There’s a pause. James unfolds his arms, sits forward, sits back again, moves his legs restlessly, and glances around the ice cream shop. There are a few other people there, mostly couples and parents with small kids. For a while, we’re the only ones at a table who aren’t talking to each other.
When James does speak again, his voice is quiet. “What are we doing?”
“Eating a hot fudge sundae? Or is this a trick question?”
“I’m serious, Chloe. What’s going on with us? I feel like at some point we switched from being together because it was fun to just being together out of habit. But neither of us wants to admit it.”
“Wow.” I stare at the dish of ice cream. I feel sick to my stomach.
The problem is, he’s not wrong.
There’s another silence.
“That’s it?” he says. “You’re not going to argue with me? Or say anything?”
“I love you a lot,” I say, but it sounds forced. I don’t know why. I do love him, and I’ve said so plenty of times before. The first time we kissed was pretty much the happiest moment of my life. He’s been an amazing boyfriend, loyal and supportive and kind. I feel panicky at the thought of losing him.
But I also know he’s right, that lately I’ve been spending way too much time convincing myself I feel closer to him than I actually do.
“Nothing’s changed,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”
“Really?”
I stick my spoon in the ice cream and leave it there, like a flag sticking up. “I mean, I know I’ve been a little distracted lately because of the Ivy stuff. I’ve had a lot on my mind . . . And having to process that she’s probably gay—”
“You only just found that out today.”
“I know. But if I seem a little out of it tonight, that’s why. It’s not because of you or anything to do with us.”
“It’s not just tonight. It’s been, like, every day for the last month. Sarah says she’s noticed it too.”
“When did she tell you that?”
“I don’t know. Recently.”
I feel stung. They were complaining about me to each other. “That’s really weird. She hasn’t said anything to me, and I’m supposed to be her best friend.”
“Well, you’ve been ‘distracted’ lately.”
“I have been. I’m not lying about that.”
“Sorry if I’m not crazy about being the last item on your list of priorities.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It must suck for you to not always be first. You must not know how to handle that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that your entire family treats you like you’re some kind of crown prince. The world revolves around you, and you get whatever you want whenever you want it. So when I just need a little time to myself, a little headspace, you can’t deal with that.” Wow. I hadn’t even known I felt that way until the words came out. But I do.
“And she goes right for the personal attack. Nice.”
“I’m not attacking you! I’m just saying that most guys would understand if sometimes I need to help my sister—”
“Most guys? Or David Fields?”
“Are you serious? That again? You know what the situation is, that we both—”
“You ate lunch with him! I was waiting for you, and you just sat down and ate with him! Don’t pretend that’s about Ivy.”
“Yeah,” I say. “What a betrayal. I actually talked to a male human being who wasn’t you. I totally forgot that when you go out with someone, you’re supposed to cut off all communications with the opposite sex. Next thing you know, I’ll forget to keep my chastity belt locked whenever we’re apart.”
“Sure that hasn’t happened already?”
I stare at him. “Jesus. What are you accusing me of exactly?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe you should tell me.”
I breathe in sharply. “Wow. I guess the part of the relationship where we trust each other is officially over.”
“Just that part?” he says softly.
And, like that, we break up.
James drives me home—he would never leave me stranded—but we don’t say anything in the car, and when I get out, all I say is a stony “Thanks for the ride,” and all he says is a cold “You’re welcome.” I slam the door shut and run inside and upstairs to my room, where I throw myself on my bed and burst into tears.
Ivy was curled up with her iPad, but now she sits up. “What’s wrong, Chloe?”
I roll onto my back. Tears run down my temples and into my hair. I can feel them sliding along my scalp. “James and I broke up.”
“Is your heart broken?”
Trust Ivy to say something that makes me almost want to laugh, even though I’m in pain. “A little bit, I guess.”
“Maybe if you told him you were sad, he’d want to get back together.”
I shake my head, and a tear slips into my right ear. “I don’t want us to.”
“You don’t? Why are you crying, then?”
“It’s just sad.” I turn onto my side so I can look at her. “He’s really great, and I really love him, but I think we want different things from each other right now.”
“What do you want from him?”
“I don’t know. Just for him to be supportive, I guess.”
“He’s not supportive?”
“Sometimes. But he was feeling like I didn’t care enough about him.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Care enough about him?”
“I thought so.”
“I still don’t understand why you broke up,” she says, a little plaintively. “It doesn’t sound like anything was that bad.”
“It’s complicated.” I roll back and look at the ceiling. My tears have stopped. Now I just feel tired. “People are complicated.”
“If Diana and I went out, I would never break up with her.”
“You say that now, but things change. You might meet someone you like even better.”
“Is that what happened? Did James meet someone he liked better than you?”
“I don’t think so.” But that makes me wonder. Could he have?
Nah. He wasn’t planning to break up with me tonight—everything was fine until suddenly it wasn’t.
“I thought maybe you guys would get married,” Ivy says. “People sometimes marry their high school boyfriends.”
“Not often, though.”
“Mom and Dad met in college.”
“Yeah, that happens more often.”
“If you want to cry more, you can. I don’t mind.”
“Thanks. Is it okay if I stop talking now?”
“Do you want me to stop talking too?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay,” she says. “But I’ll come sit with you.”
“That would be nice.”
So she comes over to my bed and sits down on the edge. I lie there, my arm over my forehead, too tired to move. She pats my leg a couple of times, not saying anything, just keeping me silent company until I tell her I’m going to get ready for bed and then she goes back to hers.
Getting ready for bed and actually falling asleep—two very different things. The first is easy. The second . . . not so much. Not when your day has left you reeling.
My thoughts don’t even know where to land. I can’t decide which is the more unsettling thing—that James and I have just broken up or that Ivy’s gay and I hadn’t noticed.
I’m sad that James and I aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend anymore—my tears were real—but I’m not devastated. I even feel maybe a tiny bit of relief mixed in with the sadness. He’s right: things have been moving in a weird direction with us for a while. Lately I’ve been finding myself more and more irritated by things he says. I’m hurt that he could say goodbye to me this easily, and I’m scared about losing my constant companion, and my ego is going to miss having the best-looking guy in our sch
ool at my beck and call . . . but I don’t feel like I’ve lost the Great Love of My Life. I’ll date a lot of other guys, and some of them may even understand what it’s like to want to do whatever you can to help your sibling, because they’ll feel the same way about theirs. Like David does.
Of course, my imaginary future boyfriends won’t be like David in other ways, because . . . David.
And that brings me back to Ethan and Ivy.
Ugh. What a mess I’ve made.
Twenty-Seven
DAVID AND I walk up to the Starbucks at the exact same moment. We say hi, and David opens the door. “After you,” he says with a gesture.
“Wow. When did you become domesticated?”
“I’ve always known the conventions. I just don’t always choose to follow them.”
While we wait in line to order, I notice that he’s dressed more nicely than usual, in a button-down shirt and jeans that look reasonably new. “You just come from church?” I ask.
“I don’t go to church. Why? Did you?”
“No. It’s just that I’m wearing sweats, and you look kind of nice.”
“Not really,” he says. “And I like your sweats.”
“Yeah, they’re my good sweats.” It’s a joke, but it’s also sort of true: they’re soft and heather-brown and tapered, and if you could marry an article of clothing, I’d probably propose to them today. I’m wearing an equally cozy sweater—it’s blue and fuzzy, and sometimes when I’m wearing it, I stroke my own arm. I haven’t showered yet today—I finally fell asleep around two in the morning and lingered in bed as late as I could—so I pulled my unwashed hair into a sloppy topknot before leaving the house. I definitely don’t look like I came from church. Or from anywhere other than my bed, actually.
David keeps shifting from one foot to the other. He sticks his hands into his pockets, rattles his change, glances around . . . He seems uneasy, and it is a little weird, just the two of us out together. I keep waiting for Ivy and Ethan to show up.
“I want a morning bun,” I say, more to break the silence than for any other reason.
“You should get one, then.”
“Should I, though?”
“What’s the downside?”
“I feel sick afterward?”
“Life’s short. Take a chance.”
He puts his order in with mine and pays with his phone app before I can hand over any cash.
The indoor tables are all occupied by unshaven guys writing movie dialogue on their MacBook Airs, so we sit outside. It’s a beautiful LA morning, still cool enough that the hot coffee feels good and so does the sun on our shoulders.
“So,” David says, leaning back in his chair and idly watching me as I take the warm morning bun out of its bag. “What’s up? Are we here to do some more plotting?”
I push the pastry toward him. “Want some?”
He nods and we both tear off pieces.
“You’re not answering my question.”
“I know. It’s just . . .” I drop my piece of bun back on top of the bag. “I have something to tell you. And it’s kind of big. And it’s also kind of weird.”
He sits up straight. “What is it?”
“It’s about Ivy.”
“Oh.” His body relaxes. I wonder what he was thinking—what else would it be about? “What about her?”
“I sort of realized something. I mean, she did.” I take a deep breath. “You see, she had this friend over—this girl named Diana—and she was really into her and didn’t want her to go and kept sitting really close to her . . .” I stop.
“What?”
“Ivy’s gay,” I say. “I mean, I think she is. I mean, she is. I think.” I shake my head. “Sorry. I sound insane. But she is gay, I’m pretty sure. I think she’s in love with her friend.”
His mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
“I think maybe that’s why things weren’t moving along with Ethan. I kept thinking she just needed some time—I mean, I really thought she liked him—but then when I saw her with Diana . . . There was just something else there, something I hadn’t seen before.”
He just stares at me.
So I keep going. “And then we talked about it, and Ivy figured some stuff out for herself, and what she figured out is that she’s gay. So I guess she and Ethan probably can’t work out romantically. But they can still be friends, right?” When he doesn’t respond, I repeat, “Right?”
“I don’t know.”
I wait.
Nothing.
I peer at him. “So . . . you’re angry?”
He shrugs, glances away.
“I didn’t do this on purpose,” I say. “I wouldn’t have set her and Ethan up if I’d known.”
“I never said you would have.”
“You haven’t said anything at all.”
He tugs at his hair. He speaks slowly. “Ethan woke me up early this morning, worried because the movie he wanted to take Ivy to had gotten a very high rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and he was convinced it would sell out. He didn’t want to get there and not be able to get tickets, but he didn’t want to buy the tickets online in case Ivy preferred to see a different movie. He also wasn’t sure if he should wear a sweater or just a nice shirt on their date and needed me awake so he could talk to someone about all that.”
“I know he’s incredibly sweet,” I say. “You don’t have to convince me. And I could tell he liked Ivy—”
“Likes.”
“Likes her. But you know better than anyone else how bad they both can be at letting us know what they’re thinking and feeling. I had no idea how Ivy felt about Diana until I saw them together.”
“But it was your idea to set her and Ethan up. It was your idea to push them together over and over again. So the fact that Ethan is totally one hundred percent in love with your sister, who’s never going to feel the same way in return—who never could feel the same way in return . . .” He trails off, shakes his head, and says, “Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt him, but I don’t see how that helps him right now.”
“I’m know. I’m sorry. I made a mistake. But—”
He abruptly pushes his chair back and rises to his feet. “So I guess we should cancel today’s date?”
“We don’t have to.” I stand up too. “They could still get together as friends. So long as Ethan knows what’s going on.”
“How is he going to find out?”
“Maybe we could all talk together this afternoon?” My heart is pounding nervously. I want David to tell me he’s not mad and that I haven’t done anything wrong. But his face is cold and shut down. “Instead of going to the movies or just canceling? If Ivy can tell Ethan how much she does like him—just not as a boyfriend—maybe they can hold on to their friendship.”
“Yeah,” David says. “That always works out so well, doesn’t it? ‘I don’t like you that way, just as a friend.’”
“If it’s sincere—”
“Would it be? Does Ivy actually care? Or is that something else you’re projecting on her?”
“I think she’s really had fun going out with him. I have too. I’d like—” I stop. But then I go ahead and say it. I don’t have a lot to lose at this point. “I’d like us all to keep doing stuff together. If you guys want to too. It’s been really nice for me.”
“Yeah?” His gaze flickers across my face, but evades my eyes. “Nice, how? Why?”
“It’s been amazing being able to talk to someone about Ivy—someone who gets it.” It’s the easiest way to answer the question, and it’s true. But it’s not the whole answer. Even when we weren’t talking about Ivy and Ethan, I was starting to like hanging out with David.
“Join a support group,” he says, and turns away.
“Wait! What about this afternoon?”
“I’ll bring Ethan over at three,” he says over his shoulder. “You guys can tell him what you need to tell him. Let’s just get it over with.” And he walks away befo
re I can say anything else.
Which is fine, because I have nothing else to say.
It’s funny: the night before, after James broke up with me, even though I cried, I kind of felt okay deep down, like the right thing had happened, like it was inevitable. But now, as I drive home, totally dry-eyed and outwardly calm, I feel awful inside, all the way through—even my bones and my intestines ache.
I wish I could go back in time. I wouldn’t try to push Ethan and Ivy together.
Except if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have gotten to know David, and I’ve really liked getting to know him. He’s crazy and angry and surly, but he’s also smart and funny and challenging in a good way. James is kind and charming and helpful to everyone. David . . . David’s not nice to very many people. But he’d sit and talk to me like I was actually a human being, and it felt like I’d broken through some barrier other people couldn’t get past. It felt meaningful, like I was someone special.
I hope Ethan will be fine with everything, and then maybe David will be fine with everything, and then maybe we’ll all be friends again, and maybe Diana will decide she’s in love with Ivy, and Ethan will find someone else to be in love with, and David and I will be able to get together and talk about how great it is that Ivy and Ethan are friends with each other and in love with other people . . . and then unicorns will spread rainbows all over the sky, and flying pigs will play in them, and we’ll all live together and have dogs named Eleanor Roosevelt and cats named Sappho.
Twenty-Eight
“YOU HAVE TO BE kind of tactful when you talk to Ethan,” I tell Ivy over lunch.
Mom and Ron are out, so she and I are eating grilled cheese sandwiches by ourselves. I burned one side of them, but I don’t care, because I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Ivy complained about the burned taste but is managing to eat hers anyway.
I go on. “Don’t just say, ‘I’m gay and don’t want to go out with you.’ Tell him you really like him as a friend; you just can’t be his girlfriend. Make sure he doesn’t take it personally, that he knows you wouldn’t like any guy that way.”
“You should probably tell him.”