Chapter 2 - Owen #2
Instead, I'm sitting here having already confessed that I've been thinking about her for fifteen years, holding onto a book she loaned me in high school like some kind of romantic disaster.
Levi was right. I'm an idiot.
"So," Ivy says finally. "You're a doctor now."
I latch onto the change of subject. "Family medicine. I have a practice in the city."
"That's amazing. You always wanted that."
"I wanted to be a surgeon, actually. Cardiothoracic."
"What happened?"
I take a sip of whiskey, considering how to answer.
"I did a rotation in family med during residency.
This kid came in, eight years old, with his grandfather.
The kid had been coughing for weeks, but they didn't have insurance and his parents were working three jobs between them, so they just kept hoping it would go away. "
Ivy's watching me intently, and I find myself wanting to tell her everything.
"Turned out he had pneumonia. Pretty advanced.
I admitted him, got him started on antibiotics, and he was fine.
But I kept thinking… If they'd had a family doctor they trusted, someone they could actually afford to see, it never would have gotten that bad.
" I shrug. "Surgery is impressive. It's exciting, it's cutting-edge.
But family medicine is where you actually build relationships.
Where you see the same people year after year, watch their kids grow up, help them through the hard stuff. "
"That sounds wonderful," she says, and she means it. I can tell.
"It is. Most of the time." I smile. "Though I did have a patient last week who was convinced he had a brain tumor because he'd been getting headaches. Turned out he just needed glasses."
She laughs, and there it is, that real smile I was talking about. The one that makes her whole face light up.
God, I've missed her.
"What about you?" I ask. "Levi said you're a librarian."
"At the public library downtown. Have been for almost ten years now."
"Is it everything you hoped?"
"Most days, yeah." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I get to help kids find books they love. I run a reading program for elementary schoolers every Thursday. It's not glamorous, but it matters."
"It absolutely matters." I lean forward. "Are you happy?"
The question seems to catch her off guard. "I... I don't know. I have a job I love, a house I can afford, a best friend who looks out for me. That's more than a lot of people get."
"That's not what I asked."
She's quiet for a brief moment, "I think I'm content," she says finally. "That's close enough."
It's not. It's not even in the same universe. But I don't push.
Our drinks arrive, and we fall into easier conversation.
She tells me about the library, about the expansion project they're planning, about the book club she runs that's somehow devolved into primarily gossiping about romance novels.
I tell her more about my practice, about the city, about my apartment that has a great view and absolutely no personality because I'm never there long enough to decorate it.
I don't tell her about the string of failed relationships. About the women I've dated who were perfectly nice and perfectly wrong. About how I kept comparing all of them to a girl I met in high school, which I'm aware makes me sound unhinged.
"Levi's really excited about the restaurant," Ivy says. "He talks about it constantly."
"He should be. He's wanted that his whole life." I grin. "Remember when we were kids and he used to make us elaborate meals out of whatever random ingredients Granddad had in the pantry?"
"Oh God, yes. That casserole with the cornflakes and the tuna and the… What was the green thing?"
"I think it was supposed to be pesto. But we didn't have basil, so he used spinach. And no pine nuts, so he used peanut butter."
Ivy's laughing now, really laughing. "It was so bad."
"It was terrible. Granddad ate three helpings just to be supportive."
"Your grandfather is a saint."
"He really is." I take another sip of whiskey. "He asks about you, you know. Every time I call."
That stops her. "He does?"
"Yeah. He's always liked you. He told me before I left—" I stop, realizing what I'm about to say.
"What?"
I might as well go all in at this point. "He told me not to leave town without actually talking to you this time. Said he didn't raise a coward."
Ivy's eyes search mine. "This time?"
"I've come back to visit a few times over the years. You've never been around when I was here."
"You looked for me?"
"Every time." I hold her gaze. "But I was usually only here for a weekend, and you were working, or I was helping Granddad with something, and I never... I could never figure out how to just show up at the library without it being weird."
"It wouldn't have been weird."
"It would have been terrifying."
She blinks. "Why?"
Because you're the one person I've never been able to get out of my head. Because I've spent fifteen years wondering what if. Because I left this town to prove I could be something more, and the whole time I was gone, the thing I wanted most was still right here.
"Because you matter," I say instead. "Because I didn't want to screw it up."
She's quiet again, but this time it's different. This time she's looking at me like she's trying to solve a puzzle, and I'm the missing piece that doesn't quite fit.
Outside, I hear rain hammering against the windows. Inside, the fire crackles and someone laughs from across the bar. And at this table, in this moment, it's just us.
Just me and Ivy Rose, exactly like I've wanted for fifteen years.
"Your tow truck," I say suddenly. "We should check if they've called."
She pulls out her phone, and her face falls. "Three missed calls. Oh no."
"What?"
"Casey from Casey’s Automative came twenty minutes ago. I didn't hear my phone." She's already texting, her fingers flying across the screen. "He left. I have to reschedule."
"When can they come back?"
She winces. "Not until tomorrow morning. Nine AM."
"So, your car's staying here overnight anyway." An idea forms, reckless and probably stupid, but I say it anyway. "We could go back. To the reunion."
Ivy looks at me like I've suggested we jump off a bridge. "What?"
"Think about it. Your car's already here. We're already here. We're dressed—" I gesture at our jeans, "—comfortably. And honestly, after two drinks, I'm feeling brave enough to face Marcus Webb and whoever else is in there."
"Owen, I can't—"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not—" She gestures helplessly at herself. "Look at me. Everyone else is dressed up and I'm in jeans and a cardigan with a coffee stain on the sleeve."
I look. Really look. At her soft cardigan and her simple jeans, at the way her ponytail's coming loose, at the nervous way she's biting her lip. "I am looking. And you look perfect."
"You're just saying that."
"I'm really not." I lean forward, holding her gaze. "Ivy, you could walk in there wearing a garbage bag and you'd still be the most beautiful person in the room. At least to me."
Her cheeks flush pink. "That's..."
"True." I finish for her. "Look, I get it if you don't want to go.
But not because of what you're wearing or what anyone else thinks.
If you don't want to go because reunions are terrible and people are the worst, that's completely valid.
But if you're not going because you think you don't belong there, or because you think no one will remember you—" I pause.
"I'll remember you. I'll be right there with you the whole time.
We can make fun of Marcus's letterman jacket.
We can judge the playlist. We can leave whenever you want. "
She's quiet, turning her wine glass in slow circles. I can see her thinking, weighing options, talking to herself out of it.
"What would Levi say?" I ask.
That gets a small smile. "He'd tell me to stop hiding."
"He'd be right."
"He'd also say I should have more fun."
"Also right." I finish my whiskey and set the glass down. "So, let's go have fun. Let's walk in there together and show everyone that the quiet girl and the overachiever turned out just fine. Better than fine."
"I don't know how to have fun at these things."
"Neither do I. We'll figure it out together." I stand up and offer her my hand. Again. For the second time tonight. "Come on, Ivy Rose. Be brave with me."