Chapter 23
A Very Jolly Pep Talk
Ivy
I’m nursing my second cup of terrible coffee when I hear the key turn in the lock.
I don’t even bother looking up from where I’m curled on Holly’s pristine white couch, wrapped in a cream-colored throw blanket.
The only splashes of color in this place are the painting Jack gave her for Christmas last year and the books on her groaning bookshelves.
“Oh good, you’re awake and miserable,” Merry announces, sweeping in with Holly right behind her. “We brought reinforcements.”
She holds up a bakery box emblazoned with her logo, Sweet Merry’s. It probably contains enough calories to sustain an Olympic swim team, if I know her.
“I’m not hungry,” I mutter.
“Well, you probably want something sweet anyway. I know Holly doesn’t keep sugar in the house.” Merry sets the box on the coffee table. “Because she’s a psychopath.”
Holly breezes past us into the kitchen, already arranging mugs. “Sugar would mask the intense, rich flavor of my coffee.”
“Your coffee tastes like regret,” Merry calls after her. “Because you take it black and bitter, like your heart.”
Despite my mood, I snort. Holly appears in the doorway holding a small basket. She sets it in front of me with exaggerated ceremony.
“I keep creamer and sugar on hand for Jack. Because unlike some people, I’m thoughtful about my partner’s needs.”
The pointed look she gives me is impossible to miss.
“Subtle,” I tell her.
“I’m done with subtle. Subtle went out the window at midnight when you texted to let us know you were sleeping here instead of at the cottage with Dash. You’re lucky I have so many spare keys.”
Merry claims the armchair and pulls an enormous frosted cinnamon roll from the box. “So. Post-mortem time. How bad was it?”
I dump an unseemly amount of cream into my coffee and watch it swirl. Then I spoon in plenty of sugar. “It wasn’t bad. You saw her at karaoke. Rachel was charming. Everyone loved her.”
“She was. So why is she at the cottage while you’re moping around my loft?” Holly settles onto the other end of the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her.
“I haven’t had a moment alone with Dash since she got here.
She dragged him off for a tour of the town, just the two of them.
And then, at karaoke, every time we tried to talk, she needed him for something.
” I take a cautious sip from my mug. Holly’s coffee is infinitely better now that it’s been doctored.
“And then I left without saying goodbye because I felt like I was in the way.”
“In the way of what?” Merry asks. “Your own boyfriend?”
“He’s not officially my boyfriend,” I correct. Then I pause. Or is he? My sisters snort in unison. “Or even if he is, I feel like I’m encroaching on their time together. She came all this way. She’s his mother. Of course he wants to spend time with her.”
Holly and Merry exchange a look.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Holly says, too innocently. “Except she didn’t just show up here. You invited her, and now you’re mad that she came.”
“I’m not mad—”
“You’re moping in my loft at eight in the morning, drinking coffee you lack the palate to appreciate, and radiating misery,” Holly interrupts. “That’s the Ivy version of mad.”
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I thought I was doing something nice. Giving him a real family Christmas. But now she’s here and I feel like ... like I don’t belong.”
“Did she make you feel that way?” Merry asks carefully. “Or did you make yourself feel that way?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it. Because the truth is, Rachel didn’t do anything overtly wrong. She was polite. Grateful, even, for being invited. So what’s my problem?
“It’s just a vibe,” I say finally. “I’m probably being paranoid.”
“Or,” Merry says slowly, “this woman you don’t really know is suddenly very present in your brand-new relationship. You’re allowed to feel weird about that.”
Holly nods. “Even if she’s lovely. Even if she’s his mother. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”
“But I’m the one who brought her here!” The words burst out of me, louder than I intended. “Like you said, I called her. And now I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself because she’s actually spending time with her son—which was the whole point of inviting her.”
“Two things can be true,” she says simply. “You can do a kind thing and still feel uncomfortable with the result.”
I slump back against the couch cushions. “I just thought ... I don’t know what I thought. That she’d be here and we’d all have this perfect Hallmark Christmas together.”
“Life’s not a Hallmark movie, Ivy,” Merry says gently. “Real relationships are messy. Real families are complicated. You invited his mother to town after fake dating him for less than a week.”
“Well, when you put it that way ….”
“It’s bizarre, actually.”
“I know.”
“Like, genuinely unhinged behavior.”
“I know!”
“We love you,” Holly adds quickly, “but this whole idea is completely out of character for you. We’re just trying to understand.”
I grab a marshmallow brownie from the box, mostly so I have something to do with my hands. “He told me they never had a real Christmas. That it was always just the two of them, working. That she sacrificed everything for his career. I wanted to give him something special.”
“That’s sweet,” Merry says. “It’s also a lot of pressure to put on a new relationship—real or fake.”
“And on yourself,” Holly adds. “You’re trying to be the perfect partner who does the perfect thing. But maybe what he needs isn’t perfect. Maybe what he needs is for you to be honest about how you feel.”
“I can’t tell him I’m uncomfortable with his mother being here. I invited her!”
“You can tell him you miss him,” Holly counters. “That you want to spend time with him. That you feel like you’re on the outside looking in.”
“That makes me sound needy.”
“It makes you sound human,” Merry says firmly. “Ivy, you’ve been killing yourself to be considerate. To give them space. To not be in the way. But you’re allowed to want to be with him.”
I take a bite of gooey brownie goodness and chew slowly. “I’m not sure she likes me.”
“Did she say something?” Holly’s immediately on alert.
“Not directly. But there was this moment when she asked if I really thought Dash could be happy here, and I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely asking or if she was implying that he’s couldn’t.”
“See, that feels pointed,” Merry says.
“Or it could have been a mother making conversation,” Holly argues. “Context matters. Tone matters. Was she hostile?”
“No. That’s what’s making me crazy. She’s pleasant and polite but it feels like she’s elbowing me out.”
Holly sets down her mug. “Okay. Real talk time. What are you actually afraid of?”
The question catches me off guard. I pull my knees up to my chest. “I’m afraid she’ll convince him that this—us, this town, this life—isn’t real. That it’s just a break from his real life.”
Merry shakes her head. “That won’t happen. Anyone who’s seen you two together can tell it’s real.”
“It started as fake,” I remind her.
“And then it became real,” she insists. “You told us. The night he shared your bed, when you asked him to stay—that was real. And yesterday when told you he wanted to stay in town longer, spend more time with you —real. And this morning when you woke up feeling like you’d made a mistake bringing his mother here—also real.
It’s all real. The good and the uncomfortable. ”
I press my palms against my eyes. “What do I do?”
“You give them space today,” Holly says. “You let them have their time together but you claim your time, too. At the gingerbread contest, you show up as Ivy. Not as his fake girlfriend, the town ambassador, or the perfect hostess. Just you.”
“And if his mom tags along?”
“Then she tags along. And you’re polite and kind because that’s who you are.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But you don’t disappear. You don’t make yourself small. You finally started taking up space. Don’t backslide now.”
Merry weighs in. “The point is, you can’t protect yourself and build something real at the same time. You have to choose.”
I stare into my coffee. “What if I choose wrong?”
“Then you learn something. But running away last night? Sleeping here instead of talking to him? That’s also a choice. And I don’t think it’s the one you actually want to make.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I left without saying goodbye because I was scared. Because watching him with his mother made me feel like an outsider, and instead of staying and claiming my place, I disappeared.
“Plus,” Holly adds, “Jack and I are not spending another night on your lumpy mattress so Rachel can stay in the cottage. If she’s not sleeping here, we are.”
I laugh. “There it is. The real reason you’re here.”
“I’m a multitasker. I can support you emotionally and simultaneously reclaim my space.”
“Not to mention,” Merry chimes in, “she refused my very reasonable request that she pay twenty dollars a night in rent. She and Jack are terrible houseguests.”
I giggle and Holly scoffs.
Merry stands and brushes crumbs from her lap onto Holly’s spotless beige carpet. “Go to the flower shop. Do a few hours of work. Then go pick Dash up and take him to the contest. You need to be seen in public together, anyway.”
I look at my sisters with their fierce loyalty and practical wisdom and the tightness in my chest loosens slightly.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For coming over. For the intervention.”
“Intervention sounds harsh. Let’s call it a pep talk,” Merry suggests.
“A very Jolly pep talk,” Holly agrees. “With the ultimate goal of getting your butt out of my loft.”