Chapter Six #2
“Son of a nutcracker!” a muffled yell comes from the back. Sparrow just laughs. Everyone else in the café keeps working or talking, apparently immune to the chaos happening in the back of this store.
“Do you know someone in town?” Sparrow asks over the sound of French Christmas music playing on the speakers.
“Yes, my brother, Edgar—” I begin.
“Oh! Edgar! Yes, I know him.”
“Angie is also my sister.”
Her mouth drops open. “Of Angie’s Pies? We love her! She mentioned having another brother, and here you are!” She studies my face. “Yes, of course. I see the resemblance now. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it right away. Your siblings are wonderful people.”
“Yes,” is all I can manage to say. Without Edgar and Angie, I could never have gotten through everything that’s happened in my life; their strength was a steadying force even while they were grieving themselves.
“Welcome to town! Here you go.” Sparrow places the hot drink between us, the whipped cream already starting to melt at the edges.
This looks like it may contain magic. The thought brews before I break it, and I feel a hint of the version of me I can’t seem to restore. But before it can take hold, I feel the frown on my face and register Sparrow’s brow dipping in concern.
As I take the to-go cup, I move to pull my wallet from my coat, but Sparrow gives a small shake of her head.
“On the house.” A bag of cookies appears in front of me, and she smiles.
“Thanks. I’ll bring my daughter, Emmy, next time.”
“Please do. Stay warm out there!” She waves and moves to clean up the hot chocolate mess she had made. “Oh, and this is a good place to find some hope if you need it. Stop by anytime.”
I hear her pleasant voice call after me as I turn and walk away.
I want to go back and ask if she knows Ivy, but I can’t seem to bring myself to form the words.
Ivy has been an elusive dream. I always pictured her living in New York, never dreaming that she’d return to Birch Borough.
But now that I’ve seen her again, I can’t imagine she’d be anywhere else but here.
This small town suits her. I saw her for only a few moments, but I know this town brings a strength to her I can’t imagine she found in the city.
As I step into the frigid winter air again, I remind myself that one of the greatest regrets of my life is leaving our chances to fate, since fate punched me in the face.
The past eight years have been challenging.
When I first lost my chance with Ivy, I would drive from a few towns over and go back to the spot of land that held the makeshift ice-skating rink, the place where we were last together.
For four months, I’d appear at the same time I met Ivy, in case she ever visited from New York.
Four months. When questioned, I told my friends and family that I just liked to be there to think, when, truthfully, I hoped to see a glimpse of her again.
In vain, I hoped that seeing her would bring me back to the man I felt slipping away more and more each day.
When she never came to the ice-skating rink, I started to wander through town.
Once, I went into the Four Leaf Cookies shop and asked the owner about her.
When I said her name, a man sitting at a table in the corner looked up, and the first thing that struck me was that he had the same coloring and the same eye color as Ivy.
It turned out that the man was her brother.
He knew she was devastated after I ghosted her. Though I explained it was unintentional, he didn’t relent. I couldn’t blame him. I was younger. I was na?ve then.
All these years later, I’ve come to realize that it’s rarer for people to stay with you than to leave you. People shifting through your life can be a blessing. And when you do find the ones who see you at your worst and care about you through it, you have to fight to keep them.
But I didn’t fight for her.
After the incident with Ivy’s brother, I never stepped foot in Birch Borough again.
I didn’t visit for Angie’s grand opening at the pie shop.
I didn’t visit for Edgar’s ribbon cutting at the boxing studio.
I wiped my hands of this town, but now I think I might have been holding a grudge in the wrong direction.
The only person I have to blame for my misery is myself.
I take a sip of the hot drink, nearly groaning from the deliciousness of it. The base is real, melted chocolate. Emmy really would love the charming shop.
I think she’s going to love this town too—even if the decorations throughout town are something I personally want to destroy.
Well, destroy is probably a strong reaction, but at least tear down.
If it weren’t for my daughter, I wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas.
I haven’t been able to celebrate it well since Mina passed.
My brother now lives in Portsmouth, but my sister and my parents relocated here—well, before my parents decided to move to Florida to stay in the warm weather.
For the past few years, Emmy and I have moved from city to city.
For a while, we landed in Vermont after Jenna left us.
But now I’ve decided to finally stop running and let my daughter grow up with family.
When I haven’t been training boxers, I’ve been building furniture.
It has passed the time when I can’t sleep and gives me something to hold on to that doesn’t fall apart in my hands.
For my whole life, I’ve been fighting against the stereotype of being a jock.
Yes, I’m athletic. I like to move my body.
It’s how I’ve kept my sanity for this long and processed the world around me.
But I’ve come to realize that women look at the size of my shoulders and not the state of my heart.
They want a good time and can’t face the truth that my music playlists consist mostly of musicals and classical music.
I wear reading glasses. Because of Emmy, I’ve learned to cook.
I couldn’t care less about being an influencer and deleted my social media accounts after too many slides into my DMs. Only one woman in my memory once made me feel seen, not for my appearance but for my heart.
Her name was Ivy. And as sappy as that may sound, that’s the truth of it.
I believe I have so much love to give that I couldn’t bench press it. But after Jenna’s betrayal, I’ve questioned everything. I’ve questioned myself and questioned whether anyone would welcome my touch ever again. It’s hard to be built to carry so much and have no one to trust you to do so.
Jenna was there when I needed someone, her whirlwind energy entering my life two years after meeting Ivy.
She swooped in, told me the things I wanted to hear, and I thought I loved her.
Things went too far. I attempted to process the pain by trying to get close to someone and mistook physical affection for commitment.
Once she had Emmy, I offered to marry her.
That was when things started to unravel.
Her words were cruel and cut deep.
I didn’t make enough money for her. Ironically, I wasn’t fit enough.
And as much as she had wanted me to show her affection physically, once she got pregnant, I became the last person she wanted to touch her.
Instead, she stopped coming home. It was heartbreaking on many levels.
And now my daughter has been the casualty of Jenna’s selfishness.
I’m the one who’s raised Emmy. I was up with her as soon as she got home from the hospital.
I’m the one who fed her and held her, who put her against my chest, skin to skin, to make sure she felt my heartbeat.
I read to her and dressed her. Immediately, my daughter became my everything.
When Jenna decided to officially sign over custody and move to Santa Monica with her yoga instructor, that chapter of my life was over, except for the scars.
I steel myself to pass by the dance studio up ahead, knowing full well that the woman that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about is currently teaching my daughter to follow her dreams. After making eye contact with Ivy as the class began, I couldn’t stay.
Now that the class is nearly over, my shoes could be in a superhero movie for how fast they carry me back across town.
It’s agonizing, but how can I stay away?
The woman is a direct reminder of all the things I’ve lost. Because we should’ve had a chance years ago, and if I hadn’t gotten the phone call about Mina, we might have had our moment.
I hold my breath and pass by the frost-covered windows, which radiate warm light, the sound of a piano through a record player calling to me like a siren on this winter night.
It looks like the students are still finishing their practice.
I decide against going into the lobby. I make it past the doors and breathe a sigh of relief but suck in a breath when I hear a rush behind me.
Somehow, I know who it is before I see her.
“Hey!” Ivy’s uniquely smoky voice captures me through the cold air. How I’ve imagined hearing that voice again over the years.
Clenching my jaw, I turn to face her, trying not to notice how beautiful she is, even after all this time. She’s better than I remember, and I hate that I now know this to be true when I can’t call her mine.
“Yes?” I say, the saltiness in my tone a little much, even for me.
Ivy’s eyes narrow. Her shoulders roll back as she stands to her full height, which is still almost a foot shorter than me.
“You’re back?” Somehow, it’s both a question and a statement.
The feeling of accusation stiffens my spine. I don’t want to answer her, but I will. “For now.”