Chapter 11 Ivy
Ivy
The rest of the semester is strange. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve spoken to Ethan.
Ethan did exactly what he promised. Backed off completely. Different coffee shop, different library hours, sits in the front row of Business Strategy instead of behind me.
Our weekly project meetings are professional and brief. He does his work, I do mine. We coordinate through email with minimal personal interaction.
It's what I asked for. What I demanded.
So why does it feel wrong?
"You're thinking about him again," Lennox observes one night in November. We're in my room, supposedly studying, but I've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.
"I'm not—"
"You are. You've got that look. Confused and annoyed and something else."
"I don't have a look."
Isla laughs from her spot on my bed. "You definitely have a look and it's the same look you get every time Ethan's name comes up."
"Which is often," Lennox adds. "Because you bring him up. A lot."
Do I? Maybe I do.
"It's just weird," I say. "He's actually keeping his promise. Being respectful. Giving me space. And it's..."
"Making you realize you might actually miss his attention?" Isla suggests gently.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I close my textbook in frustration. "It's easier when he was being an asshole. I knew how to feel about that, but now he's being exactly what I asked for, and I keep thinking about that night. About what he told me."
"About his parents threatening your family?"
I'd told them everything. The ultimatum, the threats, his confession. They'd listened without judgment, letting me process.
"And about him loving me. Apparently since we were twelve."
"Which you didn't know," Lennox says.
"Which I didn't know. I thought we were just friends. Best friends."
"Were you though?" Isla asks. "Just friends? Or were you in love with him too and just didn't realize it?"
The question stops me cold.
Was I in love with Ethan?
I think about those years. How I felt when he smiled at me. How jealous I got when he talked to other girls. How I saved up for months to buy that dress for winter formal because I wanted him to see me as more than just his best friend.
"Oh my god," I whisper. "I was in love with him."
"And?" Lennox prompts.
"And I still am. Fuck. I'm still in love with him."
They exchange knowing looks.
"We've known this for weeks," Isla says. "We were just waiting for you to figure it out."
"How long have you known?"
"Since he showed up at Thornhill. The way you talk about him, even when you're angry, that's not indifference. That's hurt love."
"Hurt love?"
"Love that got wounded but never died. It's still there, just buried under three years of pain."
I put my head in my hands. "This is such a mess."
"So un-mess it," Lennox says practically. "You know the truth now. You understand why he did what he did and he's proven he can respect your boundaries. So what's stopping you?"
"Fear. What if I forgive him and he disappoints me again? What if his parents come back? What if—"
"What if it works?" Isla interrupts. "What if you take the risk and it's actually worth it?"
"I don't know if I'm brave enough for that."
"You're Ivy Chen. You're brave enough for anything."
The next day, I do something impulsive.
I go to Ethan's dorm. Haven't been there since that first week. Marcus opens the door.
"Ivy! Hey. Uh, Ethan's not here. He's at the library."
"Which library?"
"The science one. Third floor. He's been hiding out there since..." He trails off diplomatically.
"Since I told him to give me space."
"Yeah. That." Marcus leans against the doorframe. "For what it's worth? He's miserable. Has been for weeks. Whatever happened between you two, he's genuinely trying to do better."
"I know. That's why I'm here."
I head to the science library, the one building on campus I never go to. Find him exactly where Marcus said, tucked into a corner study carrel, surrounded by books and notes.
He doesn't see me approaching. I watch him for a moment. He looks tired. Thinner than when he arrived at Thornhill. Like he hasn't been taking care of himself.
"Hi," I say quietly.
He jumps, knocking over his coffee. "Shit—Ivy?" He scrambles to save his notes from the spill. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to talk to you."
"Is it about the project? Because I have the final draft ready—"
"It's not about the project." I sit in the chair across from him. "It's about us."
He goes very still, papers in his hand, dripping with coffee. "Okay."
"I've been thinking. About what you told me. About your parents, about your feelings, about everything."
"And?"
"And I've been unfair."
"Ivy, no—"
"Let me finish." I take a breath. "You made a terrible choice three years ago, but you were eighteen and scared and trying to protect people you loved. That doesn't make it okay, but it makes it understandable."
"You don't have to—"
"And I've been punishing you for it. Which I had every right to do, but at some point, punishment becomes cruelty and I don't want to be cruel to you."
His eyes are shining. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I forgive you. Not because you've earned it necessarily, but because holding onto this anger is exhausting and… and I miss you."
"You miss me?"
"I miss my best friend. The person who knew me better than anyone. The person who made me laugh and challenged me and—" My voice cracks. "The person I was in love with before he broke my heart."
Ethan's breath catches. "Was in love with?"
"Am in love with. Present tense. Even though I tried really hard not to be."
He's out of his chair and around the table before I can process. Wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Say that again."
"I'm in love with you. Have been since we were kids. I just didn't realize it until you were gone."
"Ivy—"
"But I need you to understand something. Forgiving you doesn't mean forgetting and trusting you again is going to take time."
"I'll give you all the time you need."
"And you need to deal with your parents. Set real boundaries. Not just ignore their calls but actually tell them they don't control you anymore."
"I will. I'll do whatever you need."
"I need you to be honest with me. Always. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"I promise. No more secrets. No more running."
I cup his face with both hands. "And I need you to kiss me. Right now. Before I lose my nerve and take all of this back."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
He kisses me like he's been waiting three years for permission. Like I'm air and he's been drowning. His hands frame my face, gentle despite the desperation in the kiss.
I kiss him back just as desperately, three years of buried feelings exploding to the surface.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I love you," he says. "I've loved you for so long. I'm sorry it took me three years to tell you properly."
"I love you too. And I'm sorry it took me three years to realize it."
"So what now?"
"Now we figure this out. Together. No more secrets. No more running. Just us figuring out how to be us."
"I like the sound of that."
"Good. Because you're stuck with me now. And I'm a lot more demanding than I was at eighteen."
He laughs, actually laughs and it's the best sound I've heard in years.
"I'm counting on it."