Thirty-Three—Mia
I
t was early afternoon, and I was separating 4X6 proofs into subcategories—faces, serendipity, nature, and incongruity. I’d chosen these themes which each reflected my broader theme of imperfection, and I was fairly pleased with the overall collection.
But not ecstatic.
I sighed as I took in the landscape of proofs scattered on Lullaby’s massive living room floor, the gems not nearly as plentiful as I had hoped. I wanted to be excited; this was my senior project, after all. I blew out a discouraged breath, pulled my hair into a knot behind my ear, and started weeding again. I’d made some headway, adding a new subcategory—emotion—when Ivy walked in the front door. From my vantage point on my knees, two things immediately registered—the depth of her sadness and the looseness of her jeans.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. What are you doing?” she said, dropping my keys on the coffee table.
“Nothing. Just going cray on my own work,” I groaned. “How are you?”
“Oh… Fine.”
“Don’t lie,” I said. “What’s going on—she asks like it’s any of her business.”
Ivy didn’t smile, not even a considerate grin. She just looked so very tired. I stood up. “Whatever it is, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
Her eyes watered, and she shook her head. “You’re so sweet. But it’s… my life . I just have to weather it. ”
“You know you’re scaring me, right?”
She looked through me for a long heartbeat, and her shoulders sagged. “Tim got married,” she finally said on a sigh.
I felt my breath catch. “Oh…Ivy…What?”
“Yeah.” She handed me a crumpled letter from her back pocket, and as I read it, she tiptoed around my proofs. The words were like pins in my chest. “June?” I said. “So, that girl was really pregnant at your wedding?”
Ivy didn’t say anything.
I read the note again, this time through tears. “Ivy… I’m so sorry. Your mom’s a piece of work,” I said.
“That is the consensus.”
I looked at her and grimaced. “I guess she doesn’t get the irony.”
“Oh, I think she does,” Ivy said. “I just don’t think she thinks I do.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Have you talked to her?”
“No. She’s called a couple times, but I haven’t picked up.”
“What about your grandmother? Have you talked to her?” I asked.
Ivy shook her head. “No. Not about this. She called to say she’s in love with your nieces, and Camille seems to be settling in. But I don’t think she knows about this. If she did, she’d be talking to me real gentle about it. Checking on me—that’s her way. And Tim would probably be in debilitating pain somewhere. Probably missing limbs…or testicles.”
I tried to smile. “Ivy, are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I have a real bad headache, but I think, generally speaking, I’m a little better than I was this morning. Is that me?”
I looked at the photo Ivy was pointing to and picked it up. It was a random shot I’d taken the night of the barbeque when her family was here. Now that I looked at it more closely, it did kind of have a Bo and Ivy vibe. “Look at that smile,” I said, handing it to her. “I couldn’t resist.”
“I’m not smiling,” she said. “I’m not doing anything. ”
“I know. You’re just the glowing, completely unaware center of the shot. It’s Bo who’s smiling.”
“That is nice,” Ivy said, studying the photo. “And that he’s smiling is unusual?”
“ That smile is.” I told her.
She looked up at me. “Can I have this?”
“Sure. I can make another copy.”
She stared at it for another moment, then palmed her forehead. “Mia. Do you have any aspirin?”
“I’m sure we do. But Bo’s the keeper of the drugs around here. His room is down the hall to the left. It’s the one that looks like a surgical suite. They’re in his bathroom.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll take some and just go lie down for a little while.”
“Okay. He’s probably got something stronger than aspirin, if you’re interested,” I said as she disappeared down the hall.
“Don’t tempt me,” she shouted back.