Sixty-Four—Ivy
M
y grandmother’s property spanned about an acre and a half, and the guesthouse sat on the north corner facing Rose Avenue. Bo and I were quiet for the short walk so as not to wake the little girls we were holding. Coming up on the backside was a small patio off the kitchen, and Camille had left the French doors unlocked. Inside, I flipped the light switch with my elbow and headed down the hall, Scout limp in my arms.
I’d forgotten how cozy this little house was, where two bedrooms, a bath, a kitchen, and a tiny sitting room all fit in less than 900 square feet. And Camille had cozied it up even more with little girls’ paraphernalia. The space looked happily inhabited. In the bedroom, we worked in silence and got Bo’s nieces out of their sundresses and into their nighties and tucked in bed without waking them. I couldn’t help it. They were so adorable that I had to kiss both of their little heads. When I straightened, Bo was studying me. I let him. In fact, I studied him back, sort of amazed at the easiness of our sustained eye contact.
Finally, I walked toward him, and on my way out of the room, I took his hand and led him back down the hall. We stopped in the kitchen, where Bo washed his hands, and to make him more comfortable, I did too. Then we went out on the patio and held hands some more. We were quiet, but it wasn’t awkward.
“Quite a day you’ve had,” he finally said. “You doing okay?”
“I think so. It just hits me every few minutes that she’s really gone, and I can’t catch my breath. But then I do, and I’m okay.” I looked over at him. “Thank you so much for being here. You don’t know what that means to me.”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry again…for…”
“Stop it! I’m just happy that you’re here,” I said. He smiled, and it emboldened me. I looked at him, then down at our joined hands. “I’ve been thinking about, you know, everything you said…at the cemetery.”
“And?”
“I was wondering—is there anything you wish you hadn’t said?”
“No, Ivy. I said exactly what I wanted to.”
I nodded. “It’s just that you seem so different. I like it, but it’s different.”
“What do you mean?”
I lifted our clasped hands. “For one thing, this. Bo, how can you do this? Hold my hand and not be… nervous that you’re touching me?”
He took a deep breath and contemplated me. “I guess I’m…I guess it’s the medication.”
“So…What?”
“Remember all the Xanax in my medicine cabinet?”
I nodded.
He shrugged. “There’s a reason it’s prescribed for me. It helps me.”
“But you don’t take pills,” I said.
“I don’t. Except when I need them,” he countered.
“So, you needed them to say those things to me? You need them to hold my hand?”
“What?” He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Ivy…some Xanax might have helped me tell you how I felt, but I felt it—feel it—all by myself.”
I smiled up at him. “That’s good to know.”
“But it bothers you,” he said.
“No. Well…I don’t know. I like this version of you, Bo. I just…I just don’t know it very well. ”
“It’s still the same me, Ivy. Just less tense.”
I looked at him. “So, your pills, what? Take the edge off?”
“Kind of. Does that bother you?”
I turned fully and faced him. “Bo, are you planning to kiss me anytime in the near future?” I let my inquiry hang there, knowing I’d surprised him. He grinned and leaned in, and I knew he would taste delicious, but I had the awful feeling that sharing wet germs with me would do him in, utterly. I leaned back.
“What?” he said.
“Bo, you said such pretty things to me yesterday at the cemetery. Do you think you could say them again?”
“Of course.”
“Unmedicated?” We were so close, with just the moon glow lighting our faces, but I could see I’d upset him. “I’m sorry, Bo. I like this you so much. I like that you’re holding my hand, and I think I’m really gonna like kissing you, but for some reason I need to know that you can do that—that you want to do that—all on your own.”
He stared at me, and I could see the pulse beating at his temple. He looked so uncomfortable that I almost never-minded everything I’d just said. But I couldn’t. This was my life, and it seemed to me that making way for this eccentric man to worm his way into it required a real time adjustment to the would-be fantasy.
“Bo,” I said softly. “I have lived my whole life in the shadow of the truth, which is no truth at all. In case you didn’t notice, my very existence is based on a lie. A pretty lie. And my only experience with loving was Tim, and that was a lie he told me—and I told myself—so clearly I’m not very good at this.”
“I’m not lying,” Bo said.
“You might be,” I said. “You know, under the influence, things might feel different—maybe they’re just medicated fibs. Maybe they’re not, but don’t you think we should find out? Mostly you, I mean. Don’t you think you should be sure?”
He looked at me pained, like I was dressing him down .
“Don’t get me wrong, buttercup,” I said. “I don’t ever want you to stop taking your pills. I like this calm and relaxed you. You deserve to be calm and relaxed, and I definitely want to spend more time with that guy. But…” I breathed. “But this is too big, too important, and I need both of us to know the truth, unfiltered.” I looked into his eyes, past them and into him, and couldn’t imagine the conversation we were having. But it was a game-changer for me, and it didn’t have to make sense to anyone else.
I leaned over and kissed his cheek, then I stood up. He held onto my hand for a moment as I stared down at him. Then he let go, and I walked away.