Chapter 40
OTHER FORMS OF SHARING
Ivy
“Pfft.”
That’s my grandmother’s assessment of the linen pants I show her at Champagne Taste a few days later.
“But you’d look great in them,” I urge her, gently tugging on the tawny-colored slacks at the thrift shop.
She arches a brow. “Of course I would. But that’s not the point.”
I heave a playful sigh. “You can’t dismiss everything I show you.”
She pats my shoulder. “I can and I will if you keep showing me things that were in and then out of fashion before you were even born,” she says, then strolls to another rack at the shop, flicking through blouses that she shakes her silver-haired head at.
“But linen’s trendy again. It’s this whole—”
“Trendy grandma look. I am aware, but I disavow it.”
I snort-laugh. “You can’t disavow a trend.”
“I just did.”
I’ve been having fun with her this morning, but something is pressing at the back of my mind. A little tension. I feel like I’m keeping a secret from her. Only I don’t know how to share it as we move through the store.
For now I tuck it away as she waves a hand at another rack. “Why would I go back to something I already moved on from?”
“Well, not to go all cross-examiner, but aren’t you dating some guy from high school you met at your class reunion?” I point out. “Hello, second-chance romance.”
She spins around again, her eyes ablaze. But her plum-lipsticked mouth is quiet.
“Cat got your tongue, Grandma?” I tease.
She narrows her eyes, crinkling them at the corners, but she stifles a laugh. “Fine, recycling may work for men and clothing. But not clothing trends,” she says as she heads to a nearby row of jeans. “But tell me more about the man in your life before we meet your brother.”
I freeze, my hand on soft denim. An uncomfortable feeling slithers down my back. Yes, she knows I married Hayes. Yes, she teased me about it at the time. But she doesn’t know there are men, plural. Or how serious things have become.
For a brief second, I consider saying brightly, He’s great, then moving on.
But I did enough covering up of my feelings when I was younger.
When my father was yelling at my mother.
Insulting her. Putting her down. When I was nine and ten and I hid in my room with my little sister, pretending it wasn’t happening.
At night then, I’d counted down the days till mom left him.
When she finally did, I was the happiest I’d ever been as a kid.
A happy relief isn’t how a child should feel. I don’t like pretending everything is fine here either.
I push past the queasy feeling in my chest. “Actually, there are…” I stop, glance around the store, not because I’m embarrassed but because this is private. With my chin up, I say, “Men.”
My grandmother stops, tilts her gaze my way. “Sounds like we should grab a coffee before lunch.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, we’re at a nearby café, and I’m telling her the details of my love life. Not the sex details, but the feelings ones, down to the argument, the fall on the ice, the talk that night. “And now, here I am,” I say when I finish, nerves skating up my throat.
She’s been down this road before with my brother, but still, this is my first time admitting I like two people at once.
She takes a beat, her blue eyes kind. “Sounds like you care for them both, Ivy,” she says without a shred of judgment.
“I really do,” I say, grateful to have shared this with her at last. But I’m nervous to voice the depth of all my emotions. “A lot. Kind of crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her expression turning thoughtful. “Sounds complicated though.”
I drink some of my latte, mulling over that basic truth. She’s not wrong. “It feels complicated. I’m not sure what to do next.” That’s the other issue. Where do I go from here?
“The good thing is you don’t have to do anything now,” she says, perhaps with the wisdom of years.
“But eventually I will.”
“That’s true. But sometimes I think we pressure ourselves to make decisions before we’re truly ready. Is this even a decision you need to make now? Maybe you need to be in this romance for a little longer to know.”
My shoulders relax some more. She’s right. I don’t have to do anything today. Maybe this is what I needed—just to know that it’s okay to exist in my uncertainty.
“Thanks, Grandma. I needed to say all that. And to hear that.”
She pats my hand. “I’m glad you knew you could share with me.”
“Now, what’s going on with the guy you met at your fiftieth high school reunion?” I ask, turning the tables.
But before she can answer, she points to the window and down the street. It’s a deflection, but a relevant one. “Oh look, there’s your brother. He might know a thing or two about your situation,” she says, then lowers her voice and adds with some concern. “Wait. Does he know?”
Nerves race through me as I shake my head. “No. But I want him to.”
“Well then,” she says, then waves him to our table when he comes into the café.
With a rare smile, Ryker strides to the table and gives Grandma a hug, then me. “Two of my favorite people,” he says.
“It’s your lucky day,” I say.
“Yes, it is.”
“How’s playing for the team with the worst record?” I taunt. It’s easier to trash talk about sports than to crack open my heart.
He growls.
My grandma laughs and high-fives me.
“The season is long,” he says, then clears his throat and adds, “How’s being a mascot? And being married to a player?”
Goodbye, trash talk. Hello, real talk. “Well, here’s the thing. I’m seeing Hayes,” I begin, and he gives me a look like I’m not surprised, then I hold up a hand and add, “And Stefan.”
Ryker blinks, confusion crossing his blue eyes, which is all kinds of ironic. “Wait. Both—”
Before he can say at the same time, I say, “Yes.”
Five minutes later, he’s cracking up, his forehead in his hand. When he lifts his face, he says, “Was it something in the water when we were kids?”
“Clearly,” I say.
“Like brother, like sister,” Grandma says.
Ryker stops laughing and fixes me with a serious stare. “But if either of them hurts you, I will kill them. Also, athletes can be trouble.”
My grandmother snorts. “Ryker, are you a self-loathing athlete? Do you think athletes make terrible boyfriends?”
“No. But imagine how bad it’ll be when something goes wrong,” he says evenly.
“Bad for team morale?” I ask.
“That. But mostly bad for Hayes’s face,” Ryker says, his tone so dry I can’t truly tell if he’s serious. “And Stefan’s.”
I laugh. But only a little. “You don’t mean that.”
He drags a hand across his beard, his gaze softening. “Look, I don’t trust most people. I especially don’t trust guys.”
I nod, understanding him implicitly.
“Mom stuck around too long because she was afraid to leave. I don’t want that happening to you,” he adds, full of concern.
I get where he’s coming from. But I have to make my own choices. “I trust them,” I say.
That’s a little terrifying to say and a little wonderful at the same time.
My grandmother smiles genuinely. “Good. That’s what matters most.”
So is the fact that I simply don’t have to make any decisions about the future of my relationship today. But soon, I will.