Chapter 32 Ivy
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ivy
I’m lying flat on my back in Jesse’s guest room with Pickle stretched out on my stomach like a smug, slightly fart scented heating pad, phone balanced against my ear, and a rising tide of dread sloshing around inside my ribcage.
It’s fine.
Everything’s fine.
Except it’s not, because I just told Olivia I’m pregnant and now I’m staring at the popcorn ceiling as if it might offer some kind of divine guidance. Spoiler: it doesn’t. It just has a suspicious stain that looks vaguely of Abraham Lincoln, which feels metaphorically relevant somehow.
There’s a pause on the line.
Not the bad kind, as if she’s about to yell or start crying. Just the kind where I know she’s trying to figure out which part of my emotional Jenga tower to pull on first.
“Okay,” she says, finally. Calm. “That’s a start.”
Pickle snorts softly, mocking me. Traitor.
I roll my fingers over the threadbare edge of Jesse’s comforter, the one that reeks of old cologne, weed, and a hint of pine from the nearby forest. Typical Jesse.
“It gets… messier,” I say, voice cracking a little. “Way messier.”
“Of course it does,” Olivia says. She’s heard my life story a dozen times and knows it’ll never be neat. “Spill it.”
So I do.
“It’s… it’s about the guys,” I say, my voice catching a little. “Freddie, Mitchell, Timothy.”
“Yeah?” There’s curiosity there, but no surprise. She knows about them, she met them all and put Mitchell at the forefront of her preferences.
But she doesn’t know this part.
I take a shaky breath. “It’s… all of them. Like… all of them in one night. At the tattoo con.”
Silence. Even Pickle seems to sense it, because his tail stops thumping against my ribs.
“Wait,” Olivia says softly, her spoon pausing mid stir. “All… at once?”
I close my eyes. My chest might as well be caving in. “Yeah. I… I don’t even know how it happened, Liv. It was after the con, and it just… it felt right. Like it wasn’t weird, it wasn’t forced. It was just… real.”
Her gasp is quiet. I can almost see her sitting cross legged on her living room floor, wide eyed, eyebrows somewhere in her hairline.
“Oh no way,” Olivia breathes, voice tight.
“Yeah,” I say, flat. I’m trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. “Plot twist.”
There’s a shuffle on her end, maybe pacing, maybe grabbing snacks, probably a combo of both.
“Ivy. What the actual hell?”
“I know,” I whisper. “It’s crazy, right?”
“I’m going to murder you.”
“Gently, please. Maybe with a scented candle and a blanket.”
Her sigh travels across the line. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me sooner.”
“I didn’t know how,” I admit. My voice goes all wobbly, the one I hate but can’t stop. “Every time I thought about it, I just felt like a dumpster fire of a person. Like I was dragging everyone down.”
Silence.
Then: “Okay. First of all? No. You didn’t screw up. You made a series of bold, very sexy decisions that led to... well, this.”
I let out a laugh, watery and bitter. “Sexy choices. Sure.”
“I’m serious,” she says. “You didn’t hurt anyone. You weren’t reckless. You let yourself feel something, even if it’s complicated. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
I close my eyes and swallow. “I don’t know if I’m keeping it.”
A pause. Then: “You’ll decide. When you’re ready.”
I peek through my fingers. “Why are you being so reasonable?”
“Oh, I’m not,” Olivia says, voice light. “I’m just circling my kitchen right now, half a sleeve of Oreos in hand, debating whether to hop in the car and drive to Coyote Glen to slap you and hug you both at once for not calling me.”
I laugh for the first time in days, real and messy.
Pickle twitches, lets out a snort, a grumpy little piglet scented with regret and peanut butter. My emotional support sausage.
“I’m scared,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “And there’s more. But this is more Freddie related.”
“Holy shit,” she breathes out, almost to herself. Then louder: “Okay. Okay. Go on.”
“Well, there was also weirdness at the con. A woman. Tall. Gorgeous. Like, unfair levels of hot. Killer heels, sleek hair. Just… watching us.”
“Watching you?” Olivia’s voice tightens.
“No. Watching them. Freddie and Penny mostly. And Freddie… he froze. Completely. I’ve never seen him look like that. Like he’d seen a ghost.”
“No way,” Olivia breathes. “You think it was…”
“Trina,” I say, the name tasting sour on my tongue. “Yeah. Penny’s mom. I think it was her.”
Olivia is silent for a second. I hear the faint crunch of a cookie between her teeth before she swallows hard. “Did he talk to her?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t think so. She was just… there. Staring. And then she disappeared. No one said anything after. It’s so weird.”
“Fuck,” Olivia says quietly. “That’s… that’s bad.”
“Yeah.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Pickle shifts on my stomach, snuffling his nose into the blanket. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, what if she comes back? What if she wants Penny? What if…”
“Stop,” Olivia cuts in gently but firmly. “You can’t spiral about what ifs right now. One thing at a time, Ivy.”
My chest tightens. “But how do I do that? How do I pick one thing when everything feels like it’s collapsing at once?”
“You breathe,” she says. “You drink water. You remind yourself you’re not alone. And then… you figure out what you want. What you need. Not what everyone else needs from you.”
“I don’t even know what I want,” I choke out. “I feel like I’m falling apart. Like every version of my future is just… wrong.”
“You’re not falling apart,” she says, her voice warm and fierce now. “You’re unravelling. That’s different. Falling apart is passive. Unravelling means you can knit yourself back together any damn way you want.”
I let out a shaky breath. “You’re so annoying when you’re wise.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s my worst quality. That and how I always eat the middle of the brownie tray before anyone else gets a chance.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth. My eyes sting. “Thank you.”
“Always,” she says. I hear the clink of her mug setting down. “If you need me, I’ll be there in a heart beat.”
I do need her. I always need her, but I can’t ask her to come again. She just did. So I’ll try and deal with this alone for as long as I can.
By the time I hear Jesse return from work, I’m perched on the edge of the bed, half eaten granola bar in one hand, staring at my phone screen intensely.
I’ve got three messages open. One for each of them.
Freddie. Mitchell. Timothy.
All typed out. All the same words.
Can we talk? I need to tell you something.
Short. Bland. Dramatic only in the silent screaming underneath kind of way.
I stare at them for what might as well be an hour, thumb hovering over the send button. My stomach does a weird lurch every time I almost tap it. Like it’s threatening to mutiny if I actually go through with this today.
Pickle sighs dramatically from his spot curled up on my feet. I nudge him with my toe. “Don’t judge me, okay? I’m doing my best.”
He lets out a snort that smells faintly of old peanut butter and existential disappointment. Thanks for the support, buddy.
I don’t send the messages. Not yet. I just let them sit there, lined up, tiny time bombs in my chat history, ticking away at whatever dignity I have left.
I tuck my phone under my thigh, as if sitting on it will make the problem disappear, and lean back, closing my eyes for a second.
That’s when I hear it.
Jesse’s voice, sharp and echoing down the hallway. He’s on the phone, tone rising in that way that always means he’s about to say something reckless. I drag myself off the couch and creep down the hall, peeking around the doorframe.
He’s pacing the kitchen, barefoot in old basketball shorts, hair sticking up as if he’s been electrocuted. Phone on speaker. Mug clutched in his free hand, as a stress ball.
Freddie’s voice crackles out, low and tired. “I’m not asking you to fix it, Jesse. I’m just telling you. She’s here.”
My stomach drops straight into my socks.
Here. As in…?
Jesse runs a hand through his hair, making it worse. “What do you mean, here?”
“Coyote Glen,” Freddie declares, rough and broken around the edges. “She’s staying with a friend right now. But she is in town.”
I press my knuckles to my mouth, breathing through my nose so I don’t make a sound. Pickle waddles up behind me and sniffs my ankle, probably thinking this is a game. My heart is thudding so loud I’m worried they’ll hear it.
“And she wants to see Penny,” Freddie finishes, voice going even quieter at the end.
There’s a silence so thick I swear the whole cabin holds its breath.
Jesse lets out a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t sound amused at all. “Of course she fucking does.”
“She says she just wants to talk. To see her for an hour. Says she misses her.”
“Misses her?” Jesse practically spits the words out. “After four damn years?”
“Yeah,” Freddie says, and he sounds so tired I almost want to walk over there and hug him. Almost. “She’s her mom, Jesse.”
“Yeah,” Jesse mutters. “A mom who fucked off when shit got hard.”
Another silence. I can almost see Freddie pinching the bridge of his nose on the other end of the line.
“I don’t want her near Penny,” he says, voice cracking a little. “But I don’t want to be the asshole who keeps her away either.”
Jesse slams his mug down on the counter so hard I flinch. Coffee sloshes out onto his hand, but he doesn’t even react. “Freddie… just… don’t do anything until we talk, okay? Come by tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Freddie exhales. “Yeah. I will.”
The call ends with a sad little beep. Jesse stands there staring at the countertop with betrayal shining in his eyes.
I back away from the doorway, Pickle following me, my brain buzzing so loud I can barely think straight.
My phone vibrates, the three unsent messages burning a hole into my skin.
I grab it, staring down at those words again.
Can we talk? I need to tell you something.
My chest feels tight. Everything feels tight.
I don’t send them.
Not today.
Because suddenly, I’m not sure any of this matters if Penny’s whole life is about to be turned upside down.
And honestly?
Mine too.