18. a little advice
CHAPTER 18
A LITTLE ADVICE
IVY
The main street is wonderfully devoid of franchises, instead lined with local shops with handwritten signs outside. A leather shop promises that “all our cows are vegan.” Another hanging outside a small jeweler notes the “husband drop-off point.” It’s all so quaint. All that’s missing is the city girl who is out of her depth.
Oh shit, it’s me, isn’t it?
We keep walking, past soap stores that smell divine and a jewelry maker. “It’s really beautiful here,” I say.
Astrid nods. “It is. After Simon and I got married, we lived here for a while. Found this gorgeous little house that had been left to rot. I almost wept when I saw the state of the cast-iron fireplace upstairs. But oh,” she touches her heart, “the potential. We signed immediately and got to work fixing it up.” Her eyes have a faraway look in them like Mom gets when she talks about dad. “Simon’s work took us back to London while I was still pregnant with Reed, but as soon as he was able, he had a replica made for me.” She smiles, as delicate as a bluebird, and I just know there’s a story there worth hearing. “A piece of advice? Marry a romantic.”
I swallow down my reaction at the M-word, hiding my flush while I enter the little boutique Astrid’s led me to. It’s bursting with wall-to-wall color. Crocheted rainbow socks, sand-casted gold jewelry, beaded phone holders, artisanal hats with brims Carmen Sandiego would kill for, what I can only describe as the cuntiest sunglasses I’ve ever seen, and… the list goes on. “I’m not sure I’ll ever marry, but thank you.”
“I can honestly say I don’t blame you,” she says while trying on a pair of thick tortoise-shell sunglasses. “The piece of paper isn’t as important as the love you feel, and between you and me, it’s a huge pain in the ass to get rid of.”
Surprised laughter explodes out of me. I had no idea Astrid could swear.
“But,” she says, dragging out the word with a light tone that clashes with the very direct look she’s giving me. “You don’t always need a ring. You could always, say, leave your mark another way.”
Damn. Her memory is a steel trap.
“Yes, well…” I clear my throat, picking up a pair of octopus studs that Ciara would love. “I don’t even know how serious Lincoln and I are yet.” Mostly because we’re not really a couple and haven’t gotten our stories straight.
“Ivy, he moved here, which I never thought he’d do, and with the way he looks at you, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Guilt drags the contents of my breakfast down into the center of the earth. Great, now his family thinks the only reason he came back is me, when I had nothing to do with it. “It really wasn’t me that he moved for. Family means a lot to him.”
I don’t need to know him to see that.
“That’s sweet, but you don’t have to save my feelings. I know how Lincoln feels about us.” Astrid sounds so defeated my heart cracks like thin ice under the weight of it.
Now would be the time to own up to the lie. If I wasn’t so afraid to make things worse. “What was he like as a kid?” I ask instead.
She smiles, soft and fond. “Much the same, only smaller.”
I can barely imagine it. I just assumed he’d exited the womb as a mini-Viking.
“He’s always been more willing to throw himself into the unknown,” she adds, putting the sunglasses down and moving down the aisle. The owner, Benson (no relation to the titular Octavia, apparently), smiles as we pass him. “It’s admirable, and a lesson I’ve tried hard to learn myself in the last few years. Risks haven’t always come easy for me, but Lincoln reminds me they’re worth it.”
“He’s a good man.” I know in my gut I’m right, which only makes me feel worse about the situation I’ve put him in.
My heart burns in my chest. I’m the reason he’s lying to her.
There’s a long pause. “He is. Though I’m not sure he sees it. I’ve missed him dearly, but I understand why he chose to stay. He and his father have always been very close.”
I hear what she isn’t saying. “When I was a kid, I couldn’t relate to people who were best friends with their parents. It seemed so strange. Then Ciara started middle school, and every day, she’d make me walk her to the bus stop so we could meet Mom after work. The whole way home, they’d talk. About their days, Ciara’s classes, Mom’s coworkers, all kinds of stuff.”
“It’s difficult to be the odd one out.”
I shrug. “They have more in common, so it’s okay.”
Astrid smiles knowingly. “Have you ever talked to them about it?”
“Have you?”
“Touché,” she says. “Simon and I worked very hard to ensure that the kids stayed close. My siblings and I don’t see eye to eye, you see, and things really took a turn when my father passed. It hurts me to see the boys as distant as they are.”
I pause at a display of beaded bracelets in a combination of colors that each represent a queer flag, all beautifully handmade. “They were different when they were younger, I’m guessing?”
“Very.” She holds up a pair of earrings, admires them with a tilt of her head. “You’ll see in June. They have a way of bringing it out of each other.”
June? I can’t imagine Lincoln will still want to keep up this charade in two months’ time, but I just have to know. “What’s in June?”
Astrid blinks. “The big birthday reunion,” she states like a known fact. Because of course Lincoln’s real girlfriend would know that. “You’ll come, of course.”
Shit.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, forcing a smile, because what the hell else am I supposed to say? Sorry, two months is a long time to lie to my fake boyfriend’s family, and he’ll definitely have a new girlfriend by then ?
Lincoln can cross that bridge himself. That is, if he hasn’t thrown me out of the plane on the way back.
Astrid moves to the back of the store where there’s a small shoe rack of boots on sale. She takes a seat on a footstool and taps the one beside it. “It’s lucky that you were off today.”
Right. The job that I definitely still have. I really should stop forgetting about that. It would have come in real handy sixty seconds ago to explain why I can’t go to the reunion. Sitting beside her, I fake a cough. “If anyone asks, I’m sick.”
She chuckles, toeing off her flats to try on a pair of tan ankle boots. “Well, then, I’d say the fresh air is doing you a world of good.”
I wonder what all this lying is doing to me.
“So,” I say. “I know Lincoln’s dad is a painter, but I’m sad to say I don’t know what you do for work.”
“I’m long retired, even though I indulge Reed on occasion. But when I did work, I was an environmental lawyer.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Wow, I would never have guessed.
She hands me a pair of black slouchy boots, miraculously in my size. There’s embossed detailing and a sturdy gold zipper. I hope they’re uncomfortable as shit because they’re so gorgeous I want to cry, and I’m too stressed about money right now to let myself buy them.
Astrid slips her ballet flats back on. “I can’t tell you how many times Simon had to talk me out of quitting in a rage.”
“I know the feeling. There’s a shower argument I’ve been winning for three years running.” My boss at the time refused me a raise on the basis that I “didn’t present professionally enough.” So I did what any overdramatic, petty person does. I turned it up to eleven.
In hindsight, the redundancy may have been justified.
“Arguments are best had in the car,” Astrid says. “Never waste the acoustics of a bathroom when there are songs to be sung.”
“I don’t think my neighbors need to be subjected to me ruining ‘At the End of the Day’ any more frequently than they already do,” I joke, and Astrid laughs loud enough to startle Benson.
“If high notes don’t scare you, you should try ‘Think of Me.’ It’s my personal favorite.”
I slip the boots on. Dammit, they’re a perfect fit.
“Oh, they suit you perfectly,” she says. I walk over to the mirror to see she’s right. It’s a shame I can never own them. “Have you always been a fan of the theater?”
“Always. When I was nine, I wanted to be a fly operator. I got a library card solely to borrow Stella Adler’s Art of Acting . One Christmas, Ciara and I got Barbies, and I made her wait a week to play with them so I could ‘get their backstories in order.’ She still brings it up.”
Astrid laughs. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about Stella in years. Uncle Val, my mother’s brother, worked in the theater. Did Lincoln tell you that?”
I shake my head.
She smiles down at her hands. “He took me backstage once, put a headset on me, let me watch from the wings.” Her mouth twists at one side. “I miss him a lot.”
“What happened?”
Astrid clears her throat. “It was a heart attack, which came as a surprise because he was very particular about what he ate. I was twenty-two, if you can believe it.” She touches her fingers to the pendant on her necklace, and suddenly, she looks very small.
Heartbroken.
“Simon was with me when I got the news,” she says. “It was our second date. Simon had taken me to this beautiful restaurant that he’d saved up three weeks’ pay for, and when the mains arrived, I burst into tears all over my monkfish.”
My eyes burn hot.
The music changes in the store, something pop-y I don’t recognize. It clashes with the moment, but I can’t exactly go over and ask them to change it. I’ve tried that once before, and they did not appreciate it.
Astrid moves slowly along the table, eyes lowered to the earring display, but the faraway lilt in her voice tells me she’s not really seeing them. I keep close, not wanting to miss a single word.
“He stayed up with me all night,” Astrid says. “Asked me all about him. Didn’t say a word when I ruined his best shirt with my mascara.” She smiles. “I think I fell in love with him in that moment.”
As soon as the boots are off my feet, Astrid walks them over to Benson. “Add these to my bill.”
“Astrid, I can’t let you?—”
She places her hand on my arm, her smile filled with a pleading that makes my heart squeeze. “Please let me. I’ve already crashed your date, and I’ve enjoyed getting to spend some time with you. Accept it as my thank-you for entertaining me.”
My mouth flaps uselessly until it’s obvious I’m going to give in. I nod. “Thank you.”
She hands me the boots. “It’s my pleasure.”
I’m speechless. Without hesitating, I step forward and wrap my arms around her.
Astrid startles. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” I wonder how often she gets hugged. Even at my maddest, I never went to bed without kissing my mother good night. Slowly, Astrid hugs back. “Thank you, Ivy. I’m so happy my son brought you into our lives.”
Guilt sours on my tongue, and I slip out of her hold. I really hate lying to her.