13. Ivy
Ivy
Hawke: Do you know how many times I slipped because of that oil?! Water and oil do not mix.
T hat was the last message I received from Hawke. It’s been two days, and I haven’t bothered to reply. But it amuses me to think about how many times he landed on his ass, spread eagle.
My father presses a kiss on my mother’s cheek as she shows me her recent design for a new office in Dubai. I’ve only partied in Dubai a few times, but if Mom’s setting up there for a few months, I might have an excuse to join her. For moral support, of course.
My mother has continued building her interior design empire over the years and is excited to create a new office space.
She’s selective when it comes to the projects she personally takes on.
While she loves her work, she and my father also enjoy the freedom to flit off on trips whenever they please.
They’re the ones who’ve curated my unquenchable thirst for travel.
Though we spent most of my early childhood in Manhattan, we also often traveled to London, the two main office locations my mother worked out of as she continued expanding her business.
My mother’s lips curve into a smile as she gazes up at my father, who’s sporting a few more grays lately. I enjoy giving him shit for it, and I’m certain the only reason he hasn’t dyed his hair out of vanity is because my mother said she likes the silver fox look.
“This is the new space I’m drafting,” she says, handing me the tablet. I zoom in on the design. It’s elegant and unique.
“It looks nice,” I tell her, enjoying my chai tea. “The staircase is cool.”
She smiles, and my father quickly says, “The stairs were my idea.”
“Yes, good job, dear.” She pats his head, and I roll my eyes at how he enjoys the obvious praise.
My parents have a beautiful marriage. They’re one another’s best friends, and I grew up in a household that prioritized freedom to have fun.
It’s mostly where I learned to become mischievous and a slight prankster.
But on top of that, they always spoke to me like an adult, educating me on anything that piqued my interest and encouraging my excitement around certain subjects. I was like a sponge.
I’m not opposed to the idea of having a partner in crime, like they have with each other.
There just hasn’t been a man who can keep my attention long enough for me to even consider not being able to live without them.
It’d be nice to have a man look at me the way my father looks at my mother—with undeniable devotion and respect.
Men worship me, but it’s only surface-level.
They worship my body, which, up until now, has been perfect for my needs.
Until that changes, I’m going to continue to live life the way I want to live it.
People judge me, sure. But the fact of the matter is, I don’t really care.
The only opinions I care about are those of the people who love me.
One of my favorite quotes goes along the lines of: everyone has an opinion, just like they have an asshole . It’s kind of become my mantra in life.
I finish the chai tea as I make a couple of tweaks and suggestions to the office design.
I don’t have an eye like my mother, but it’s almost encouraged that my father and I make minor contributions.
Every time she keeps a suggestion of ours, I think it’s her way of having a little bit of us and her home in each project.
“Any recent conquests?” my mother asks, and she always purposely does it in front of my father. It’s been an ongoing joke for years now to make him uncomfortable with those types of questions. He groans in complaint.
Out of nowhere, the memory of Hawke between my legs flashes into my mind, and I’m quick to push it away.
I haven’t seen him since he broke into my apartment.
And I’ve been doing my best to avoid him, simply for the fact that I can’t get him out of my head, which is torturous and all-consuming.
I sometimes contemplate making a friends-with-benefits arrangement with him, but I feel if I say anything, it will boost his ego even more.
And anyone who meets him already knows how big his ego is, and he doesn’t need anyone to stroke it for him.
I’ve also managed to keep myself from hacking into cameras again, not only because he knows I was doing it but because I think I need to separate myself from him.
“I think it’s actually getting serious with a guy I recently met. He enjoys bird watching,” I deadpan, and my mother and I look at my father, who pales.
“A what?” he grits out in his thick British accent.
I try to keep my expression neutral.
“You know. Like, he’ll go and watch birds for hours and take photos of them; he also made me this super-cute friendship bracelet. So, I’m pretty sure it’s escalating quickly. He doesn’t want to have sex before marriage, so maybe we’ll have a quick wedding, you know?”
“You’re fucking with me again, aren’t you.” His frantic gaze bounces between me and my mother, both of us trying not to break out into laughter.
“Maybe we should start picking out dresses,” she says, nodding agreeably.
“Over my dead body. You two think you’re so funny, but you’re not,” he grumbles as he leaves the room.
My mother and I look at each other and begin to laugh. “It’s just too easy,” I say, wiping away a tear.
She taps the tablet’s stylus on her chin. “Maybe next time we should go with a cowboy theme. Nothing will put a bee in his bonnet more than a countryman trying to take his little girl to the middle of nowhere on a farm.”
I can’t help but laugh as I spring off the chair when my father walks in with a basket of my clothes and places it on the counter.
My mother likes to iron clothes. I’m not really sure why.
My father tells me to let her do it when they’re in town because it makes her feel more involved in my life.
They don’t have to twist my arm to let her take of a chore I abhor anyway, so it’s become an excuse for me to come back home whenever I please, not that I really need one.
“Oh, there’s a small pile I have to iron quickly. One second,” my mother says as she hurries out of the room.
“You look beautiful, by the way. Where are you off to?” Dad says to me.
“A party. One of the girls I went to college with invited me. Good way to spend a Friday night,” I reply.
“Don’t let your mother pressure you into thinking you need a man because you don’t. If anything, I’d prefer you remain single for the rest of your days.”
I sarcastically nod my head. “Absolutely. It’s why I’ve sworn to remain a virgin.”
He cringes at how casually I say it, and I can’t help but laugh. I love riling him up like this. It’s ironic because he tends to push everyone else’s buttons—forever a smartass—and yet my mother and I beat him at his own game.
“Be safe tonight,” he says, the same way he has since I was old enough to party.
I’ve never given them a reason not to trust me, even when I was younger. Sure, I’ve been impulsive when it came to some things, but nothing they haven’t thought I couldn’t handle myself. “Come over for dinner Sunday night before your mother and I fly out.”
“I’ll mark it on my calendar.” I beam at him.
“Here,” my mother says, coming back into the room and adding another two shirts to my basket of clothes. To be honest, I can’t even remember when I wore those last. She scoops me into a big hug. “Be safe and have a good night.”
“I’ll see you Sunday night,” I say, pressing a kiss on her cheek and then giving my father the same treatment.
As I’m in the elevator, riding down to the lobby from their penthouse, I look at my reflection in the mirrored back wall of the car.
My short blonde hair is straightened and slicked back, showcasing my large silver hoop earrings.
I live by the philosophy: the bigger the hoop, the bigger the ho.
They’ve become a staple piece in my wardrobe from the first time I heard that.
I’m wearing a short black dress that emphasizes my curves, with matching red-bottomed heels.
I absolutely love these heels; they’re one of my favorite pairs.
I look at the time on the Rolex my father gifted me on my sixteenth birthday.
It’s a must-wear every day. Everything else gets switched out, depending on my mood that day.
I’m late, but then again, I’m always late. I don’t usually do it intentionally. I just have a habit of misreading the time. Thankfully, for my career, I work on my own schedule, or otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d be fired.
My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out, noticing a missed call from Hawke. The guy’s persistent, but that’s not my problem. Tonight, I’m planning on getting laid. That will definitely wash away this weird fixation I have with Hawke as of late.