Chapter 26 Ivy
"The Tower means change is coming," I say, trying to keep my voice steady as Virginia's high-gloss nails clench around her champagne glass. "Sometimes the universe has to shake things up so we can—"
"So we can what?" Virginia's face mask cracks as she sneers. "See the truth? That I'm dating an ass who thinks my new haircut makes me look sophisticated? Like I'm his pet project?"
This is why I shouldn't do readings tipsy, especially not in a room exploding with glitter, gingham, and way too many mason jars. But Sarah had spotted my cards and turned those bride-to-be puppy eyes on me, and well . . . here we are. Dottie had the right idea, sneaking off to bed an hour ago.
"That's not—" I start, but Virginia's already standing.
"Save it." Her mascara's smudged now, making her look less country club princess and more avenging angel. "I pushed him in a fountain this morning. Pretty sure I don't need cards to tell me my relationship's fucked."
"How delightfully theatrical," Magnolia clears her throat. "Though perhaps we should stick to more conventional activities, rather than some picture playing cards?"
"Mother." Sarah's face mask flakes as she frowns. "Ivy's just trying to—"
"Help?" Virginia scoffs. "That's what everyone says right before they tell me what I'm doing wrong with my life."
She downs her champagne in one gulp and stalks toward the bar. "I need another drink. Or ten. And absolutely zero cosmic commentary on my poor life choices."
"Well, this has been insightful," Magnolia rises with the grace of someone who's never had a genuine emotional outburst in her life. " I'm retiring for the night. Beauty rest is essential, after all."
The moment her heels click down the hallway, I excuse myself to the bathroom. It takes exactly ten minutes to get this green goop off my face.
I ease the living room door open and freeze.
Sarah's sprawled on the chaise lounge wearing a tiara with flashing lights, and a silk robe.
Virginia's somehow acquired a hot pink feather boa and is using it as a lasso.
Mary's behind the bar, mixing something that's definitely not on the approved beverage list. And Delilah's arranging penis straws into what looks alarmingly like a phallic bouquet.
"What happened in ten minutes?"
"Shh!" Sarah tosses something at me—oh god, is that a penis whistle? "We're playing Most Likely To, and you're behind on shots."
Mary raises an eyebrow that promises trouble. "Current question: Most likely to catch feelings during a hookup."
Every single person stares directly at me.
Well, damn.
"Drink!" Sarah commands, and Mary's sliding a shot my way.
"I don't—" But Virginia's already counting down.
"Three, two . . ."
The tequila burns, but not as much as the stares drilling into me.
"My turn!" Delilah claps, her Southern accent getting thicker with each drink. "Most likely to drunk text their ex."
"That's not fair," Virginia protests, but she's already reaching for her shot. "He wasn't technically an ex when I sent that novel-length critique of his personality."
We all burst into fits of giggles as she recounts that embarrassing night.
"Most likely," Mary drawls, shuffling the cards with scary precision, "to hook up with someone at this wedding."
Sarah gasps. "We are not having another Palmer wedding incident."
"That was one time," Delilah protests. "And Jamie looked nothing like his brother from behind."
Two hours, and countless martinis later, I'm sprawled on the floor next to Sarah, watching the chandelier lights blur together.
There's something weirdly comforting about being drunk with someone who doesn't know all my stories yet.
Someone who sees Caleb as Matt's brother, not as the town's eternal playboy.
I've been holding these feelings so tight they're starting to bruise me from the inside. My friends would have opinions—loud, well-meaning, completely overwhelming opinions—about me and Caleb. But Sarah? She's a perfect blank slate. No history. No expectations.
"Can I tell you something?" The words spill out in a rush. "But like, you can't tell anyone. Not even Matt. Especially not Matt, because he'll tell Caleb."
Sarah flops onto her side, facing me while Virginia attempts to belt Whitney Houston in the background. "I promise not to say anything."
"This week has been . . . intense with Caleb." I press my hands to my burning cheeks. "There's always been something there, but now it's like neither of us can pretend anymore. The way his eyes linger when he thinks I'm not looking . . ."
"I've seen it," Sarah says, her words slightly slurred. "That dance lesson this morning? He was two seconds away from taking you right there on the floor."
"It's more than that though." The words rush out, my filter dissolving with each second.
"Sometimes when we're alone, it feels like maybe he wants more too.
But we never talk about it. We just keep pretending everything's normal and I .
. ." I drop my face into the carpet. "I've never said any of this out loud before. "
"Listen to me." Sarah's voice takes on a drunken certainty. "Men don't look at their friends the way Caleb looks at you. And they definitely don't get murder-eyes every time another guy talks to them."
"But what if—"
"No. No what-ifs. You're doing that thing where you create problems that don't exist yet. He wants you. You want him. Stop making it complicated."
"But he's my best friend," I whine into the carpet.
"You're literally sharing a bed. You think that's normal best friend behavior?"
"The couch is—"
"There is nothing wrong with it!" She pokes my shoulder. "Honestly, Caleb could have pushed the whole room situation more and Matt would have figured something out, but he didn't."
"I don't know how to want him without losing him."
"There it is." Sarah's voice softens. "You're not holding out for him to be ready, Ivy. You're chasing a guarantee that doesn't exist."
"Oh my god," I breathe, sitting up so fast the room tilts. "I've been treating him as some cosmic test. Thinking if I'm patient, good enough, the universe will eventually—"
"Say you've earned him?" Sarah finishes.
"I keep pulling cards about taking chances, about stepping into my power, and I just . . ." I laugh, but it catches in my throat. "I've been reading everyone's love life but never mine."
"Because you're scared."
"Of course I'm scared! Terrified, actually. But," I drop my hands. "I don't want to live like that anymore."
Sarah struggles to sit up, nearly taking out a lamp in the process. "This calls for celebration. Mary!" She yells toward the bar. "We need shots!"
"All of them?" I echo, but Sarah's already dragging me off the floor.
Three shots later, I'm being pulled onto the antique coffee table that isn't meant for impromptu dance performances.
"This is a terrible idea," I say, but I'm already laughing as Sarah shoves a makeshift microphone into my hand.
"Shut up and sing!" Dixie cranks up the volume while Virginia and Delilah collapse into giggles on the couch.
Two songs in, the room's spinning but I don't care. My hair's a mess, my feet are bare, and every inhibition I've ever had about Caleb Miller has dissolved into crystal clear clarity that only comes after too many shots and not enough common sense.
"One more!" Sarah declares, and Mary's already pouring.
"If I die, tell Caleb it's his fault for having stupid dimples."
Sarah snorts tequila through her nose. "Tell him yourself."
"I might throw up on him instead."
"That's one way to show him how you feel."