Chapter 8 #2
“Of course. Shelby and I had it our first Christmas together.” I pull packages of Top Ramen from the sacks of groceries the girls and I got after leaving Ivy in the ER with Law.
“We got stuck in Fort Collins and couldn’t get out until Christmas afternoon.
On Christmas Eve, Shelby was bummed that she didn’t get to have the big dinner her mom always made, so I said I could make it.
” I pause with a can of pineapple in my hand and turn to her.
“Only … I couldn’t. I burned the turkey, the potatoes were like glue, and the gravy was lumpy, to name a few things wrong with it.
” I’m chuckling to myself now, remembering the horrified look on Shelby’s face when she tried to dish up some potatoes and they wouldn’t come off the spoon.
“I had to regroup. Fancy ramen was my only option. And then…” I shrug.
“We laughed so much that night, and it ended up being such a good memory that it became a tradition.”
Her expression is contemplative as she watches me. “Even after … everything,” she says.
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter. “I thought I wouldn’t want to either.
And maybe it’s because we’re not at home or something, but when we went to get groceries this afternoon, I wanted to make it.
And it’s something the girls remember. They’ll only eat a few bites, but they called it Mommy’s ramen and I couldn’t resist.”
It’s bittersweet to share these memories with Shelby.
On the one hand, she broke everything. I’ve held myself accountable for the part I played in making us unhappy, but alongside the guilt I feel for that, there’s still an ache over the loss of our family.
But she’s also the only person who shares these memories of our daughters—the Christmas mornings together, the silly fancy ramen dinners with just the two of us, then three, and then four as our family grew.
The days the girls were born. Their birthdays.
When Scarlett started preschool. They’re things that will always tie us together, no matter what.
Maybe that’s why I bought the ramen.
She nods. “What is fancy ramen?”
“Pineapple, veggies, chicken, and egg.” I point to the ingredients as I say them. “You in?”
“Absolutely.” She leans into the couch. “But how would you feel about having some cookies delivered? Cookies and milk is a must-have in the Hart family.”
I unlock my phone and bring it over to her. “Go crazy.”
She doesn’t take it. “No. This isn’t what I meant. I can get the cookies, at least, considering you’re providing my fine Christmas Eve feast.”
“Let me buy the cookies. As a thank-you.”
She puts a finger to her chin and pretends to mull. “My babysitting rate is climbing pretty high. Maybe I should consider a career change.”
I keep my phone, an idea occurring to me. “A friend of mine from college lives in town. I’m going to ask him where the best cookies are.”
She points at me sternly, and I have the urge to lean over and kiss the tip of her finger, then lean in to kiss her lips. I blink the image away. Not the best way to just be friends.
“And after you ask him, you’ll tell me so I can order them, right?” she says.
I hold back a laugh as I go to check and see if the water’s boiling. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Malcolm used to do that.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“Buy you cookies?” I look over my shoulder at her.
She’s encouraged me in her subtle ways to talk about a lot of my past trauma with Shelby, but she hasn’t shared very much about herself.
I’m curious about her past relationships and how they play a part in her decision not to have a boyfriend. Maybe knowing more will help me—
Wait. I’m not trying to fix her so I can pursue her. That’s exactly what I thought with Shelby and look how that turned out.
“No,” Ivy says. “Buying me stuff. He loved buying stuff for me, but I think he was trying to bribe me.”
I hold up my hands. “No bribes here. You’ve had a hard day, and you deserve good cookies.”
“Funny.” She cocks an eyebrow at me. “Malcolm would say the same things, when what he was doing was trying to make up for putting off marrying me.”
I really like her smile, especially this sassy, teasing one. Her entire face is glowing, and that smile has been making me feel lighter every time I’m with her.
“I’m also not trying to make up for not marrying you.
” I give her a faux-apologetic shrug and turn to the pot of boiling water to busy myself with making dinner.
It’s easy to tease her and fall into this comfortable back-and-forth.
Just because we have chemistry doesn’t mean it has to be romantic. It can be platonic.
Sure, Chad. Keep telling yourself that.
She laughs in an airy way, and I glance at her to see that her cheeks have turned an enchanting shade of pink. “Good to know.”
“Why didn’t he marry you?” I ask, trying to sound conversational.
Also trying to convince myself that knowing isn’t the key to solving the Ivy puzzle and figuring out why, even though she clearly loves spending time with my girls, she’s not looking for serious relationships that will lead to her having a family of her own.
“I don’t know,” she says in a contemplative voice.
“I think his mom didn’t approve.” Her voice rises as she says that, like it’s a question.
“But I kept hoping I’d be enough.” She gives a short, dry laugh full of self-recrimination.
“If I’d been coaching myself, I would have pointed out that all the excuses and all the waiting was communicating what I didn’t want to hear.
That it was never going to be enough. That if someone wanted to be a meaningful part of my life, I didn’t need to chase them. ”
I look up and meet her eyes and understanding passes between us.
A quiet settles over the room as I contemplate her words and work on dinner. Ivy’s confession about her relationship with Malcolm did give me reasons, between the lines, for why she’s wary of relationships.
Oh, is that what I’m calling it now? Just wary?
I can’t kid myself. I’m making it sound like an easy obstacle for us to get over.
I need to put all thoughts of dating her aside.
She’s too young for me, and it’s too complicated.
Besides, until I change something about my job—which I’m still considering more and more—I’m wary of a relationship too.
Still, I’ve thought about dating again. About getting married. That’s what any relationship I pursue would be about. With the girls to consider, I have to be careful. Any woman I date has to be ready for a serious commitment.
I’m leaning hard on Carlie right now to provide the positive, motherly influence that the girls need, but I need to think about the future too.
Carlie won’t be with us forever. I’ve always thought maybe I’d run into a single mom somewhere and we’d hit it off.
That makes the most sense for someone my age and in my stage of life.
Where I’d run into this hypothetical single mom is hard to say, considering I’m either at work or at home with the girls and hardly anywhere else.
So it’s not surprising that after the last couple days, my brain is starting to suggest that someone like Ivy would be perfect.
Someone like Ivy, I insist. That’s what all my justifying is about.
Not Ivy herself.
Even if our conversation is easy and friendly and a little bit flirty and fun.
I turn around and find both girls snuggled in Ivy’s lap as they watch the movie.
My breath catches.
Ivy has her cheek against the top of Zoey’s head and Scarlett curled up tightly under her arm. Both girls have stayed away from her injured leg, still propped on the ottoman. Ivy looks utterly content, with a slight smile on her face.
Well. As Scarlett would say, I’m cooked.