Chapter 13 Brooke #2
His final term throws me. Mr. Spotlight doesn't want his life on full display?
Instinctively, my thoughts go to something messy—something dangerous, risky, maybe a bad habit he can't seem to shake.
But in that case, I wouldn't want to post it anyway.
I'm not trying to stir up trouble for the one guy who could possibly write me my first ever real letter of recommendation.
And honestly, seeing he's still got shit he's dealing with would only help me with the real reason I want to tag along.
"Yeah, okay. Deal," I say. "You get final say."
"Alright then. Tomorrow?"
"Sure, what time?" I lean down, shoving the tripod into my black, quilted bag, the end of it jutting out of the top.
"6:30?"
I snap up, the bag in my hand swinging with force and landing on my shoulder, the metal rod sticking out practically taking out an eyeball. "In the morning?"
Drew chuckles. "I can pick you up if that's easier."
Why did I think that this man would need his beauty sleep? Maybe time to flush out the hangover? "Oh my God, you're serious," I deadpan.
"Uh, yeah, Brooke. I'm serious."
My ass starts vibrating as my phone goes off in my jeans. First taken aback by the time and now distracted by the message, I don't manage much more than an, "Um..."
I slip my cell from my pocket and glance at the screen. Unknown Number is sitting on top of a new text. I slide it open curiously.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
In town for a few hours, Brookie. Meet me for coffee?
My current attitude does a complete one-eighty. There's only one person in the world who calls me Brookie, and the last time I saw her, she had just swooped back into town after spending Christmas in Iceland under the Northern Lights in nothing but her birthday suit. Typical Ivy.
The excitement I gain from my aunt's text replaces the dread from Drew's early wake-up call.
Suddenly, I'm oddly okay with starting the day at such an ungodly hour for anything but Ravi's sunrise hot yoga class.
That, mixed with my anxiousness to fly to Drippy's as fast as I can so I don't miss even one minute with Ivy, finally gets me to answer.
"6:30 is fine," I say with borderline excitement. Drew creases his brow, and I tilt my phone at him. "My aunt is in town. I have to go. But I'll see you tomorrow."
I'm already turned halfway to the exit when I twist back around. Drew is still in the same spot he was in before, his lips still curved upward, his eyes still on me.
"My apartment's on Eleventh!" I call back. "Feel free to be late!"
The door to Drippy's jingles with the announcement that someone new is walking in. My eyes beeline for the entrance, and sure enough, only twenty minutes after she said, Be there in five!, my Aunt Ivy waltzes in.
I smile, watching as her silver waves bounce off of her shoulders, her bright red glasses halfway down her nose.
The top she's wearing looks every bit hand-sewn that it probably is, striped in royal blue and bright yellow, draped over her floor-length cheetah print skirt.
Her platform sandals, which are the same cerulean as the stripes on her shirt, peek below the ruffled hem as she turns in my direction.
"Over here!" I call to her from the two-top table shoved into the corner of the cafe.
I love Ivy dearly—her stories maybe more—but she doesn't spare any details, and more than once, nearby patrons have gotten a little nosy. I've learned that rather than have them shoot us a look, or worse, have them join, it's easier to separate us and other customers.
Ivy spots me over her glasses, her face lighting up as she strides in my direction. When she reaches the table, I stand, and she greets me in typical Aunt Ivy fashion.
"Brookie," she sings, kissing one cheek.
She grabs hold of my shoulders, stretching out her arms to put space between us.
"Have you lost weight?" I shake my head, a lazy smile on my lips.
"Done a full-body peel?" I repeat my answer.
Ivy hums, looking me up and down. "I got it!
" she cries, her voice already too loud.
She leans into me, bringing her hands to my cheeks.
"You've been rammed by a stud who's hung like a moose, haven't ya? "
A snort bursts through my nose as I shake my head once again.
"Not even that hockey-playing one you gave the honor to before?"
I feel my face turn the same color as her fire engine frames. "Definitely not," I say.
Ivy drops her hands. She stares at me an extra beat as if she's contemplating my honesty. "Well, you're absolutely glowing, whatever the cause," she eventually says, then she kisses my other cheek and whispers. "But we'll circle back to that last one in a minute."
"It's so good to see you too, Ivy," I say, taking my seat and praying her sporadic thoughts direct her anywhere else. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, darling," Ivy sighs, lifting her glasses so they sit perched on her head, her hair now pushed away from her face. "I've been a little here, a little there. You know how I am. I don't belong to one place."
She lifts the steaming cup of oolong tea I preordered for her, sniffing it and smiling at me through the misty haze.
"Why didn't you ever settle down?" I ask abruptly, holding my Americano in my hands like I need it for survival. I take a sip as Ivy sets down her round Drippy's mug and unnecessarily stirs her tea with the small spoon rested on top of the matching saucer.
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she watches the way the tea swirls with the motion of the spoon like the center of the spiral may reveal the future—or maybe the past. The silver clinks once against the rim before she places it back onto the dish and looks up at me.
"Settle down," Ivy repeats, her voice full of subtle amusement. "Such a funny phrase, isn’t it? Like life is something to just comfortably skate through."
She pauses, then lifts the mug to her lips. Her lipstick leaves a faint trace on the porcelain. "I tried once," she adds, her voice unusually hushed. "But he liked quiet nights and board games, and I..." She laughs more to herself than to me. "Liked parties with strangers and one-way tickets."
I sip my coffee, the rich espresso bitter against my tongue.
Her words sink in, most of my heart swelling at the idea of a beautifully mundane life with someone who knows what brand of ranch dressing you like and remembers to fill the water on your nightstand.
But the part of me that is still holding on to the life I lived ten months ago, still aches for even a fraction of the freedom I know my aunt embodies.
"Do you ever regret it?" I ask, almost hoping she does.
Ivy smiles, deep creases rushing from the corners of her eyes. "Only on rainy Sundays or empty park benches. Or when I see someone like you."
My gaze darts from the rim of my cup. "What do you mean, someone like me?"
My aunt hunches over her as if she's preparing to tell me a secret. "Someone brave enough to have both."
My eyes narrow as I adjust in my seat. "I don't understand."
"I know you, Brookie. I see you. You want to take root in this fruitful garden of life, but on your own terms. You didn't fold under the pressure of your mother to become something you're not, but you didn't run away to join me either."
I brush my thumb across the porcelain of the mug and scoff. "That sounds indecisive, not brave."
"Why can't it be both? What's so wrong with not having everything figured out all at once?
With keeping some cards close to your chest?
" Ivy inhales slowly, reaching across the small wooden table, placing her hand on top of mine.
"If I've learned anything from all the places I've been and people I've met, it's that there's no answer to this life.
It's not one size fits all. Not knowing exactly where you'll end up isn't wrong, Brookie. It's the journey."
I stare down at the hand covering mine—warm, steady, wrinkled with time.
My throat tightens unexpectedly, a lump of emotion rising in my chest that I force to stay put.
"I used to be so sure, ya know? So confident about how my life was playing out.
Lately though, I don't know, there's something about everything happening around me that makes me feel like.
.." I exhale, blowing through my lips and looking up at her eyes that somehow seem to twinkle. "Like I'm being left behind."
Aunt Ivy wraps her hand around mine fully and smiles softly. "Oh, darling, you can't be left behind when you're the one in the driver's seat. Some people may be going faster or slower, some may pass you altogether, but you're all headed to different places. All operating different vehicles."
I grin and shake my head. "Well, it sure feels like I'm on a rickety shaggin' wagon, and they're humming past me in their Cybertrucks."
Ivy lifts her hands and waves me away. "Those things are ugly as all hell."
We both let out a laugh. "I know," I say, still chuckling to myself.
"See," Ivy beams. "That's not your style anyway."
I nod, thinking of Alex. It seems like, until recently, she and I were chugging along together, laughing about our rusted bumpers and bum wheels. Now, though, she's the one in the electric car, her head out the window, waving to me as her man pulls away.
"Maybe it's becoming my style," I say, my voice unsteady.
It's still hard to admit this out loud. That my future might look different than I thought it would. That I'm starting to open myself up to judgement—about my decisions and feelings.
Ivy paints a slow smile. "Seasons, leaves, the tide, the moon." She pauses, then takes a long sip of her tea.
I crease my brow, waiting expectantly, watching her eyes fall closed as she swallows it down.
"Some of the most beautiful things in life change, Brookie," she says, her tone full of wonder. "And one of them is you."