Chapter Thirty-Three
The problem with not wanting something to end was that it made time go even faster. So, even though it was the longest night of the year, it felt like the shortest night of Ivy’s life.
It was impossible to enjoy the movie after she made the decision about her departure. In twenty-four hours, she’d be on a plane back to Boston. The only thing she could hear was the clock ticking away precious seconds.
There wasn’t a question about where she would sleep. She got in Grant’s truck without them ever discussing where she’d spend her final night in Coeur-de-Lac. And once they were at his apartment, they didn’t get a lot of sleep.
But morning still came, and Grant had to drive Ivy back to her parents’ house. He didn’t leave, though. He sat on her bed, Hastings purring loudly in his lap, and watched her pack. She was halfway done, drowning in last moments, when something occurred to her.
“This is the first time I’ve ever had a boy in my room.”
Grant tilted his head. “Brad never came in here?”
“A boy who wants to see me naked,” she amended. “If I had a time machine, my teenage self wouldn’t believe I managed to get Grant Underwood in my room, on my bed.”
A smile peeked through the clouds on his face like a ray of sunshine. “We could really blow your mind and—”
She could see where he was headed. “My parents are home and awake.”
“We can be quiet.”
“Was three times last night not enough for you?”
“The limit does not exist,” he said. “But there probably isn’t anything left in the tank right now.”
Grant carried her suitcases down the stairs when it was time to leave. Her dad was reaching for his keys when Grant asked if he could drive her to the airport.
“I’m leaving out of Chicago,” Ivy reminded him.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
Her parents exchanged a look, speaking to each other with their eyes in a way only people who have been together for a very long time can. Her dad lowered his hand.
“Saves me paying the tolls.”
While Grant loaded her suitcases into his truck, Ivy hugged her parents.
“I got you a head start on the storage room and cataloging Dad’s books, but you’re actually going to have to pack if you want to sell the house,” she told them.
“I’m retired now,” her dad said. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Ivy looked at her mom. “Hide his books.”
Grant drove with one hand on the wheel and the other either on Ivy’s thigh or holding her hand.
They didn’t drive in silence, but the closer they got to Chicago, the more apparent it became that they were avoiding the elephant in the truck.
He pulled into a Culver’s drive-thru to get her one last ButterBurger.
“I’m going to miss these,” she said when he handed her the bag.
“Guess you’ve got a reason to come back,” he joked, but she knew he didn’t think it was funny.
“About that.” She took the fries out of the bag and put the container in an empty cupholder, then unwrapped his burger halfway and handed it to him. Busy hands to occupy a nervous brain. It was time to bite the bullet, but she bit into her burger instead.
“Are you not coming back?”
“I mean,” Ivy began once she swallowed, “my January schedule is packed because I had to pick up a lot of trips to make up for the time I took off to be with my parents. I don’t know what February looks like yet.
Honestly, I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.
At a minimum, I’d say it’s between five to six weeks. ”
“Oh.”
“So, I guess I want to know what you want to do. This is still really new, and long-distance relationships are hard. I understand if you don’t want to…” Ivy couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
Grant sighed. “All relationships are hard. You can live in the same house and if you don’t want to put in the work…”
They crossed into Illinois while she waited for him to finish his thought.
“I want to try,” he said. “I waited ten years for you to come back. What’s another five to six weeks, right?”
Relief flooded her system so hard, she felt weak.
“We can take it slow and see where it goes. No pressure. No labels.” She’d started to babble, so she shoved more burger in her mouth.
“Uh, yeah. No pressure,” Grant repeated.
“I’m just saying I’m not going to freak out if you don’t call or text me back right away.”
“I think we’ve established I’m not a great texter.” He dropped his burger back into the bag, uneaten. “When’s your next trip?”
“I’m going to Paris with Brad. We leave Christmas Eve and we’ll land on Christmas morning.”
“Chasing Santa Claus?” Grant teased, though it didn’t sound like his heart was in it.
“One of the pilots on the pairing will get on the PA after we do dinner service and tell the kids she saw Santa’s sleigh, and she’s going to try and catch up with him. It’s really cute.”
“That is really cute. Gemma would have her face glued to the window trying to spot Rudolph’s nose.” His hand settled on her thigh. “How’s Brad doing?”
“He misses Tony a lot. It’s his entire personality right now.”
“That feeling is very mutual,” Grant said. “Do you have anything fun planned to lift you out of the doldrums?”
“The way we’re feeling, I think we’re going to be getting room service in our robes instead of frolicking around Paris.”
“The way we’re feeling?” Grant glanced at her for clarity, then looked over his shoulder again to change lanes.
The bite of burger she’d taken became hard to swallow as the lump she’d been trying to avoid until she was alone formed in her throat.
“Well, yeah. I never thought I’d say I’d rather be in Coeur-de-Lac than Paris, but…
” Ivy shrugged and looked out her window so Grant couldn’t see the tears that had filled her eyes.
He’d probably get off at the next exit and take them right back to Wisconsin, and she wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.
Sad silence settled over the cab while the radio played the greatest hits of the eighties.
Then Whitney Houston came on the radio and asked the questions Ivy didn’t want to ask.
They’d really almost had it all. But she wouldn’t trade a second of the time they’d had together to avoid the way her heart broke into jagged pieces as the signs for O’Hare became more numerous.
Ivy cleared her throat. “You, um, should drop me off at the curb.”
“I can park and walk you in,” Grant said. “It’s not a problem.”
“Yeah, but parking prices are—”
“Ivy, it’s not an issue.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Grant, drop me off at the curb.”
He removed his hand from her thigh, his hurt confusion clear even with her eyes shut. “Okay…”
“Look, if you come inside with me, I’m going to miss my flight because I won’t want to let you go,” she explained. “At least at the curb we’ll have a cop yelling at us to get moving.”
“I don’t know; grown men crying tend to make everyone uncomfortable, including cops.”
The tremor in his voice took a hammer to the broken pieces of her heart and pulverized them.
Neither of them moved when Grant parked next to the curb at departures until a traffic cop’s whistle blew farther down the line.
Ivy stood on the sidewalk and hugged herself while Grant unloaded her bags. This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to leave him yet. She should be having the laziest Sunday of her life, still curled up in his bed, surrounded by all the things that screamed his name.
“Do you have everything?” Grant asked when he’d deposited her bags at her feet. He blinked rapidly, like he had something in his eye. “Passport? Wallet? Phone?”
Ivy opened her purse to double-check. Passport. Wallet. Phone. “Fuck, where is my badge?”
“Is it in your backpack?”
“I never put it in my—” Ivy stopped, reliving a vivid memory of tucking her work ID into her backpack when she took her seat on her flight to Milwaukee. She turned her back to him. “Can you check? I think it’s in the tiny pocket at the top.”
A moment later, her badge was dangling from her lanyard in front of her face. She slipped it on over her head. The finality and weight almost buckled her knees.
“I guess that’s…everything.” She swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
The traffic cop blew his whistle, warning cars to move it along.
Grant hugged her, slipping his arms between her body and her backpack so he could crush her against him. It wasn’t enough. She needed him to hold her so tight, her ribs ached.
“You could come to Paris,” she told him, not sure if she was joking. It was a wild idea. “I’ve got a free hotel room.” She laughed nervously.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned. “You’re going to be sipping coffee at a cute café and I’ll crash your party.”
The traffic cop pointedly blew his whistle. Ivy clung tighter to Grant.
“I don’t want to leave you,” she choked out, two tears slipping down her face in rapid succession.
“I know,” he murmured against her neck. “I’ll see you soon. Let me know if you make the flight, okay?”
She nodded, released him, and quickly grabbed her bags. She set a land speed record walking into the terminal, only to be stopped at bag check by the exact kind of line she expected during the holidays. There was too much time to think in a long line—too much time to question her decisions.
She was on the verge of calling Grant to come back and get her when she got to the front of the line. Then security worked out in her favor and she was on the other side before she knew it.
Ivy went to her gate to look at the board and was shocked to see she’d already been assigned a seat.
“Hi, I’m Weaver,” she said, handing the agent her badge. “Did I miss my seat assignment?” There was still a chance…
“Nope!” The agent handed her a boarding pass and her badge with a cheerful smile. She had to be new. “Happy holidays.”
Ivy: I got a seat
Grant: Dammit
A laugh mixed with a sob escaped her lips, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. It was real. She was leaving.
Ivy slept the entire flight to Boston. It was that or cry. When they landed, she moved through the airport in a daze. Somehow she got her bags and made it to the employee shuttle, but she didn’t remember getting off the plane.
“Ivy. Ivy!”
Her head snapped up and she looked around the bus until she saw who was shouting her name. A small crew of coworkers she enjoyed flying with were waving at her from the front end of the bus.
“What are you up to?” Janet called.
“Just got back from seeing my parents. Where are you coming from?” Ivy shouted back.
“Raleigh,” she answered. “Are you keeping your Paris? I was thinking about picking it up and taking my daughter.”
“Of course I’m keeping my Paris. I love Paris.”
“Fantastic. If it’s still there, I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.”
The bus pulled up to the first stop in the employee lot and Ivy gathered her bags, impressed with herself when she didn’t fall getting off.
The drive to her apartment happened as automatically as walking through the airport. She wrestled her bags up the stairs, committed herself to using the hotel gyms on her layovers after the New Year, and unlocked the door.
Quiet. Empty. Lonely.
She might feel different, but nothing had changed.