Chapter 19
Ivy
All the way through Sunday, I’m unable to think about anything but two things.
One, Ford hugged me. In my bed. I was there, pressed against his chest with his arms around me, as he told me he cared for me and Joe. It wasn’t a dream.
When Joe got home shortly before midnight, I brushed off the weird look on his face when he saw Ford lying in my bed—we weren’t even touching—to tell him it was way too late. He had school the next day.
If I didn’t go batshit crazy and demand Ethan’s mom explain why she had let the boys stay up so late on a weekday, it was because Joe got a B+ on his physics exam on Friday. His rough patch seems to be over.
The second thing I haven’t stopped thinking about all week is what Ford said to me.
Why can’t you see that you deserve to put yourself first too?
Not to throw my own pity party here, but putting myself first is a concept I’m not familiar with.
Before Joe, I felt like the glue holding my parents’ marriage together—turns out staying together for the kids ends up hurting the kids more than an actual divorce—and then my brother was born, and I’ve been devoted to him since. Happily so.
I would give my life for Joe in a heartbeat. And I guess, in a way, that’s what I’ve been doing. Just less dramatically.
Like I told Ford, I can’t remember the last time I went out to a bar. It must have been in New York City, so it’s been a while. I’ve never been a party girl, so that particular thing doesn’t bother me, but I get what he means.
I’ve been neglecting myself. When was the last time I met up with a friend?
Friends.
When I had to find a job during high school to help Dad after Mom passed, my group of friends decided I was no longer part of their pack. I was never available, was “too grown-up” despite being the same age. After that, I didn’t bother trying to build other relationships.
I mean, I would like to think I’m a nice person. Helpful and kind. But making friends hasn’t been a priority for a while, and maybe it’s time to change that.
Hell, when was the last time I spoke to Alma? Not since I moved back to Harmony Hills, that’s for sure.
I immediately gravitated toward Alma on my first day at the office in the city. She was this shy girl, a year younger than me, who never spoke up against our asshole boss’s temper—she was his assistant. Maybe it was the big-sister gene inside me, but I felt protective of her.
Alma was always comfortable in our shared silence.
She never felt the need to fill it with pointless small talk, and I liked that about her.
We bonded over rom-coms and our dream of buying a massive—and haunted—Victorian mansion in the woods and renovating it.
Whenever Lowell would let her out of the golden cage that was his office during lunch breaks, we would spend them together. Her, reading, and me, drawing.
I had to leave the city so unexpectedly, we never got to say goodbye the way friends should. Months have passed, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my new life that I’ve barely thought about her. I’m such a shitty person.
Before something else comes up and I forget again, I search for her number in my contact list and type a quick text.
Me
Hey, Alma! I’m so sorry for the radio silence.
Things have been insanely busy. But Joe is doing great, and I’m hanging in there (that sounds dramatic lol I’m fine).
How are you? How are things at the office?
I’d love to video chat and catch up whenever you’re free, if you want to.
Again, I’m SO sorry for not reaching out before. I hope you’re taking care :)
There. Sent.
With a deep sigh, I throw my phone on my mattress and shift my attention back to the culprit causing my impending headache.
I don’t know what to wear to trivia night.
Ford said he would pick me up at 6:30. It’s 6:25, and I’ve already changed my outfit four times because I’m insane. This isn’t a date. I don’t know why I’m so worked up over clothes when I never have been before.
“Are you leaving yet?”
Joe’s voice behind me makes me jump. We came back from plane spotting a couple of hours ago, and I thought he was still locked in his bedroom, editing. Aside from our physical similarities, my brother and I also both need alone time to recharge.
He’s changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt I got him last year that I bet will look like a crop top by next summer. He’s growing up so fast, it hurts my heart a little bit.
“Not yet. How’s the video coming along?”
“I haven’t edited it yet. I’m playing a racing game with Bradley and his cousin. He’s a noob, but he’s funny.” Joe plops down on my bed unceremoniously. “So, what are you wearing to your date with Ford?”
I nearly choke. “It’s not a date.”
“And I’m not in this room right now—it’s all an illusion.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you can’t just admit you have a crush on him.”
“Want to talk about crushes? Because I’m sure you’ve got one you don’t want your big sister to know about. Let’s talk about that.”
He groans. “I’m a child. You can’t do this to a child.”
“You’re a little shit, that’s what you are.”
“Whatever.” He stands up from my bed only to stick his head inside my closet. “How about this?”
He grabs a white blouse I forgot was even in there. I haven’t worn it since I last stepped foot in the office in Manhattan—a life that now feels like it belonged to somebody else.
But I shake my head. “It’s too formal. We’re going to a bar. Also, since when are you interested in clothes?”
I still buy his because he refuses to come shopping with me. He always asks for the most plain, boring clothes too.
“Hey. I have a sense of style, you know.”
“You really don’t. You would wear sweatpants and a hoodie to your own wedding if you could. A pair of jeans is the fanciest thing I’ve seen you wear.”
“Jeans. That’s a good idea.” He takes out a pair of black jeans that fit me nicely enough the last time I wore them, about six hundred years ago. “How about these? No, wait. I’ve got it.”
Before I can say a thing, he puts them back and grabs another hanger. “Wear this. Trust me.”
I glance down at the dress he’s just pushed into my hands.
It must have been shoved at the back of my closet, because I’d totally forgotten its existence.
In my defense, it’s impractical for my daily routine—black with pink flowers, falls right above the knee, a little flowy, long sleeves perfect for fall weather, and a V neckline that dives a little lower than the other items in my closet.
But for a bar? It’s cute. Really cute.
“You have to admit, I have a good eye,” Joe gloats.
“Actually, yeah.” If it weren’t for him, I would’ve never chosen something like this for tonight. But it feels right. “I’ll have to start taking fashion advice from my teenage brother. Figures.”
“It’s almost as if teens aren’t dumb,” he jokes.
“Never said you were dumb, just occasionally annoying.” I push him out the door. “Now get out. I have to change. Ford will be here in—”
Right on cue, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” Joe says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I feel like a dad on his daughter’s prom night.”
“Leave.” I push him again.
He clears his throat, deepening his voice. “Sweetie, I don’t like that you’re going out with the school’s bad boy—”
“Bye.”
I shut the door in his face, but the sound of his laugh reaches me anyway. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and brush off his comment about Ford and me going on a date. I need to find my black tights pronto.
But because the walls in this house are paper-thin, I still hear the front door opening and the conversation between them.
“Don’t stay out too late,” Joe says, still deep in his dad role.
I could kill him.
“Never, sir,” Ford answers, playing along and sounding totally serious.
“I have a baseball bat and won’t hesitate to use it.”
“I understand, sir.”
What a pair of clowns.
“Anyway, what are you doing tonight?” Joe asks in his normal voice. “Ivy said something about trivia.”
Thankfully, my tights are hole-free when I find them and put them on. Now, where the hell are my boots?
“Trivia night down at Denny’s, by the old pharmacy. You know where it is?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll eat something, maybe have a drink, and come back. Trivia night isn’t wild,” Ford explains. “I would ask you to come, but it’s over-eighteen only. Sorry, buddy.”
“It’s fine. I’m playing video games with my friends and having paninis and ice cream for dinner. I’m good.”
“Sounds like a plan. But we can do something together some other time. The three of us.”
My heart rolls over in my chest. How dangerous it is to let myself indulge in this fantasy world where money isn’t a problem, our aunt isn’t threatening to take Joe away, and I feel unburdened enough to recognize that…
That maybe I like Ford a little bit.
That maybe I have the tiniest, littlest crush on him.
There, I said it. Look at me, admitting my feelings like a big girl.
I put on my black boots and my jacket, then free my hair from the collar so it cascades down my back—I never do anything to it, just let my natural waves be—and count to three in my head. Only instead of numbers, they’re reminders.
This isn’t a date.
We’re only hanging out as friends.
Just because I have an inconvenient crush on him doesn’t mean Ford likes me back.
Right. My hopes are what they’re supposed to be—nonexistent.
“Hey, Ford. I’m ready to go,” I announce as I enter the kitchen.
He does a double take when his eyes land on me, but I don’t overthink it. He’s never seen me wear anything like this, so him being a little taken aback is a normal reaction.
“Hey.” His smile is as soft as always. “You look great.”
This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date.
“You look great too,” I tell him, trying to sound like the casual person I’m supposed to be.