Seventeen—Bo
I
t’s been almost three weeks since Ivy Talbot moved into Lully’s pool house. And I’m quite proud to say that my routine is in process of successfully molding itself around her life. In all honesty, she makes it easy. She is not messy. Or needy. Or annoying in any way. In fact, I’m quite comfortable around her—and even more astonishing, she seems to be comfortable around me. She goes to her therapy appointments on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I don’t really see her those days. In fact, I’ve come to plan dinner around things that can be safely left on a tray outside her door. Mia thinks her life coach is a quack because Ivy seems to feel so bad whenever she comes home from seeing him. I don’t know because Ivy doesn’t really talk about it. She’s actively looking for a job, which would indicate she plans to stay for a while. Surprisingly, this is fine with me.
This morning, she and Mia were still in the pool. I had homemade blueberry yogurt, which I’d left waiting for them in the fridge, and flax seed muffins were keeping warm in the oven. The table was set, and on Ivy’s plate—wrapped in cellophane, of course—sat the copy of Precious Bane I had finally located exactly where I’d put it—in the bottom box at the bottom of a stack of boxes full of alphabetized novels on a crate in Lully’s garage. I’d known it was there. It had just taken some reorganization to get to it, and now that I had, I so hoped she’d read it—talking books was one of my very favorite pastimes.
It was three minutes to eight. I filled my chilled glass with twice-filtered water and headed downstairs to start my workday .
Nearly an hour later, I was about halfway through a preliminary sketch of a poison ring I’d been thinking about when Mia barged in and completely destroyed my tenuous creative effort.
I glared up at her from my worktable.
“Sorry.” She mock-grimaced. “But this is important. I brought tea,” she said, handing me my mug sheathed in a paper towel.
I softened my glare to a sneer and took it. My sister looked her usual brand of free spirit: long skirt, tight, white tee shirt, hair piled to one side, held loosely in place with what looked like bejeweled chopsticks, gigantic hoop earrings she’d pilfered from me. I took a sip, eyeing her over the rim. “Five minutes.”
She pulled a face at me. “Ivy’s mom and grandmother are coming to town, and I think we should have them over for dinner. And I think you should cook. Thoughts?”
I swallowed. “No. NO.”
“Yes,” she said, nonplussed. “We should do this for Ivy. Let’s do it on Sunday. And we’ll invite Mom and Dad. It will be nice. It will be perfect.” Mia stared at me.
“No. In what world would it be perfect? I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll help you. We can eat on the patio. Let’s have those great kabobs you barbeque with the chicken and the shrimp…and I’ll make a salad.”
I stared at her, my mind screaming, no, no, no way! But out of my mouth came, “I’m not sure about kabobs…and you can’t make a salad.”
My sister smiled in annoying triumph and headed for the door. “I’ll leave the details to you. And…I haven’t mentioned it to Ivy yet. I leave that to you, too. You’re the best, Bo. I don’t care what anyone says.” She checked her watch. “That only took two minutes.” Then she grinned and was gone.
It was like a microburst—a two-minute microburst—had come out of nowhere and leveled my unsuspecting morning. I cannot entertain for strangers. I can’t…not with kabobs…not on a Sunday…THIS Sunday! What was Mia thinking? I set down my tea, but I needed both hands to do it without spilling, and I still sloshed a little onto my drawing. Then I dropped my head into my suddenly sweating palms. The wave was rising, rising. The breathless, fear-soaked crescendo of prickled emotion would soon overtake me unless I could breathe it back down, crush it back into its hole with my concentration. In…two, three, four. Out…two, three, four. In…breeeeeathe. Out…blooooow. I rubbed circles into my moist temples for a long time counting my breaths. You can do this . You can get past this moment. You can even tell Mia no if you really want to . Breathe. Just breathe. When I finally felt stability lift its weak head, I nearly wept with relief. That was a close one. Panic averted. Good job, Bo.
But now I needed a shower.
I pride myself on handling things like this without the aid of pharmaceuticals. The tradeoff, however, is time spent on unscheduled grooming, a disrupted creative process, and the apparently inevitable obsessive thoughts that have spring-boarded from this turn of events: Ivy’s family is coming, and my ridiculous sister has left it to me to inform her of our earthshattering plan.
Forty minutes later, I was still so annoyed with Mia that I was overly rough in my flossing—a task not technically necessary after this impromptu shower, but such an integral part of my grooming routine that a departure from it now would have left me at odds with myself.
When I finished, I wiped down the mirror, the sink, the fixtures and gathered the laundry. At 10:36, the bathroom was put back together, I was put back together and feeling at emotional status quo as well. Give or take a pause.
I could tell Mia no. But the truth was her idea was a good one. I sighed and went to find Ivy…by way of the laundry room.