Chapter 19
19
Ivy
December 25
Kauai, Hawaii
Ivy wakes at dawn and hears Oliver in the shower. Her body is pleasantly sore from the night before with him—and, knowing he’s leaving soon for his camping trip, she goes to join him in the shower. “Merry Christmas,” she says, stepping into the hot water’s stream.
He groans at the sight of her. “Best Christmas present ever,” he says, reaching for her right away. “But honestly, I can’t believe I, Mr. Crazy About Christmas, am leaving on today of all days. What was I thinking?”
She kisses him as the water sluices between their bodies. “You were thinking your work is important to you. Your art.” She presses herself closer. “And that’s sexy to me, too…”
After their shower, they sit on her deck and have breakfast.
“So, what do you think you’ll do while I’m gone, other than pine for me?” Oliver asks with a wink as he bites into a wedge of pineapple.
“Well,” she says with a laugh, “once I’m done pining, I’m going to draw all morning, as much as possible—make the best use of my time without you.”
Her portfolio is sitting nearby, and he glances over at it and says, “Mind if I look, before I go?”
“Sure,” she says, and tries not to feel shy about it. He’s seen her naked; surely she can show him her artwork.
He flips through the plastic-clad pages, doling out appreciative compliments. “So, really?” He looks up at her when he’s done. “These are just for you, and for friends, family? You never show them at galleries?”
Ivy shakes her head. “Not anymore.”
“They’re so good, Ivy. You really should be showing them somewhere. I don’t get it.”
Suddenly, Ivy feels defensive. The afterglow of the night before and that morning in the shower dissipates. “I’m fine,” she says. “I like my life this way.”
He puts down the portfolio and looks at her thoughtfully. “So your art—it’s just two weeks a year, that’s it?”
“I’ve already explained to you how my art holidays work.”
A long pause. “And me?”
She looks up, surprised. “What about you?”
“I mean, where would I fit into all that? Because I don’t want this, us, to be just a two-week thing. I want to see you again after this.”
“I want to see you again, too.”
“In New York City, though. That’s where we’d see each other?”
“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead. But yes, I’ll be in New York.”
“Right. We can talk about this later, I guess. I should go pack up.”
She sits alone on the deck after he’s gone inside, but then gets up and follows him in, the defensiveness still flowing through her.
“What am I supposed to do, tell you that now that we’ve met, I’m going to change everything about my life?”
He zips shut his pack and turns to her again. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that familiar way. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of this. Not this morning. I’m getting ahead of myself.” His expression softens as he looks down at her. “I really like you, Ivy.”
She reaches for him. “I really like you, too,” she says. “We can figure it out.”
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, speaks into her hair. “You’re right.”
“And thank you for saying such nice things about my artwork.”
“It’s incredible,” he says. “I mean that.”
“So is yours.” She pulls away and looks up at him again. “And you need to get to that waterfall. Meanwhile, I need to work on your Christmas present, which, I’m sorry, is going to be a day late.”
He raises an eyebrow, flashes his dimple at her. “I thought I got my Christmas present in the shower?”
She laughs. “That was just part one. Okay, go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He kisses her deeply. “Merry Christmas, Ivy,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”
One more parting kiss, and he’s gone.
Later, back in her bedroom, Ivy sees the gifts and card on her pillow.
“Open the presents first” is scrawled across it.
Inside the box is a pendant on a delicate gold chain. The pendant is aqua blue, a similar color to his eyes, she notes, but studded with golden flecks. It reminds her of the way the sun dapples the ocean as it rises. She puts it on and misses him even more.
The second package is a framed photograph. One of Oliver’s waves, stunning in its powerful simplicity. She smiles at his signature in the corner and knows this is a photo she will always treasure.
Then she opens the card.
Dear Ivy,
The pendant on the necklace is a Kauai Ocean Opal. The color reminds me of the ocean, and specifically the way you draw the ocean with your pastels—the perfection with which you capture sunlight on waves.
The print is of one of the first wave photographs I ever took. I think it might have been the moment I realized I wanted to be a photographer. I think—I hope—you might find that inspiring.
I can’t wait to see you first thing tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours feels like forever.
Merry Christmas.
Yours, Oliver
Suddenly, Ivy is blinking back tears.
I think—I hope—you might find that inspiring.
But he doesn’t understand, does he? Just because she feels inspired, just because she loves making her art more than anything else, does not mean she can upend her life. Only, was that what he was even asking her to do, earlier? Her inner voice tries to get her attention with that. He was just trying to suggest there were other lifestyles out there—and that maybe they had a future, one he was wondering about.
Ivy gets out her art supplies and sets up her easel, but she can’t concentrate. Every time she lifts her hand to draw, all she can think of is the color of Oliver’s eyes, the texture of his hair. What is she so afraid of? Why can’t she truly give in to her feelings for him?
“Merry Christmas!”
Larry is standing at the top of the stairs wearing a Santa hat over her tumbling dark curls.
Ivy smiles. “Good morning.”
“I see Oliver is off on his camping trip. But I hope you two had a great night last night?” She raises her eyebrows.
“We did,” Ivy says, trying to keep her tone lighter than she feels.
“You’ll join us later? We’re going to have a big dinner, and I’ll be cooking all day, and making festive cocktails.”
“Sounds perfect,” Ivy says. “I’m going to finish this and then I’ll come down.”
Ivy sets back to work, struck by a sudden idea. She draws the beach, and then Oliver and Larry walking on it with their surfboards, the way they looked the first morning she saw them out there. Two soulmate best friends. She feels a twinge—she misses Holly—and pours that emotion into finishing the drawing.
Oliver will be back the next day, she tells herself as she sets the pastel drawing out to dry. They can talk. They’ll figure this out, what their future could look like. Everything is going to be fine.
“Cheers!” Larry says. “To new friends, and to love.” She looks to Shira, her face aglow with happiness in the candlelight. “Enduring love. Merry Christmas, everyone!”
“Merry Christmas!” Ivy repeats, feeling a dull ache in her heart at how much she still misses Oliver, especially after their argument. She clinks glasses with her new friends, sips her wine, then puts her glass down and leans back in her chair. “That was an amazing dinner.”
“I know, I’m sorry Oliver missed it.”
“But because it’s Larry, there will be leftovers for days,” Shira says with a smile at her fiancée.
“You can never, ever have enough leftover pineapple-ham sandwiches,” Larry says. Then she glances at Ivy. “Or vegan Manapua Man dumplings.”
Ivy laughs. “This is true. Those are so amazing, I might need to find a way to smuggle some home in my suitcase.” She takes another sip of wine, but the mention of a suitcase has sobered her. She looks across the table, at Larry and Shira snuggled close in the candlelight.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is it hard to make a long-distance relationship work?”
Larry laughs. “Gee, I wonder why you want to know that.”
Ivy blushes and ducks her head. “But seriously…”
Shira glances at Larry. “I think it was harder at the beginning. I won’t lie and say being apart wasn’t agonizing sometimes.”
“Almost all the time,” Larry says. “I missed Shira like crazy. We went months without seeing each other when she was working on a movie. But it also made it kind of exciting, right?”
Shira nods. “Every time we saw each other again, it felt as exciting as the first time. And we had to be really conscious about our relationship. We had to plan phone calls, FaceTimes, visits. We could never take each other for granted—and I think that has trickled down into the rest of our relationship. We’re stronger because of it. I think we always will be.”
“So, there’s hope for you and Ollie,” Larry says. “I promise.”
Ivy sighs, and Larry clocks her somber expression. “Hey, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Ivy lies. “I guess I do just wish he were here.”
“You two are so cute. I love it.” She lifts up the wine bottle. “Uh-oh, empty.” Shira gets up to find another bottle and change the record, and in the silence, Ivy hears her phone ringing.
She looks at the call display: Holly. “Hello?”
A gasping, wrenching sob. “Ivy?” She hears her friend take what sounds like a deep, painful breath.
“Holly! Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. But…I’m not really okay, no. I need you. I can’t be alone right now, Ivy. I’m so sorry. Please, come.”