Forty—Ivy
M
aybe I should call Bree. I probably should. But it was that should word that stopped me. I didn’t want to talk to my mother. I still had nothing kind or understanding to say to her. I knew she was waiting. She’d left me two messages, not warm, not pre-apologetic for her part in what happened. They were more, I’m here, when you’re ready to grovel for my affection type messages. Or that was my interpretation. And I wasn’t, so I hadn’t called. Maybe tomorrow I’d be ready to hold my own with her.
But I kept thinking it wasn’t all Mama. It was me being stupid with my life, too. If things hadn’t happened exactly as they had, I’d be married right now to a man who I knew was living a double life—kinda like my father. And I’d probably choose to be completely blind to it—kinda like my mother. I would still be in Savannah living pretend-contented in the bubble of my faulty perceptions. My faulty perceptions. AP was right, I had to own that.
I should call Mama. It had been more than a week.
No. I’d call her tomorrow. I’d be stronger tomorrow.
Instead, I took a shower and shaved my legs, and Mia was right: the smooth made me feel fantastic. I then filled my hands with mousse and pushed my hair around until I liked it. I lifted my chin and tried on a variety of expressions. I looked very different. I’d always thought girls with short hair were so brave and daring, and now I looked brave myself. Maybe feeling brave was on my horizon. My skin had never been a problem, but with some California sun I looked healthier than I felt. My blue eyes, though a little tired, looked bigger because of my bangs and bluer because of my tan. I decided to go for broke and put on some makeup. I hadn’t worn any since I came to California, and I was amazed at what a little mascara, a little shadow and blush and lip-gloss, could do. As I scrutinized myself, I decided I had news for Mia: It wasn’t chocolate and shaved legs that brought a girl back from the brink of death—it was new hair and wedding makeup.
Still naked, I stepped back from the mirror to take in more of my form. Maybe Mia was right about that, too. It wasn’t that I was thin, I would never be thin, and it wasn’t just that I was a little smaller, which I was; it was that I seemed firmer. When you’re not stick thin and never will be, you sort of measure success of the girth battle by the loss of land mass around your middle, your thighs, and under your chin. I was definitely missing some land mass. I guess I could thank my heartaches for something, just like Mia said. My eyes filled with tears, and it made me mad because the last thing I wanted was to ruin my makeup. I took a deep breath and willed some of the brave I craved and stepped on the scales I’d not been on since I arrived. What? Down nine pounds That couldn’t be right. I stepped on them again. What? For a third time, I stepped onto the fancy digital scale. It must be broken. But assuming I’d lost something, I tried on all my clothes. My pants were looser, my bra had to be cinched, and my tee shirts fell nicely from shoulder to hips with only a slight detour over surprisingly shrinking muffinage. My neck had even shown up. Wow. I knew I’d crashed after I’d read Mom’s letter, and I’d spent a lot of time in the dark, not eating much. But this was the result?
Surely some of it had to be real, didn’t it? The walking, swimming, occasional downward-facing-dog, and all of the repeatedly rinsed raw foods had surely had an impact. I pulled on my newly acquired skirt and a black tee and gave myself a once over in the full-length mirror. I looked better than I felt, but that made me feel better than I had in days. And with that booster shot of confidence, I grabbed my book and walked over to the main house. When I couldn’t find anyone, I headed down the stairs to Bo’s workroom.
He was bent over a project at his little desk, inspecting his work through a headband magnifier. I cleared my throat, and he looked up.
“Sorry,” I said.
His mouth dropped open as he slipped off his headgear. “H…hey. Hey, Ivy.”
“I just wanted to thank you…again,” I said.
Bo stood up, and his gaze traveled the length of me. When he got to my face, there was a look in his eyes that could have meant I’d gone too far or just far enough. He swallowed. “For what?”
“I guess…everything. Yesterday. Letting me cry all over you. The nectarines in the middle of the night. The strawberries this morning. Pretty much this whole week.”
Finally, he smiled. Sort of. “You’re welcome. Is that Precious Bane ?”
“Yeah,” I said, holding up the book. “I thought I’d work on it while Mia is taking her test.”
“Are you liking it?”
“I just started it. But if you want to know the truth, so far it’s kind of breaking my heart.”
He nodded. “Keep reading.”
“I will.” I nodded back. “Okay, well…” I shrugged. “I guess I’m off to do some shoe shopping.”
“It’s about time, Ivy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing…It’s just that today might be less about buying shoes than you think.” He took me in again. “You look ready. You look good.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and for a long moment, we just stared at each other. Then I said, “I think maybe you noticed, I did myself up. Is it too much? ”
He smiled. “No, Ivy. It’s perfect. You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”
I shook my head, felt myself get hot. “Bo Sutton. You stop that! You stop that right now.”
He laughed, and I got hotter.
“Ivy?” Mia shouted. “You down there?”
“I’m coming!” I yelled back. And I couldn’t get up those stairs fast enough.