Thirty-One—Mia
W
hen Ivy wouldn’t get out of bed for the third day in a row, I threatened to call her dad. Then she did, and I did anyway. I had to; she looked like hell when she left for her group therapy. Something had happened to her, and she wasn’t talking to me or Bo, and frankly it was scaring us. Mostly Bo, but his anxiety was contagious, so I called Daniel Proctor. I tried his cell, left two messages, and when I hadn’t heard anything for two hours, I called his office. A young woman answered the phone: Willis, Proctor and Holmes, how can I help you? I figured Ivy’s dad was a bigwig, I just didn’t realize he was the number-two bigwig. I was transferred a few times, but when they couldn’t find him, I ended up with the same cheery sounding girl, who offered to take a message. Beyond frustrated by now, I curtly said, “Tell him Mia Sutton called and that Ivy is sick. I’m very worried about her. Please tell him to call me back as soon as he can. He has my number.”
“Who’s Ivy?” the girl said.
“What?” I said, annoyed. “He’ll know! Just have him call me, please! Mia Sutton, write it down.” Then I pressed End Call before she could say another word, my patience officially spent.
“What?” said Bo, as I tossed my phone onto the couch.
I blew out a breath. “Nothing. We’ll see if he even gets the message.”
“What should we do in the meantime?” said my brother, who’d emerged from the basement for the second time in less than an hour for the ‘Ivy Update’—oh the joys of living with an obsessive .
“I guess we just wait for her to get home and see if she’s in the mood to talk.”
“Did you actually see her leave?”
I sighed, my mood just getting better by the minute. “Bo, she took my car because hers has a flat. I handed her the keys. Pretty sure it was her. Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not. I’m just…I’m worried about her.”
I narrowed my gaze at my annoying brother and looked closely at him for the first time in a while. He was in a white polo and jeans, and his dark hair was just a bit longer than he usually wore it, which looked great on him. Bo got all the natural curl in the family, so Camille and I kind of hated him. But there was something else. “You really are worried,” I said, surprised.
“Don’t act so shocked,” Bo scoffed.
“Okay,” I said thinking for the first time there might be something more to his concern. He didn’t look away from me as I stared, suspicion burning in my eyes. I could have given him a hard time. I didn’t because he seemed so vulnerable—but steadfast at the same time. I leaned over and kissed his cheek—at which he naturally stiffened. “Be careful, Bo,” I said.
“Why? What does that mean?”
“Ivy’s our friend. Don’t forget why she’s here… Getting over the worst kind of breakup? Ring a bell?”
“What? I know that! Why are you telling me that?” His cheeks reddened half a shade as he checked his watch. “11:46! I don’t have time for this!” he said, heading for the stairs, but then he turned back. “If you hear anything…”
“I’ll come down and tell you,” I promised, thinking about Bo and Ivy as Bo and Ivy, for the very first time. It was…strange.
To be honest, it felt weird . But I had to admit there was something about Ivy that made her feel ingrained in me —like we’d been friends long before I’d met her—just like Geneva had said. But I never imagined that she might have had that same effect on my brother. Bo was a super good-looking misfit who walked around the world insanely guarded. He was afraid of flying germs and bird poop and people who sneezed anywhere within a ten-foot radius of his person. He couldn’t abide the thought that someone had handled his tomatoes or apples, or toilet paper for that matter, before he bought them. I just couldn’t imagine him ever exchanging bodily fluids with… anyone . Hence, his fleeting relationships.
My brother would be a lot for a woman to take on, and to be honest, I couldn’t quite see anyone—read: Ivy—volunteering for the job once they actually knew what the job was.
But what did I know? I’m just his sister.