Twenty—Bo
B
o, thank you again for doing this,” Ivy said to me as I filled the platter she was holding with grilled chicken. I did not want her to see the depth of my anxiety, so I didn’t immediately make eye contact. “You’re welcome,” I said into the barbeque.
Everyone was filing out of the house, and I took a deep breath. In less than thirty minutes, this would be over—at least, the meal. After that, it was anyone’s guess how long these people would linger, but I had an escape plan. I’d simply clear the dishes and retreat to the kitchen—and I’d make it a point, this time, to be sure that everyone was finished eating before I did.
Mia walked out of the house with Ivy’s dad, and as he sat down next to Ivy’s mom, my sister gave our table the once over and said, “Everything looks fabulous. Let’s eat.”
Because I’m me, I spent just a moment too long scraping chicken remains off the grill, so the only seat left was between Mia and my dad, which may have been by design. I sat down as Dad stood up with his glass. He’d asked me ahead of time if he could start things off, and I’d laughed because the implied alternative was me doing it, which we both knew I’d sweat my way through.
“I want to extend a warm welcome to Ivy’s family,” he said. “It is wonderful to have you here with us.”
“Here, here,” said Mia.
“And I want you to know that it has been a rare treat getting to know your Ivy. She’s a lovely girl, and we just might have to adopt her!” He chuckled and lifted his glass. “To Ivy and her family. ”
Ivy was clearly touched, and she met my dad’s eyes with soft emotion. But her father looked rather perplexed, as though he was just hearing the news that his daughter was special for the first time. It bothered me. Geneva lifted her glass the highest. “You can’t have her, but we understand completely.” She laughed. “And thank you for having us!” She then turned and covered Ivy’s hand with her bejeweled one.
“Yes. Thank you, so much,” Bree echoed. “This is just lovely.” She reached past Daniel and touched her daughter’s arm, and when Ivy looked over, they too exchanged a smile. It was easy to see that Ivy was very, very loved by these women.
After Dad’s toast, we got down to the business of passing the food. I watched with keen interest what everyone helped themselves to and was concerned when Geneva passed on the potatoes. What was wrong with my potatoes? Did I need to offer her an alternative? Maybe rice? Did we have rice? How long would it take to make rice? Maybe couscous?
“Down, boy,” Mia whispered, sensing my angst. “Mom, can you pass the salad?” she said, effectively diverting my attention.
The salad had stalled between my mother and Bree because they were deep in an easy conversation that had started with Mom’s compliment of Bree’s hair. I listened as it evolved into what Bree did in Georgia, which turned out to be teaching an art course at the college and owning a shop in the historic district of Savannah. My mother fingered Bree’s massive necklace, which led the conversation to what I did, which prompted Dad to brag about my snake choker that would be guest-starring on Winged Passion . Bree was duly impressed—she knew the soap.
She was pretty, Bree Talbot, but trying too hard to be sexy, in my opinion, with those bare shoulders and no bra and all that makeup. But that was all for Daniel Proctor. Clearly. The two of them were intensely into each other, much more than they were into their daughter. I was bothered by that and disgusted when, after the conversation with my mom wrapped up, Bree again reached past Daniel to get Ivy’s attention. She asked her if she’d ever been to Carmel-by-the-Sea, and Ivy said she hadn’t, to which Bree grinned and said, “Well, we just might have to change that.” She placed her hand on Ivy’s and squeezed, but on its way back, Bree’s hand made a brief pit stop in Daniel’s lap. This distressed me on numerous levels—she was eating with that hand, passing food with that hand. I must have reacted, I might have groaned, done a little fidgeting, because Mia discreetly placed a tiny pill in my teaspoon. I think she’d seen what I’d seen, which was in poor taste and disgusting but not pill-worthy. I handed it back to her.
“Bo,” said Geneva.
“Yes?” I responded smoothly, betraying nothing.
“I hear you are building a loft. Tell me about it?”
“Well, yes. It’s a big open space. Lots of natural light. I’ll either sell it or move into it, I haven’t quite decided. It’s not far from here, just over by the college. Maybe ten minutes away.”
“How lovely. And this will be your workspace?”
“Yes—in theory. It has great light, great feng shui, but it’s noisy over there…so I’m conflicted.”
“Creative people are so very interesting.” She smiled. “I would love to see what you do. Would that be possible?”
I swallowed. This request hung far outside the parameters of the designated plan for today, and I wasn’t sure how to react. Especially knowing I hadn’t vacuumed my workroom since yesterday.
“He’d love to show you, Geneva,” Mia said, jabbing the pill back into my hand, which was clenched in my lap. “He makes beautiful things. I want him to make me an exact replica of the necklace Bree is wearing.”
Geneva laughed. “If you ask her, Bree will probably give you that one. She has hundreds.”
“Good to know.” Mia grinned. Bree was obliviously tuned into Daniel Proctor and unaware of what her mother had offered .
“Now tell me about this house,” Geneva continued. “It has such a lovely soul . It undoubtedly belongs to someone very special. Your aunt, did you say?”
Mia nodded. “Lullaby.”
“Lullaby! That’s superb!” Geneva gushed.
“She’s on her fifth honeymoon,” I announced.
“How extraordinary,” Geneva said. “This home is a reflection of her, am I correct?”
“Completely,” Mia said.
“My sister is a very free spirit,” laughed my dad, entering the conversation.
Geneva looked around. “You know, I can tell. I’d love to meet her.”
Mia nodded. “She’s very outspoken. Last year she heard Biden was golfing down at Pebble Beach, so she marched herself down there to chat with him.” Mia laughed. “Of course, she couldn’t get near the place, so she gave a note to someone, to give to someone else, to give to someone in the secret service to give to Joe. And she was arrested.”
“Detained,” Dad corrected.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Geneva said. “What did it say?”
Mom piped up, laughing, “She would never tell us. She said it was between her and the President, and it had to be said.”
“Mercy!” said Geneva. “She sounds remarkable. It’s not one bit surprising that she’s part of this divine family.” She turned to Ivy. “It’s no wonder you’re thriving here, sweet pea. Maybe we’ll let you stay a while longer.” She winked.
Ivy lifted a brow and kept it lighthearted. “I told you, Gran, I’m never going home. You’ll just have to keep coming here if you want to see me.”
Naturally, this news bothered Daniel Proctor. He put his arm around the back of Ivy’s chair. “Don’t be ridiculous, honey . Of course, you’re going home.” He laughed, but his words rang a bit desperate .
“It’s not ridiculous, Dad. I’m sorry. But I’m not. Ever.”
Bree leaned in. “Sweetie, we’ve talked about this…”
I was staring at Ivy, feeling suddenly protective of her. But she held her own. “California is growing on me,” she said. “I’m sure they need X-ray techs here, too.”
“Hell, yes we do!” I heard myself blurt. “I mean, we have terrible, terrible accidents here which is great…you know, for the broken bone business…which employs X-ray people.”
Mia rolled her eyes at me.
Geneva smiled and took Ivy’s hand. “You will live wherever you live, dear girl, that’s completely up to you. But there will come a day when Savannah calls you home, even if only for a short time.”
“Savannah can call all it wants, Gran. I’m never answering—”
Just then, something strange happened over by Bree and Daniel, and Bree’s wine was knocked over, which filled Daniel’s plate and some of his lap. The glass teetered and then almost in slow motion fell off the edge of the table, shattering. Bree’s face turned as crimson as the wine staining the Belgian linen tablecloth. It was too much. I started to hyperventilate. Dad patted my knee and slipped a Xanax onto my plate, making sure I’d seen it, then handed Ivy’s mother his napkin. Ivy stood up and gathered hers and Daniel’s plates, then stacked Geneva’s on top of those and hurried toward the kitchen. She seemed grateful for a reason to escape. I gathered the glasses and followed her in while wine-dabbing and apologies sang out behind us.
“Are you okay, Ivy?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry.” She deposited her dishes in the sink, then shook her head. “No! No, I’m not fine! I’m not fine at all! When are they going to stop deciding my life for me.” She met my eyes as hers filled with tears. “Where’s your broom?”
I was torn between needing to sweep glass and offer words of comfort. I froze. But Ivy barely took a breath.
“I mean, in what scenario do they think I would show my face in Savannah ever again?” She slumped. “This was a mistake. I’m so sorry, for dragging y’all into my drama. And to think I was starting to feel not pathetic. I’m so pathetic!”
“Ivy…No. You’re not pathetic.”
She waved away my platitude. “Does my dad really think I don’t know I’m being ridiculous? I know I’m being ridiculous!” she shouted. “I freaking know! But I am never going back there.”
I nodded repeatedly, like a possessed bobblehead. “Good. Good. I don’t want you to go.”
She shut her mouth. “What?” she said.
The world, like a giant computer screen, froze. “What?” I said back.
“What did you say, Bo?”
“Nothing.” I said, willing the words back down my throat, even though they were words I thought I meant. “The broom is over there.” I pointed. “In that closet.”
She looked at me. I looked at her.
Then I sighed and watched Ivy retrieve the broom and then—probably filled with even more emotion than when she’d walked in—walk back out to sweep up the murdered wine glass. All this took place while I inwardly lamented my hopeless ineptitude. What was wrong with me? I groaned—loudly. Again, this is why I rarely venture outside of the careful construct of me . It’s really better for everyone if I stay within the walls of my own life.
I pulled on a new set of rubber gloves and set about rinsing the plates. From the window over the sink, I watched as my father took the broom from Ivy and hugged her with his free arm. He was good at easy affection without forethought, and I hated that he’d never taught me how to do that. As they stood there, Dad mouthing words I was certain were designed to comfort and reassure, Mom joined in, and soon Ivy was smiling. They liked her. But what wasn’t to like?
Bree and Daniel had relocated near the fireplace and were in deep discussion. It looked to me like a parental intervention—possibly a bullying—was in the works. I wished I had the courage to walk out there. Puff out my chest, saunter over, and just invite myself to sit down, languidly, like I owned the place, and simply eyeball them in a ‘leave your daughter alone’ kind of way. But of course, I didn’t—I’m not a saunterer. I’m not a chest-puffer-outer. I’m a dishwasher loader. So, that’s what I did.
But, strangely, I managed to break two more wine glasses in the process. One pretty seriously.