Thirty-Five—Bo
I
vy, I’m not leaving, so you might as well let me in,” I yelled. Then I knocked again—for the fourth time. Then again. When she finally opened the door, relief like I couldn’t believe washed through me even if she was wearing defeat inside a wicked scowl.
“What do you want, Bo?” she snapped.
“I…I made you some lunch.” Stiff grin.
“I’m not hungry. But thanks.” Sheer annoyance.
“Can I come in anyway?” I asked, handing her the plate I’d covered with a clean dish towel. “It’s just some fruit and cheese and a baguette. You might want it later.”
She let go of a sigh and slumped a little. “That’s very sweet, Bo,” she said. “ You’re very sweet.” She stepped aside. “I’m sorry. Of course, you can come in.”
Inside, we looked at each other for a long, silent moment until she walked over and set the plate on the bedside table. Now that I was staring, I could see that she did not look good. She looked thinner and in pain. She squinted and rubbed her forehead, which confirmed my assessment.
“Mia told me about Tim,” I said.
She shrugged. “Lovely, right?”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged again.
“I don’t know Tim,” I said. “But I know he never deserved you, Ivy. And you…you obviously deserve better. ”
“That’s such a nice thing to say, Bo,” she said wearily. “But…No, I don’t. Look at me.”
“Look at what?”
“This,” she said, her arms outstretched. “This.”
“What?”
Her eyes filled with tears then, and I felt bad because the last thing I wanted was to make her cry. “Bo,” she said with effort. “This is me. If this can’t even hold onto the affections of a poorly educated underachieving tire salesman who’d rather be with a fickle stripper who’s broken his heart a hundred times, then there is no hope for me. None. And don’t look at me that way! I absolutely know how pathetic that sounds. But I’m feeling pathetic at the moment because the other side of my great worth, according to my mama, is keeping my parents’ love life rocking.” She slumped down onto the bed and rubbed her temples. “And on top of that, I’m almost certain there is a nest of pit vipers slithering around in my head.”
I swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by the sight of this girl so hurt and hurting, so battered by her own low opinion of herself, that my heart started to pound and my palms got sweaty. But this was a different kind of panic than I was used to. This panic was like seeing someone drowning and being too terrified of the water to jump in and help her. I sort of gasped. “Ivy! You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared, Bo,” she sighed, still rubbing. “I may have exaggerated a bit about the snakes in my head.”
I groaned a little. “Not that—but I am sorry about your headache. I’m talking about Tim. And I have to know…Would you…Are you really telling me that if he crawled back today—after everything he’s done, knowing everything he is…Would you really take him back?”
She stared up at me, and a sob tore from her throat.
“Answer me.”
“Stop it, Bo. Just leave me alone. Please!” She coughed. But then the floodgates opened, and she was crying again. Without really thinking, I sat down next to her and took her hands. “Would you? Would you take him back if he asked you?” I probed with an insistence that surprised me.
She was trembling, almost deflating as she hung her head. “No,” she finally whimpered. “No. No, I couldn’t.”
I’d been holding my breath, I realized. But as I blew it out, I pulled her close, and she fell against me and sobbed. It took a few seconds to realize that she was actually in my personal space where absolutely no one was allowed. She seemed to sense that at the same time I did and tried to pull back, but I didn’t let go of her, and somehow it was okay. “Well, now you know,” I said into her ear. “Now you know.”
She looked up at me with her beautiful, agony-filled eyes. “Thank you, Bo. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”
“Like what?”
“You, know…all unraveled and tragic . Pathetic.”
“That’s not what I see, Ivy. I see a nice girl going through something brutal. That’s all. You’re not any of those things.”
“Bo Sutton, you are sweeter than sugar on honey, but…but what if I am? That stuff?”
“Ivy, if you could see yourself through…” I sighed, desperate to make her understand. “Ivy, do you know who Prue Sarn is yet? Prudence Sarn?” I asked.
“No.”
“Kester Woodseaves?”
She shook her head.
“You really need to read Precious Bane . Prue, the amazing Prue, sees only her flaws. She can’t believe when the weaver falls completely and utterly in love with her despite them.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes at me, and I suddenly felt overly exposed. What was I doing? I cleared my throat, desperate for escape. Any escape.
“I’m intrigued,” she said. “I’ll start it tonight. If I can ever get rid of this headache. ”
And there it was. “Oh, well…that’s actually the real reason I came by.”
“What?”
“You were in my medicine cabinet.”
She palmed her temple. “Mia said it was okay. I took some of your Ibuprofen. And I almost borrowed a couple of your Xanax, but I didn’t think you could spare them.” She tried to smile. “How come you have so much of that? I think I counted nine bottles.”
I felt myself redden and chuckled to cover it. “Uh, it’s prescribed for me, with a refill every month. I try not to take it very often, but because I’m me, I refill it, so I won’t run out.”
Ivy nodded, then grimaced at the pain in her head. “Not much chance of that,” she squinted.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just have a Tim-and-Angela-and-baby-sized headache wrapped in a mom’s-mean-letter migraine. That’s all.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m sorry to barge in here when you’re just trying to rest. I was just…I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” I said, not planning to say it.
“Bo, why? Why should you care?”
For a moment I didn’t respond, I just stared at her. “Because…you are my friend, Ivy,” I finally said. “And I don’t have too many of those. That’s why.”
Ivy’s face filled with emotion, and for a long time she just looked at me. “You are so sweet, Bo Sutton,” she said at length. “Brace yourself, because I’m gonna kiss you now. But just on the cheek, so you don’t need to freak out.”
“You don’t have to…do…”
“Shhh,” she scolded. “This is what people like me do when they’re found digging their own grave and sweet people like you come along and pry the shovel away. We thank ’em. So, thank you, Bo. Thank you for being my friend. ”
She kissed me then, softly, on the cheek, and lingered there a bit longer than necessary. It was nice, and though it made me anxious, it was a good anxious, if there is such a thing, and I didn’t freak out.
I definitely did not freak out.