Chapter 13 #2
Earl starts to hurl a disgusting slur at Ivy, but I barely hear it.
In fact, I’m not sure he even gets the entire four-letter word out of his crusty thin mouth before Ivy has my chin pinched between her thumb and her forefinger, bringing my lips to hers in a kiss that seems to stop time around me.
It can’t last more than a few seconds, but the seconds when Ivy’s mouth is pressed against mine feel like a lifetime.
Kissing my best friend feels perfectly natural, like it was always meant to be.
Like the dominoes have been tipped and are now cascading in a meticulously formed, artistic and scientific line in perfect succession.
From the graze of her teeth along my lower lip to the soft indent of her fingertips on my hip to the way my hands glide up over her chest and link around her neck, every part of this kiss is exactly what a kiss should be.
Like this simple touch is everything I was missing and all the things I didn’t know I could want.
The moment that Ivy pulls back, I’m leaning in for more, unable to stop myself from planting another peck on her plump bottom lip.
Her eyes meet mine for just a millisecond, but I’m able to read the question in her gaze because it’s part of a language that I’ve only ever been able to speak with Ivy.
Was that okay? Ivy’s eyes ask mine.
Was it okay? Ivy, that kiss changed my fucking life. I want more. I never want to stop. We should have been kissing this whole damn time. Can we quit our jobs and live off your inheritance from Grandma Millie for the rest of our lives so we never, ever have to stop kissing? My eyes answer.
At least I hope they do. I’m pretty sure I’m too lip-drunk and strung out on adrenaline to coherently speak our secret language, but Ivy seems to get the gist that I’m on board with at least this one kiss.
“That’s right, Earl,” Ivy says smugly, turning back to my ex and the woman who has strayed even further from his side and is now looking at me with hearts in her eyes like that kiss was the cutest thing she’s ever seen.
Damn, I think I like her.
“I wanted Delilah, so you know what I did? I showed up. I was there for her. I put her first. I take care of Sadie. I know your daughter’s blood type and all of her allergies and every single one of her teachers' and camp counselor’s names.
I know what she and her mom like to eat for breakfast and the books they read before bed.
I stepped up, and now I’ve got your wife and your kids.
They’re mine, Earl. And there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
You can demand a paternity test for the baby in Delilah’s belly and you can walk around Fox Hole making everyone call you the Earl and acting like your shit don’t stink, but guess what?
I won, Earl. Delilah is mine. Your kids are mine, and the only person around here getting called ‘Daddy’ is me when I’ve got your wife underneath me in our bed making sounds you could only ever dream of getting out of her. ”
Earl gasps like a fainting debutante, and it’s like I can see the gears in his head turning as he tries to think of something—anything—he can say that would come back at me and Ivy after this.
The surrounding crowd is no longer pretending not to listen, but actively watching Earl sputter and fail to turn over his engine to retort.
He only manages to mutter something gross and homophobic before storming off.
But it seems that the universe and mother nature are on our side. They send a gust of wind so sudden and strong that the baseball cap on Earl’s head is blown away, revealing a bald spot on the back of his head that resembles a short, fat penis with three balls covered in faded pink pubes.
Artie can’t hold back his laughter any longer, and while he is holding up his hand to Ivy for a high-five, Blondie takes a step closer to me.
“I am so sorry,” she says, her thick Tennessee accent dripping with warm honey.
“Honestly, I had no idea he was such a loser. He told me he was divorced, but the rest of that stuff? Serves me right for always falling for those devil-tongued sweet talkers.” Blondie shakes her head and begins rummaging in the bum bag resting on her ample bosom.
“It’s about time I learned that men ain’t good for a damn thing.
Maybe I need to think about finding myself a good woman like you’ve got here.
I’ll try anything once.” She shrugs, and even though her words are borderline offensive, somehow it’s clear that she is nothing but sincere in what she says.
“Anyway, I’m Brandy. I own a hair salon in Bear Creek.
We do nails and eyelash extensions, too.
If you and your daughter ever want to come in for a girl’s day, your cut and color are on me. ”
Blondie—I mean Brandy—hands me a hot pink business card that I fully intend on using someday, and I give her a few jars of the jam she never got a chance to try. I think Brandy and I could be good friends. We have at least one thing in common—our terrible taste in men.
I hear Artie and Ivy having a hushed conversation about cayenne pepper and the bottle of lotion Earl keeps in his office at the shop, but I’m too delirious from our kiss to focus on anything but the way Ivy’s lips glisten from the mix of her cherry chapstick and my clear lip gloss in the sun.
I press my fingertips to my lips, delighting in the sensational buzz still tingling from our kiss.
At a nearby booth, a Liz Phair song plays loudly from a Bluetooth speaker, and when Ivy glances my way, she winks. The sun casts a glowing halo around her svelte form, and stars dance in her opal eyes, making her look like she were plucked straight out of a film scene.
It looks like I got my movie moment after all.