18. Ivy
Ivy
“Everybody keeps saying the festival will be smaller this year,” Josephine says as she bounces her line in the water. Cujo grabs her pole and holds it still. He’s told her to quit jiggling it a dozen times, but she keeps doing it. “But fewer artists don’t mean fewer people will come.”
“It won’t take them as long to see everything, though,” Jensen says.
Dice helps Zara reel in her fourth fish. She’s the only one who has caught anything so far. I don’t think she really needs his help, but she lets him do it. While he’s taking her fish off the hook, she asks if I’m okay.
“I’m good. Or I will be. Did I tell you my mom has a boyfriend?”
“I already knew that. I’ve seen her out with him.”
“I’m glad he takes her to do things. She needs to get out and have fun more often.”
“He seems nice. Definite silver fox.”
“Really? I haven’t seen a picture of him. All I know is he’s a doctor. I should’ve asked her more questions. She probably thinks I don’t care.”
“I doubt she thinks that. Hasn’t she had boyfriends before?”
“Not in a really long time. She dates, but no relationships.”
“I think Dr. Daddy might be changing that.”
“Do not call him that.”
“You’ll see.”
“So,” Josephine says. “I think tonight feels like a good night for tattoos.”
“I’m game.” Zara nods at Cujo. “You can go first. I guess you outrank me.”
“I don’t know about all that.” He winks at Josephine.
“Actually, I think I should go first. I’m the most likely to back out, so it makes sense to get mine done before I watch someone else and change my mind.”
They all look at me like I might be joking. I’m not.
“What did you decide on?” Josephine reels her line back in. It’s empty, but she doesn’t seem to care about catching anything. Apparently, the only time she can hold still is when she’s giving a tattoo. She dances while she’s driving, bounces while she’s fishing . . .
“I don’t know yet.”
“But you’ll know by tonight?” Josephine asks.
“Yeah, I’ll know by then.”
Zara rides back to Ivydell with Dice, but we all meet at Vintage Vibes to eat dinner together. It feels almost wrong to eat dinner together at Jensen’s casita without inviting everyone else. But a lot of things feel strange here now.
There’s an expiration date on Ivydell for everyone, not just me. I wanted the same status as all the regular residents, and now I’ve got it. We’re all temporary.
We’re eating outside on a long folding table that Jensen brought over from the shop. A shooting star adds a flash of magic to the sky.
“I’m going to take the sign for Sparrow’s Song,” I say. “Not sure what I’ll do with it yet, but I want it.”
“You can’t,” Jensen says. “I’ve already claimed it. I’m taking most of the casita signs.”
“For what?”
“I was going to wait until we were alone to tell you my plans, but I don’t want you to think I’m keeping it a secret from you. I’m opening a winery.”
“Here? Or are you going back to California?” I try not to sound worried that his answer might be the latter, but I don’t want him to go farther away. I’m still a little mad at him, and I don’t know when it will fully fade, but I’d rather be pissed off at a closer distance. I’d rather be closer, period.
“Neither. Found some options a little closer to the beach. We’d still be a few hours apart, but closer.”
“You can’t make business decisions based on me.”
“It’s a good area. Already known for wineries. The fact that it’s closer to you is a bonus.”
I’m not sure if he’s telling the whole truth, but I’m happy for him to finally be following this dream. “Do you have a name?”
“I do. Desert Ivy Vineyards.”
“You can’t name your winery after me, Jensen.”
“I can, actually. I can name it anything I want.”
“Ivy doesn’t even grow in the desert.”
“Yeah, she did.”
Our friends all freeze and stare at us. I don’t have to make eye contact with any of them to know they think this is some grand romantic gesture, and the line he just said is poetic. It is. But I don’t feel swept away by any of it. I might not be sweepable, though.
He’s right that I’ve grown since we met. The woman I was when I got here wouldn’t even be speaking to him yet. I’d be having an angry pity party for myself in my casita. Actually, if he hadn’t woken me up with that damn drill, I might be doing that. I’m glad I’m not. I’d rather be here.
“Anyway,” he says. “It’s not like I’m naming it the Ivy Dell McAdams Winery.”
“True. At least you didn’t go that far. But there’s no desert a few hours from me, so it’s going to be an odd name for the area.”
“Based on the names of some of the other wineries in the area, I’m not worried about mine.”
“I still don’t see why you need the signs.”
“Figured I’d call the tasting room Vintage Vibes. The sign will be a nice touch out in front of it. It’ll bring back good memories for me when I see it.”
“That’s actually a better name for the winery itself. Vintage is a wine term.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell him this as if he doesn’t know. “Unless it’s too casual for what you had in mind overall.”
“Formal is the furthest thing from my vision. Maybe Vintage Vibes is a better name. Guess I’d have to drop Vineyards. That might be too much alliteration.”
“Yeah. Vintage Vibes is enough. You don’t really have to declare the vineyards.”
“And that means I can use Ivy in the wine names. I could name my first two releases Wild Ivy and Desert Ivy. I like it.”
“You don’t have to include Ivy at all.”
“But I want her included.”
I realize our friends are all still staring at us, watching this very personal conversation unfold. “If you insist on naming a wine after me, you could at least call it Classy Slut.”
“I’ll put that on a t-shirt.”
Everyone laughs. Wolves howl. They’re far away, but the wind carries the sound. It can fool you, make you think they’re closer.
“Why do you need the Sparrow’s Song sign?”
“Everything’s not about need. Sometimes, you just want something.”
“Well, I want that one.”
“I already called dibs.”
“If you had a screen door, I’d slam it.”
“I’ll put one in for you at the winery. We’ll call it the Ivy Slammer.”
Everybody laughs again. An owl lifts off from the roof. It’s too high to touch us, but we all duck a bit when we hear the rush of its unseen wings.
Some things are inherently scary, even when you know there’s probably no danger.