23. James
23
JAMES
T he second hand clicked rhythmically as time passed, and I stared at the glow of the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. The New Year's Eve event was going on at company headquarters, but I was at home sulking. The glass of whiskey in my hand couldn’t comfort me the way it had so many times before when Barbra was away. This house was too quiet.
Ivy had sent me text-message updates letting me know she'd be back on the third, that Kevin was handling the NYE event, and that she was still in full swing for Valentine's Day, but she was being distant. It wasn’t like we had a deep, intense connection anyway, but I could sense her pulling away.
Flames danced beyond the hearth in the firebox and caught my eye. It wasn't even a real fire with wood and smoke. Those flames were cheap and fake, just like my attempts at any relationship I tried. When it'd been Barbra in this house with me, I was the neglectful husband, choosing my company over her. Now that it was Ivy in this house, I felt overbearing, like I had smothered her or something.
What if the reason she was gone for so long had everything to do with the fact that my attempts to not make the same mistake I'd made with Barbra collided with Ivy's sense of newfound independence? What if I was overbearing before we even had a chance to see what might happen?
Scowling, I finished the strong drink and stood. I walked to the gas-burning fireplace and turned the gas valve off, effectively ending the ambience. The glowing tree annoyed me. I unplugged it, and I walked out of the living room, turning toward the bedrooms.
Ivy's room wasn’t locked. Everything was exactly as she'd left it the day after Christmas. Her bed was unmade, clothing scattered here and there, and I stood in the doorway and surveyed it with a heavy heart. When she told me what true love really was—freedom, support, encouragement, selflessness… I felt so freed by that. I knew the tie I had to Barbra wasn't ever love, and that made my heart feel like I could breathe again, like I hadn't been a failure.
Now, however, as I backed out of Ivy's room and shut the light off and closed the door, it suffocated me. I'd let my heart come alive with her around. Our brief moments of intimacy aside, we'd really bonded. Dinners together, meetings, sharing car rides, every second was special to me, and it made me begin to appreciate and admire her for everything she was and everything she could do.
Now I missed her. I missed the smell of her perfume, the tinkle of her laughter. The way she never quite finished her meal and always had a bit too much wine. I missed the way she left her things lying around, but most of all, I missed her presence. I wanted her near me so I could make sure she was okay and happy.
I stopped by her workspace door and hovered for a moment. Any other time, I'd have just walked right in, but this door felt sacred to me. It represented a part of her that was so raw and vulnerable. Her attempt to start over in a new venture could be encapsulated in the square footage on the other side of this door. It was her springboard, her hope, her heart, and it was here under my roof where I could walk through it as if walking through her thoughts and feelings.
My hand tenderly touched the knob, and I made the decision to walk in. The light was off, so I flicked it on. The room lit up, and all I could see on every surface, including the bed, which normally served as a guest bed, were all sorts of decorations and craft materials. Thanksgiving turkeys lay next to Christmas bows and reindeer, and next to those were red and pink hearts. I smiled at the mess.
Then I walked over and picked up what appeared to be a centerpiece for the Valentine's gala. It was a heart-shaped candle with a wreath of red berries and twigs around it, and all seated on a silver platter. It looked like she still had dozens of these to assemble, but I couldn't imagine a more perfect decoration for this event. It was like Ivy walked through my mind and knew me well enough to know what perfection looked like to me.
The idea of that made me feel both happy and sad. In fact, I'd taken for granted how perfect every single event had been this year, far better than anything Barbra had planned. My ex-wife and I were nothing alike at all. We were about as opposite as a polar bear and a dragon. But Ivy and me?
This woman had studied me so well just by having dinner with me and learning my taste for culture and style that she'd practically taken scenes from my dreams and fantasies and woven them into a beautiful image I couldn’t shake. I wondered when the last time was that anyone had done that for her, or if they'd ever done that. And then I wondered why I hadn't done that.
I set the decoration down and looked over a few more things before leaving the room just how I found it. My guilty heart knew I had failed her without her even saying a word. She wanted real love, the sort her ex had never given her, and I never thought to give it to her either, not truly.
I wanted to do anything and everything in my power to champion her and celebrate her, but I'd lacked the one thing I knew was essential—communication. Ivy deserved to know that I had fallen head over heels in love with her, even if she walked away and wanted nothing from me. That was the true definition of love anyway, right? To care about someone so much, you only want them to be happy and complete in life, even if it isn’t with you? And though I had given her everything I thought she wanted, I never gave her the one thing she needed.
In my room, the swirl of alcohol in my head lulled me toward bed. I shed my clothing and left it on the floor the way Ivy would have if she were here, then I climbed into bed and lay down. I thought of the moment I'd asked her to dance with me at my events, most notably the Valentine Gala coming up, and it felt like a hundred years ago. So little time had actually passed, but in my heart, it felt like I'd always known her.
And when I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, the nagging thought that she might never want me due to my age tormented me. I tossed and turned and wished I could just sleep to shut my brain off.
But my father taught me to face my demons head on. The only way to win a fight was to fight it, not avoid it. So I made a plan to tell her that I loved her and let it be that. If she chose to reject that love, so be it. But I’d never know if I didn't try. And if I knew Ivy like I thought I did, the best place to do that would be at that Valentine's event.
After that, I'd leave it to fate.
When I finally made my decision, sleep came, and I dreamed of her. I just hoped she really did return and keep her promise to dance with me one more time. Even if it was our last dance.