at a shelter, fell in love. Later they had Sam, then Adrian. Naturally. Not adopted, I mean. It’s all pretty sweet. Dad runs the brewery here—big house. Boat. Most people think my life’s sugarcoated. Like Callie’s. And her perfect family. Can’t imagine any different.”
“You and her?” I leave a pause.
“No.” He scratches the back of his head again, checks his phone.
I say, “Not everyone knows—people like Callie live in one world and we live in the other.”
He puts his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, something like that. Except I don’t live there anymore.”
“That’s the sort of thinking I admire,” I say. The huge cushion has tipped us pretty close. It’s easyfor me to lift my mouth and kiss him quickly on the lips. He leans back, surprised, and considers. There we go. I kiss him again. Good kisser. Sweet.
His hand moves to my waist. I slide it lower but then I’m first to pull away. Always leave them wanting more. Kurt looks like he’s surfacing. He has a lazy smile.
We get up to go dance. Closer now, sweaty, hands laced.
Callie comes back to my house. She’s one of those fun, giggly drunks. I’m the moody type and I’m coming down from the high of kissing Kurt. She chats about a sleepover we had three years ago when we mixed up face cream with hair remover and waited for ages for the hair on our legs to dissolve, but it never did. She laughs all over again at the idea of putting hair remover on our faces.
I shove her onto the bed.
Callie says, “Not that we have hair on our faces!”
“True.”
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask another question?”
“I’m sorta tired.”
“What was it like, kissing Kurt?”
I know I’m going to want to go over every detail with Callie in the morning, but right now I just want to sleep this off, so I shrug. “Pretty nice. Callie, let’s get some sleep. Want water?”
She tucks herself around a pillow. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Man, she’s so sweet. Like mosquito bites, tears prick my eyes. Callie puffs the pillow behind her head, lies back, and passes out, snoring softly. Fast asleep. I snuggle up to her. Being here next to her makes me remember. I don’t want to think about it, but the memory comes hard.
The last day we lived in Edenville, three years ago, Callie and I went for a walk by the river. We glimpsed a woman standing at the edge of the riverbank far below, her bare feet in the dirt. She was teetering at the edge, her arms spread. My fucking mother.
Callie cried, “Oh my God, Ivy.”
“Just shut up.” I became still. Small. Listening.
“What’s she doing?”
I said, “No, no, no.”
Mom raises her arms, reaching toward the rushing river. We scramble down the slope. I scream, “Mom, it’s me!”
The woman half turns to us, her mouth a round O of surprise. I lose my footing, and Callie tumbles through the shrubs, yelling. She manages to get close enough to grab Mom’s dress strap.
Mom flinches and snarls at her, “It’s your fault. My own daughter would rather be with you than with me.”
I yell, “No!”
Mom hears me, looks over at me, then jumps.
“Mom!” I yell, running to the shore.
Callie grabs a branch and extends it. I’m helping now, my hands cold, wet.
Mom’s splashing, screaming, “I hate my life.”
“Please, Mommy. I love you best,” I say. “Please. Grab the branch.”
Mom finally seizes the branch and we haul her back to shore. She flops on the muddy ground, mascara ringing her eyes.
“It’s okay, Mommy. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She’s a
mess.
I heft her to her feet. I’ve done it before, but never like this.
Mom says, “
You
made this happen, Ivy.” She’s so drunk I’m surprised she can speak.
Callie’s trembling. She says, “I could run home, get my mom. She’ll know what to do. We need an adult. Someone to take charge.”
“No. Don’t. It has to be a secret. Promise you won’t tell. Promise!”
She pauses for, like, a hundred
“You and her?” I leave a pause.
“No.” He scratches the back of his head again, checks his phone.
I say, “Not everyone knows—people like Callie live in one world and we live in the other.”
He puts his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, something like that. Except I don’t live there anymore.”
“That’s the sort of thinking I admire,” I say. The huge cushion has tipped us pretty close. It’s easyfor me to lift my mouth and kiss him quickly on the lips. He leans back, surprised, and considers. There we go. I kiss him again. Good kisser. Sweet.
His hand moves to my waist. I slide it lower but then I’m first to pull away. Always leave them wanting more. Kurt looks like he’s surfacing. He has a lazy smile.
We get up to go dance. Closer now, sweaty, hands laced.
Callie comes back to my house. She’s one of those fun, giggly drunks. I’m the moody type and I’m coming down from the high of kissing Kurt. She chats about a sleepover we had three years ago when we mixed up face cream with hair remover and waited for ages for the hair on our legs to dissolve, but it never did. She laughs all over again at the idea of putting hair remover on our faces.
I shove her onto the bed.
Callie says, “Not that we have hair on our faces!”
“True.”
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask another question?”
“I’m sorta tired.”
“What was it like, kissing Kurt?”
I know I’m going to want to go over every detail with Callie in the morning, but right now I just want to sleep this off, so I shrug. “Pretty nice. Callie, let’s get some sleep. Want water?”
She tucks herself around a pillow. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Man, she’s so sweet. Like mosquito bites, tears prick my eyes. Callie puffs the pillow behind her head, lies back, and passes out, snoring softly. Fast asleep. I snuggle up to her. Being here next to her makes me remember. I don’t want to think about it, but the memory comes hard.
The last day we lived in Edenville, three years ago, Callie and I went for a walk by the river. We glimpsed a woman standing at the edge of the riverbank far below, her bare feet in the dirt. She was teetering at the edge, her arms spread. My fucking mother.
Callie cried, “Oh my God, Ivy.”
“Just shut up.” I became still. Small. Listening.
“What’s she doing?”
I said, “No, no, no.”
Mom raises her arms, reaching toward the rushing river. We scramble down the slope. I scream, “Mom, it’s me!”
The woman half turns to us, her mouth a round O of surprise. I lose my footing, and Callie tumbles through the shrubs, yelling. She manages to get close enough to grab Mom’s dress strap.
Mom flinches and snarls at her, “It’s your fault. My own daughter would rather be with you than with me.”
I yell, “No!”
Mom hears me, looks over at me, then jumps.
“Mom!” I yell, running to the shore.
Callie grabs a branch and extends it. I’m helping now, my hands cold, wet.
Mom’s splashing, screaming, “I hate my life.”
“Please, Mommy. I love you best,” I say. “Please. Grab the branch.”
Mom finally seizes the branch and we haul her back to shore. She flops on the muddy ground, mascara ringing her eyes.
“It’s okay, Mommy. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She’s a
mess.
I heft her to her feet. I’ve done it before, but never like this.
Mom says, “
You
made this happen, Ivy.” She’s so drunk I’m surprised she can speak.
Callie’s trembling. She says, “I could run home, get my mom. She’ll know what to do. We need an adult. Someone to take charge.”
“No. Don’t. It has to be a secret. Promise you won’t tell. Promise!”
She pauses for, like, a hundred
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