29. time for a change
CHAPTER 29
TIME FOR A CHANGE
IVY
I stare up at the ceiling, counting the paint chips, while fireflies swarm worryingly in my belly.
Five weeks since the redundancy (yes, I’m counting).Three whole weeks since I’ve started working again, fulfilling the role of one point five people for a company that will cut me as soon as they need to maximize their portfolio value.
See, I’m enthusiastic! I don’t know what Mom’s talking about.
My weekends have become sacred again, a liminal space where I shed the constraints of Office Ivy and take a look at the chaotic jumble that lies beneath. I thought I’d know myself better by now.
Maybe the inescapable horror of answering Slack calls until the day I die has eroded all the interesting parts away.
I kick the sheets off. No. I refuse to let this beat me.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Emma would tell me to think it through, make a list of pros and cons, or at least sleep on it first. But I’m sick of feeling lost, of continuing to go through the motions without knowing who I am.
I have an opportunity here. I either take it or I don’t. Both are infinitely scary. But there’s only one that I really want.
I want to choose myself.
Change has been nipping at my heels, begging for my attention for years now. And I’ve kept it away through a strict diet of guilt and fear. Of the unknown. Of failing. But change didn’t wait for me to be prepared. And it knocked me on my ass, sick of being pushed aside.
So, okay. I’m not ignoring it anymore. Change is here, and I’m ready to admit I need it. This is my time . My shot. My chance to shed the past, chalk the ground, step into the new season of my life.
RIP to the old, safe, responsible me.
Now I want to experience. To see for myself what I’ve only ever read about. There’s a yellow (blond?) brick road ahead of me, and I want to follow.
If I only get this one chance, I want to be the kind of person who says yes.
Who can rest at the end of it all, knowing I took that step. Ventured. Explored.
I wish Mom could understand.
She gave up time with us so she could put us through school, commiserate with other moms about the lives they put on pause, the vacations they dreamed of, the dreams they let go of.
All the “somedays” and “nevers.”
Well, now is my someday, and I don’t want to let it go by.
I’m done letting her worries become my worries. I’ve spent years doing the sensible thing, and all I’m asking for is this one tiny thing.
I pull the claw clip from my hair, touch the paper-thin ends that fall around my face.
This isn’t just for the Ivy staring back at me.
It’s for the little girl who picked up a brush and practiced interviews before bed.
Who taught herself dance moves and performed at Christmas like it was a world tour.
Who sat in the dark and wondered if her own life would ever be as magical as the musicals she loved.
I couldn’t do much for the little girl I used to be, but I can do this.
As I knew she would, Emma answers before the second ring.
“I’m about to do something wild. Would you come with me?”
“Ivy, you effervescent sunflower. That you could ever think the answer would be a no is an insult.”
I laugh. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
It will go down as the perfect day.
The sunshine, the feeling of being on the cusp of a new era. The riptide of a drastic decision made knowing there’s no turning back.
Regret doesn’t have a place here. Not anymore.
I’ve been coming to Jen’s salon for years now. It’s bold and energizing, with earthy browns and oranges filling the small space. Four chairs face huge wood-framed floor mirrors. There’s music playing throughout, which occasionally becomes karaoke when the right song comes on.
Jen greets us with hugs and deposits me in the closest chair, examining the dead ends I’ve been ignoring. “What are you after today? The usual wash and trim?”
I stare myself down in the mirror, the corner of my lip caught under my teeth, my hair falling straight and strong over my shoulders. A rising tide of adrenaline washes over me.
I want to do this. I need to.
I take a deep breath. “How would you feel about cutting it all off?” I ask.
Her reaction is gleeful, her hands stilling in my hair for only a beat before she’s petting, testing, appraising. “Yes,” she says, dragging out the word in pure joy. “Are you sure?”
I nod. As sure as Jonathon Groff spitting on the front row. “Positive. And no more straightening.” It’s time.
She smiles ear to ear as she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Are we embracing the wave, finally?” Her hips wiggle behind me.
If I wasn’t already bursting with excitement, I would be now.
It’s what I’ve wanted for years. I’ve imagined saying yes before, even been tempted once or twice, but I’ve always backed out at the last minute, hearing my mother’s voice in my ear.
But I’m ready, and I’m tired of denying myself.
“Do it. I want to be more Me.”
Jen places her hands on my shoulders, her tone warm and reassuring. “Babe, you’re about to be the best version of you.”
I look over at Emma, whose smile is wide and encouraging. A wave of giddiness hits me, and I know, without a doubt, this is the start of something good.
“What are we waiting for, then?”
It’s been so long since I’ve lingered in the now.
Since I had the luxury to exist longer than the scant hours between Friday afternoon and Monday morning or moved through the world with intention, not running through the weekend because I know the second I look, time will be up, because it’s Sunday night and screw doing the dishes because there are only a few more hours before work, and I don’t want to waste them doing chores.
There’s responsibility in not taking life for granted. The urge to hold these moments in my bare hands and create. Birth something new. Do something exciting.
It’s the sort of restlessness I haven’t indulged since I was a kid, where whole days could be set aside for a single endeavor. Today’s a pool day, tomorrow, we’ll race our bikes— a world of minutes ahead of us.
How many have I spent since, staring at a clock? White-knuckling a Bluetooth mouse when the reply came back with my name misspelled? Or pulling Emma away from her desk at lunch because I can’t go another second without a real, meaningful conversation. Anything to remember there’s more to me, more to life, than a KPI.
“How did your staycation go?” I ask her now, while Jen is busy washing my hair.
Charlie and I agree on many things. Namely that Emma is the fucking best, but also that good vacations don’t need a death trap in the sky to get you there (recent experiences excluded).
“It was…” Her pause is so loud I don’t have to see her to know she’s blushing. “Perfect. The cabin was beautiful. Charlie drove me out to this lookout, and the view… Ivy, I was speechless. Zeus adored having so much space to run around. It was exactly what we needed.”
When I’m done, Jen wraps my hair up in the towel and walks me back to the chair.
My damp hair hangs by my face, and I take a slow breath as the snip-snip-snip of her scissors cuts the bulk of it away, the cold brush of metal against my jaw sending goose bumps down my neck. I let my eyes fall closed while she works.
“How are you feeling about work?” Emma asks from the seat beside me.
I sigh. “The same. New company, same shit. I just… I know that answering phones and making appointments aren’t what I want to be doing, but I still don’t know what that is.”
“You’ll find it. I believe in you,” she says, and I know it’s the truth.
“Sorry,” I say, “I don’t want to keep harping on my stuff all the time.”
“Don’t be silly. That’s what I’m here for. You listened to me when everything with Charlie was going on. And Logan, for that matter.”
But it’s easier when it’s not me. “Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept,” I say. “Penelope says I should take stock of everything in my life that I’m grateful for. Focus on that to counterbalance what work can’t provide.”
As the wet hair falls away, I remember strolling the boulevard with Astrid, fresh spring air in my lungs, waking up a little more with each breath.
“Therapists usually know what they’re talking about,” Emma says, her tone soft and warm. When we first met, stuck in the same BS workshop for the day, I was fascinated by her— a little distant, a little spiky, downright gorgeous— but in minutes, I realized how much more there was to her. A tongue as sharp as her mind, and underneath it all, a big, squishy heart. “Let me grab my phone,” and I hear her rummaging around in her bag. “Okay, let’s make a list.”
“Don’t ever change,” I laugh, but I take a deep breath and don’t overthink it. “Top of the list is you, obviously, and Fil. Mom and Ciara, definitely.” Arguments come and go, but we’ve stuck together this long. We’ll get through this too. “I’m grateful for my body,” I add. “This flesh sack puts up with a lot.” Including that awful year of college where I subsisted on diet soda and no sleep. “But it’s also strong as fuck?—”
“And beautiful,” Emma adds.
“That goes without saying.” I’m determined to love this body in every way I can, and while I can’t complete a pull-up to save my life, my ass is flat-out dangerous, and I love it.
“I’m going to go ahead and add brave , creative , and a wonderful friend , and don’t even think of arguing, because they are facts, not opinions.”
Thankfully my eyes are already closed, because it’s easier to hold back the tears. Penelope was right. This is exactly what I needed. I might have to time my showers to keep my bills down and track grocery sales to make every cent count, but I am rich with the parts of life that outweigh money.
“Do you think I should learn to crochet?” Maybe learning something new will help. Plus, Bruno in 37F is expecting his first grandchild soon, and baby booties can’t be that hard, right?
“I think you can do anything you put your mind to,” Emma says, proving she’s the human equivalent of a sugar cookie.
My foot taps in rhythm with Jen’s cuts. Snip, snip, snip.
Nonna used to warn me against impatience. She hated teaching me to make pasta from scratch, because I’d hover over the pot, continuously checking for al dente too soon. “Trust the wait,” she’d say.
I still can’t. I want to find what I’m searching for, and I want to do it as soon as possible. Why put off happiness? Take it now, because we never know how long we have to enjoy it.
Except rushing the pasta before it was fully cooked always made it take twice as long, and it never once tasted as good as hers.
I don’t plan to keep my eyes closed, but by the time Jen is tapping my shoulder and telling me she’s finished, it’s as though no time has passed.
My heart stutters when I finally open my eyes, and I blink back hot tears.
“There you are,” Jen says, fluffing the ends of my now chin-length waves.
Yes. There I am.
For a second, all I can do is blink at my own reflection. It’s been so long since I’ve seen myself like this— short wild hair, full of volume and life.
Huh. I’d forgotten I looked like this.
Warmth floods my veins. It’s like coming home.
My smile arrives on a fresh wave of happiness. I’m shocked I haven’t floated away.
This is me. Suddenly the shaky ground I’ve been teetering on solidifies under me, a brick laid in place, secure. Ready for more.
I can almost see the steel set in my own eyes. This is act one. Now I just have to figure out the rest.
“Oh, Ivy. You’re radiant. More so than usual. I can’t believe I’ve never seen you without straight hair before.”
Emma gives the kind of compliments that warm like the summer sun, forever soaking themselves into my skin and etching their presence on my heart like a love note on a tree.
Jen’s cut is so precise I can’t even hide my blush under the sweep of my hair anymore.
I can’t even let myself imagine what Lincoln’s reaction will be, otherwise I will melt into a puddle so large they could use me to power wash the floor.
“I love it,” I manage through a giggle. I can’t help it. The happiness is bubbling up in me like a kid blowing into a milkshake. “It’s perfect.”
“Your boyfriend’s going to love it,” Jen jokes as I pay, and though I’m smiling, I shake my head.
“No,” I say. “This is all for me.”