Chapter 23
Ivy
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely pull the seat belt across me. My mom doesn’t say anything as she drives, her profile calm and steady as she lets me cry in the passenger seat. My breath comes in short, uneven bursts, each one scraping against my throat.
I keep seeing Junie’s body pressed to Remy’s. I keep hearing Remy’s voice, cold and sharp, telling me he didn’t need me, and this was my fault.
God, I thought we were a team. I love him, and I love Junie so much.
I thought he knew how much I love them and would never intentionally do anything that would put Junie in jeopardy.
And I thought he loved me. But when he said that part about me being the nanny and that was what I was supposed to do and not work at the farm and be distracted, he was right.
And I should have focused. I should have kept her safe.
I messed up. That part he’s not wrong about.
But I won’t be treated like that. I won’t live again the way I did with Derek. I thought Remy was different. But did the mask slip? Did he show me who he really is?
The thoughts wash over me, but deep down I know it’s not true. That’s not Remy…that’s not who he is. He is good, and he wouldn’t do this. This was simply a horrible situation where he lost it, and he needs to apologize.
I just don’t know if that’s going to be enough.
Something that hit me when we lost Junie was whether or not I’m good enough to be there for her and take care of her. What’s going to keep me from possibly doing something like this again? Maybe this was a sign that it’s time to leave. Move on. Get out before I get even closer to anyone.
Because I broke my own rules. I got too close. I caught major feelings. And I thought he did, too.
I need space. I need time to figure out what I want.
Because one thing that I know for sure is that I will never stay in a place where I’m not wanted ever again.
I won’t just be someone’s option. I want to be their choice.
Their everything. Maybe I am a hopeless romantic and believe in all of these romance books I read—so what?
That’s what I believe. And I will find that kind of love.
I thought I already had. But does love treat others that way when times get hard?
Does love freak out when something hard happens?
Yes. Yes, it does, I think to myself. Because that is what real life and love looks like.
I know that. I don’t want a fake or boring love.
I want the passion, the realness, and the making up.
I want Remy to make up with me. And not just with a simple I’m sorry.
I want him to show me. Fight for me. He’s going to have to show me that if he wants me back. Period.
I wrap my arms around myself and press my forehead to the cold window, watching the snow swirl in the headlights. Mom reaches over and gives my knee a squeeze. It’s not much, but it keeps me from flying apart completely.
When we pull up to her house, the porch light is glowing warm against the dark. Willa and Rowan are waiting just inside, coats still on, two mugs of tea steaming on the counter.
The minute I step inside, Willa wraps me in a hug.
“He told me he didn’t need me,” I choke out. “In front of everyone. Like I was nothing.”
“Oh, honey.” Willa pulls me closer. “That man was hurting and scared. But that was messed up.”
“Yeah, it was,” Rowan says from the doorway, arms crossed. “Want me to punch him?”
That almost makes me laugh, but the sound turns into another sob.
“Sit down,” Mom says gently. She steers me to the couch and tucks one of her quilts around my shoulders like I’m eight years old again. And I let her, because I’m just so freaking sad.
The three of them stay with me while I cry it out, Rowan sitting cross-legged on the floor, Willa rubbing circles on my back, Mom quiet but solid at my side.
When my sobs finally slow to hiccups, Mom says, “He was just scared, Ivy. That doesn’t excuse what he said. But fear makes people lash out in stupid ways. I’ve seen that man take on a lot without blinking, but nothing scares a parent more than losing their child.”
“I know he was scared,” I whisper, staring at my hands. “So was I. But he made me feel like I didn’t belong there. Like I was just…in the way.”
“You’re not in the way,” Willa says fiercely. “You are part of that family now, whether he can see straight or not at all right now through what he’s going through. He loves you.”
Rowan leans her chin on her hand. “You know what this is, right? The part in every Hallmark movie where the hero screws up right before he realizes he’s in love.”
“You’ve been talking to Donna. This isn’t a movie,” I say, voice sharp. “And I thought he already realized he loved me. Maybe I was just the nanny. Just the person who watched his kid.”
“Right,” Rowan clips sarcastically. “You guys can work this out. Give him a minute to figure this all out. You just have to let him crawl first. Make him grovel. Maybe beg a little.”
Willa snorts and tosses a pillow at her. “You might be wrong, Rowan. Maybe Remy isn’t it for Ivy.”
“I am right,” Rowan says. “I’m saying this isn’t over. He loves her. You think he’s just gonna sit at that farm and sulk? Please. That man is probably losing his mind with regret right now.”
I bite my lip, because the image of Remy pacing the kitchen, wearing a groove in the floor, hits me square in the chest.
Willa still looks mad on my behalf, “I would hex him, but I do like Remy. But he’s an ass for how he treated you today.”
“Drink your tea,” Mom says softly. “Tonight you rest. Tomorrow, you can decide what comes next. Everyone just needs to cool down and have a little space.”
Later, after I’ve tucked myself into my old room, I sit on the edge of the bed staring at the quilt, lost in thought. Everything here is neat and quiet. Familiar. And yet it feels empty. I miss Remy and Junie. I hope she’s snuggled up with Lola, and she’s making her feel better.
I won’t get to fall asleep with Remy holding me and wake up to his arms around me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get to do any of these things ever again.
This might really just be over for us. It doesn’t feel that way, but then again, I know that life can change on a dime.
People leave, die, and we don’t get a say.
Maybe I’ve been right at pushing people away and keeping my heart safe.
Safe felt…okay…safe felt boring. And lonely.
Remy felt like a chance. He felt exciting and great.
Sometimes the punches just keep punching. And we have to take them. And this is why I barely trust my heart with anyone. And I’m kicking myself for trusting it with Remy. Because this hurts.
I think about the photos I hung up around the house. How I didn’t put a single one of myself on the walls. Was Remy right? Was some part of me still holding back, still ready to run when it got hard? Did I subconsciously lie to him and to myself? God, I am an idiot for even trying with him.
Tears well again, but I brush them away. I don’t want to run. Not really. I want to stay.
The thought is terrifying and plain as day. I want them.
But does he want me?
A knock sounds softly on the door. Mom slips in carrying two mugs of her herbal tea that helps with sleep every time like a charm. Tea is the answer to most everything with mom. Had a bad day at school? Tea. A boy broke your heart? Tea. Always tea.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks. “I saw you didn’t eat much, so I made you a sandwich.”
I shake my head. “Just too upset to eat anything.”
She sits on the bed beside me, handing me a mug. “Ivy, I know this feels awful right now. But sometimes the worst nights are the ones that teach us who we really are and what we want.”
“What if what I want doesn’t want me?” My voice cracks on the words.
She squeezes my hand. “From where I’m standing, that man would burn down the world for you to make this right. He just hasn’t figured out how yet.”
My throat aches. “What if I can’t forgive him?”
“Then you can’t. Forgiveness isn’t something you owe anyone. But don’t make that decision tonight. Sleep first. See how the sun feels in the morning.”
I don’t sleep much. When I do, I dream of Junie sitting in the goat pen crying for me, her little mittened hands reaching out. I wake with a start, tears streaming down my face, heart hammering, and grab a pen and paper.
I write her a note before I lose my nerve:
Bug, I love you. You were so brave yesterday. I’m proud of you. I’ll see you soon. Everything will be okay.
I don’t know if any of that is true. I don’t want to get her hopes up. But I can’t imagine how confusing all of this is to her right now. Remy wanted me to leave. He made it clear he was angry, and that was my fault. I did what he asked. And now Junie is paying for this the most, and I hate this.
I fold it carefully and set it out to give to Donna to bring to her.
In the morning, Willa and Rowan are waiting at the kitchen table with coffee and slices of quiche.
“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” Rowan says.
“Thanks,” I mutter, sitting down.
Willa nudges the plate toward me. “Eat something. You’re no good to anyone if you fall over.”
I take a bite but barely taste it. “I keep hearing her cry. I keep thinking about the look on her face when I left.”
“Then go see her,” Willa says simply.
“It’s not that easy.”
Rowan shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be easy. You can do it even if it’s hard. What’s he going to do? Keep you from seeing his kid? He messed up, not Junie. She shouldn’t have to be punished because her dad’s being a dumbass.”
“Or you could just talk to him,” Mom suggests.
I stare at my coffee. “I still don’t know what to say to him.”
“Good,” Rowan says. “Make him do the talking. He shouldn’t have been a dickhead.”
Willa smiles softly. “Give him a chance to fix it, Ivy. For you and for Junie. Last night I wasn’t so sure that this was going to work out. But I did some thinking and talked to Tate. For what it’s worth, Tate says Remy’s a wreck right now.”
That night, after the house is quiet, I sit at the window with a blanket around my shoulders and watch the snow fall. It doesn’t look like the tree farm and how it’s become home.
And I realize that, for the first time in my life, I want to go home.
Not to my mom’s house, but to the tree farm where Remy and Junie are. Wherever Remy and Junie are, that’s where I want to be. Where my place at the table is waiting, whether I believe I deserve it or not.
I press my face into the blanket and cry quietly until there are no tears left, homesick for a place that I’m not sure is really home.