenix? Did she come with you?” He takes a long pull from his tea.
My eyes shift to the floor. “I, uh ... needed a change of scenery for a little bit. Things have been stressful with work and I wanted to come back and check in on you.”
It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just not the whole truth. I have really got to stop doing that.
I glance back to him and he gives me a pointed look. I was never much good at telling lies. I'm much better at just avoiding the truth instead. It must be one of the qualities I got from him.
“No ... you didn't. You don't just show up to check on your old man without so much as a heads up. What's going on?”
I take a deep breath and brace myself for my pending implosion. There's no way I can explain everything without completely losing myself. But if there’s one person out there other than Ivy who knows what it's like to lose yourself when you lose the one you love, it would be my dad.
“I fucked up.” It comes out in a rushed mumble, but he clearly understands judging from the solemn look and subtle nod he gives me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He licks his chapped lips and settles further into the couch. His voice still has the comforting lazy draw that I remember from my youth.
“Honestly? Not really.” I don't intend to be rude, but the last thing I want to do is explain to my dad that I'm a lying sack of shit. That I take after him a little more than anyone would like to admit. Besides, he doesn't need to feel the weight of my burden. That cross is mine to bear and mine alone.
“You know, you've got the same look on your face that your mother had whenever things weren't going well. You're so much like her, it's uncanny.” A sad smile plays upon his lips and he looks across the room at one of their wedding photos on the wall. After all these years of separation and even beyond her death, he still holds out hope. He still harbors deep regret. He still wants nothing more than to change the past and get back the best thing that ever happened to him. “Well, Phoenix, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I know I haven't been much of a father over the past ten years or so, but I do love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.” The words feel foreign on my tongue, but I don’t hate the way they come so easily. Maybe through anger and hurt the heart never really stops loving someone in any capacity? Maybe it just needs to be reminded of the good moments in order to be open to loving that person again?
I pull my phone out from my pocket and my chest crumbles when I see nothing. I thought for sure she would have sent me a text at the very least. Maybe she’s ready to move on?
My dad reaches out and grabs the remote off of the coffee table in front him. He flips it to SportsCenter and stretches his legs out in front of him. They're showing highlights from last night’s Chicago Cubs versus Milwaukee Brewers baseball game. Neither team is in the hunt for the pennant, but my heart instinctively aches at the thought of Ivy and her lazy passion for her hometown team.
Ivy. My little cubby bear.
Not much in my life makes sense. The one logical thing that has always remained constant is how I feel about Ivy. And that’s one thing I can’t control.
I tilt my head back and lean against the top of the couch. Above me is the same popcorn ceiling from twenty plus years ago. If I squint my eyes, I’m able to make out shapes and designs. It reminds me of the day I took Ivy out for a date in Central Park.
We’d spent the afternoon at the pond before walking over the Gapstow Bridge. At the crest of the bridge, Ivy stopped me and leaned against the side, staring up at the sky.
“Look at that,” she’d said as she pointed to a cluster of clouds. “It looks like two people kissing. Like in Gustav Klimt’s ‘Der Kuss.’”
Her voice was awestruck and the look on her face was downright ethereal. It hadn’t mattered that I’d never seen the painting she referenced because I knew it was beautiful from the passion in her voice. I looked in her gestured direction and never could find the couple kissing, but Ivy was always capable of seeing the things that most people were incapable of seeing. She didn’t view the world with her own two eyes. She saw the world through her heart.
Until I ruined her outlook indefinitely.
This entire time I’ve been trying to get her to see our situation with her head. Logically approach everything. Realize that there was no possible way I ever could have predicted the outcome we experienced. But that’s not how Ivy processes things. I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to force Ivy to hear me out and give the chance to explain that I never stopped and thought about the depths of the pain she’s feeling. How my actions impacted her heart.
Jesus Christ on a cracker. I am such an asshole.
Even though sleeping with Genevieve wasn't a calculated move, I still can't help but feel at fault for everything. Yes, I should have told her ages ago, but that wouldn't have mattered. I'm sure it would have yielded the same outcome.
“Why did you do it, Dad?” I blurt out, lifting my head to look at him. I don't understand what would motivate someone to knowingly cheat on someone they love.
“Hmm?”
“With Mom. Why did you cheat on her?”
He looks at my questioningly, instantly knowing how I fucked things up with Ivy. I don't give him the details, how it was her sister and happened before I ever even knew Ivy. Not that it matters because that fact doesn’t matter to Ivy. I don’t know why I’m suddenly desperate to know. Perhaps there’s some clarity my subconscious is searching for?
“Honestly? I have no good reason. I was young … really fucking stupid. I had it all and then everything that was good and right in my life was gone in a haze of indiscretion. I had absolutely no idea what I had in my possession. I took your mother for granted for twelve years. And you for that matter.” He shifts uncomfortably.
“How'd you get her back?”
“I wish I knew. Sheer dumb luck? I knew all along she was too good for me. But she made me want to be a better man. And when you two left, I realized just how much I desperately loved her. How watching her walk out the door that fateful day, my heart ripped out of my chest and I never even wanted it back. It was hers for the taking and I spent the next decade of my life trying to make sure she never lost it. I could never love anyone else as much as I loved your mother.”
Dad is quiet for a moment and shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “The affair was the biggest mistake I ever made. But I’m convinced that the day she walked out on me and took you with her was the day that saved our relationship. I know that may be difficult to understand, but it took losing you both for me to truly understand how much I loved you both. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the emotional scars that I’d left on her, but once I grasped that, it became my mission to make things right. I am forever grateful to your mother for giving me that second chance.” His eyes wander from his tea and up to me again. “And I'm grateful that you were willing to give me that second chance, too.”
He doesn't need to say anything more on that subject. We both know how he fell short as a father for my formative teenage years. I know I could continue to crucify him for his past sins, but I've been working hard on forgiveness. And frankly, I appreciate him putting his pride aside for me through it all.
Forgiveness is a funny thing. It doesn't justify harmful actions. Forgiveness just prevents their past actions from continuing to impale your heart. It's the only true way to move forward. And I know that if I can't get Ivy to truly forgive me, this is going to eat at our souls for an eternity.
“Look ... I don’t know what is going on with you and Ivy. And I’m here to talk or listen and do whatever I can to support you. But I want you to know that you are worthy of her love. Never second-
guess that. She is one of the luckiest women in the world to be loved by you, and hopefully she realizes that. But she can't just know you love her. She needs to understand the true extent of your love. She has to feel that. If you love her like I think you love her, you need to make her feel like she's the only girl in the world. That no matter what happened today or in the past or tomorrow or hell, even twelve years from now, she is, was, and always will be the only one for you. If you are able to make her feel that, she won't ever be able to shake you from her bones.”
If only it were that easy.
For years, I watched my dad try to make things right from afar. In time, Mom finally found it in her heart to let him back in. He tore down the walls he initially helped build and they learned to love again. Not that they ever really stopped. I'm pretty sure Mom loved him all along, in spite of the hurt he brought her. They were made for each other and he’d paid the ultimate price for his mistake.
I take a collective breath and hold it tight in my chest.
“I hope so, Dad.”
My phone vibrates on my thigh and I flip it over quickly. I get tunnel vision as Ivy’s name stares back at me. My heart rattles in my ribcage and my pulse goes haywire. The phone dares me to read her message. It challenges me to clench onto that last thread of hope. It threatens to either destroy me or make me whole once again.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“It’s her …” I whisper.
My stomach twists and I swallow hard. I open her text message, read her words, then exhale through blurry eyes.
Relief.
THE PAST FEW DAYS I'VE done nothing but throw myself blindly into work. Phoenix isn't due back until after the show opens, so I'm doing anything and everything to keep my mind from trying to make any rational decisions on behalf of my heart. Conversely, I’m trying to not allow my heart to dictate my head, at least not before we actually attempt to talk through things. I don’t know if we’ll ultimately work things out, but we owe it to each other to at least try. Or rather, I owe it to him for being a complete and total beeyotch and not truly listening to his side of things.
