Love Nouveau (14 page)

I’m tempted to pull the quote down and hide it in my pocket like a secret treasure, but settle for a photo of it instead. Snapping the picture quickly, I save it to my photo stream and return to the hotel to pack up for my flight home.

My work here is done, and hopefully, it is just the beginning.

DRIVING DOWN LAKE SHORE DRIVE with Rachel is one of my favorite things to do in the world. It’s like we’re in high school again where life is carefree with no pressing obligations, and nobody matters but us. When she called this morning, asking if I wanted to grab brunch and then hit up the beach with her, it was a no-brainer plan to escape the torture of my parents’ house. Only in Chicago does an air temperature of seventy degrees with frigid water temps of Lake Michigan constitute a beach day.

“Oh, I love this song!” Rachel squeals, turning the volume up to eleven.

I settle deep against the seat, a smile slowly pulling my lips apart. The lyrics roll over me in incandescent waves, filling the tiny crevices of my soul with sunshine that melts me from the inside out. Closing my eyes, I soak in the words as they describe the feeling of reuniting with a past love, both emotionally and physically.

It is as if every love song on the radio was written with Phoenix in mind.

Life is in technicolor.

Flowers smell sweeter.

Colors glow brighter.

My senses are awakened from the empty slumber of the past few years and I never want to sleep again. What is happening to me? I’m losing my cynical edge. How does he have this effect on me? It’s impossible to erase him from my mind. God, I’m
such
a girl.

I quickly pull my phone out of my bag and fire off a text message before Rachel notices my mind is five hundred miles away.

Ivy:
Just so you know, I’m missing you like mad today. What are you up to? xoxo

I twirl my phone in my fingers and look out the window to Lake Michigan. I wish I were on a different lake with a completely different person sitting next to me. I close my eyes against the headrest and daydream of Delilah’s bench and the most magical kiss of my life.

We drive in silence a while longer, then pull off on a side street downtown to find parking. The beach is surprisingly crowded for a weekday.

“So how was the interview?” she asks as she lays out her beach towel in the sand.

Admittedly, I haven’t thought much about the interview since I left New York. It’s hard to focus on anything but Phoenix lately. “Fine … good, the interview went well. Really well, in fact.”

I don’t have it in me to gloat about inevitably having good news come my way; partly because I don’t want to jinx myself, but also because I don’t want to ruin her hopes of me staying in Chicago. I offer Rachel a timid smile and plop down next her in the sand.

“You’re really not yourself, Ivy.” She tosses her flip-flops to the side and shimmies out of her shorts and T-shirt. “Strip down, girly! Let’s get some vitamin D on that pasty corpse of yours.”

After a few hours of basking in the warm sunshine, I check my phone to see if Phoenix has texted me back. I frown when I see no new messages. He must be busy building a plan for some potential new client he has been trying to land for the past few weeks.

“What’s with the freaked out bald dude on your phone case?” she asks pulling me from my reverie.

I glance down at Edvard Munch’s famous painting and smile. It has always been one of my favorites because it’s so misunderstood.

“It’s called
The Scream
.” It doesn’t surprise me that she has no recollection of learning this in our Intro to Art History class freshman year. She slept through half the semester and cheated off me on during exams.

Rachel shudders. “He skeeves me out. He reminds me of Kevin McCallister screaming in
Home Alone
. Is he witnessing the zombie apocalypse or something?”

I snort at her comment.

“No. The painting is about love, actually.”

“Love? Yeah, right.” She scoffs.

“Yes, love.” I sigh. “It’s about despair being the inevitable outcome of falling in love. Nearly every single love you experience will encounter searing heartache on some level and that thought alone is terrifying.”

“That’s depressing, Ivy.”

“Well … that’s art. Anyway, this piece was one of the first notable paintings in the Art Nouveau movement,” I add, trying to at least give her an education since Professor Whitman apparently failed her.

“Blah, blah, blah … art nouveau? You sound like you’re in love nouveau,” She mocks.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I feel my cheeks flush and I suppress a smile.

“Oh. My. God. You totally slept with him, you slut monkey! You’re in love at first fuck!” Rachel shrieks.

“No,” I correct her. “I neither slept with him nor am I in love with him.”

At least I don’t think I am.

“Fine, maybe you’re not, but you
are
in a long distance relationship,” Rachel sings at me.

“I would hardly call one date a relationship.” I give her a pointed glare. I mean, we’re not in a relationship, are we?

Shit.

Maybe we are?

I don't know.

“But you want to be.”

I smile as I close my eyes and absorb the warmth from the sunshine. I can’t deny it …
won’t
deny it. Even after knowing Phoenix for such a short period of time, he has bewitched me. Without even looking at her, I know that Rachel is staring at me.

“After a decade of friendship, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you like this over a guy.” She snickers.

“Let’s not even go there.” Because if we go there, I’m going to get excited. And when I get excited about a guy, that is the instant I allow myself to get my hopes up, which is the very same moment I position myself to get devastatingly hurt. As fucked up as it sounds, I would rather be the one who does the hurting.

Rachel sits up with a serious look on her face. “So you kind of like this guy, eh?”

If by “kind of like” she means completely and totally enamored, first and last thought each day, a single text setting me off with the urge to dance in the rainy streets without abandon, where I can’t even think straight because he occupies every last fissure of my brain, then yes, I kind of like Phoenix.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

I turn my face away so she can’t see the rising blush of my cheeks. Liking a guy to this extent is completely foreign to me, and it is absolutely killing me that the one guy capable of turning my insides to mush is a five-hour drive away. Why couldn’t I like a guy in the same area code? I hate not knowing when I’m going to see him again. I don’t want to call him or text. I don’t want to video chat. I just want to be in his arms, kissing his lips, inhaling his breath, wrapping my legs around his waist, getting lost in his presence.

I just want to be with him.

I’m floating on unchartered waters, standing on the edge of the boat, warring with the decision of whether or not to throw myself overboard. If I jump, love will either chain itself to my ankles like a cement block, pulling me under, drowning me, or love will throw a life preserver and keep me afloat, the water lapping my skin in kisses. That’s the thing about these kinds of emotions, they will either save me or kill me.

“For what it’s worth, Ivy, you look like a girl in love,” she says with a pointed look. “But I would like to call out the best part about him being in St. Louis…”

“Oh?” I ask, squinting into the sun.

“You don’t have to shave religiously.”

Leave it to Rachel to find the silver lining in the distance.

AS I LIE IN BED that night, Rachel’s words echo through the peaks and valleys of my mind.

Is this love?

I don’t know.

But whatever it is, I know it’s true because of the way he makes me feel. And I’ve never felt anything like this before in my entire life.

I toss and turn sleeplessly. I have to know if he feels this strongly too. Is he thinking of me nearly as much as I’m dreaming of him? God! These emotions are making me bat shit crazy.
Get a grip, Ivy!

What we’re doing simply is not enough for me. No longer do I want to just text or settle for video chats. I want nothing less than the opportunity to lace my fingers between his, run my hands through his hair and watch him in the morning light as it cascades through the blinds. I want to kiss him until my lips are swollen with passion. Rake my fingernails down his back.

I want him mind, body, and soul. I need to be with him.

I need to be his.

Fuck the distance. Phoenix should be here with me. Or maybe I should be there?

I don’t know.

But I’m certain that we should be together. We were meant to be a couple.

There are art galleries in St. Louis, right? Perhaps I need to expand my job search there. Just because I get a job offer in New York City doesn’t mean I have to take it. Could I be the kind of girl who blindly follows her heart? Sure, my heart lies in art, but could I truly be happy without Phoenix in my life if I’m living alone in New York?

Why must this be so confusing? Why the hell am I even entertaining shuffling my future for some guy I’ve just met?

My subconscious snarls at me, knowing exactly why I’m entertaining the thought.

I roll over and look at the clock. It’s nearly four in the morning and my exhausted body refuses sleep with my mind running rampant. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I fire off a text, not caring that it’s the wee hours of the morning and that Phoenix is likely asleep.

Ivy:
I have a problem.

He responds immediately. I don’t even feel bad about possibly waking him up.

Phoenix:
What’s the matter? Are you okay?

Ivy:
I’m fine. It’s just that I’m here. And you’re there.

I look at my last message and take a deep breath. Rip off the Band-Aid, Ivy. Just tell him how you feel, no matter how terrified you are.

Ivy:
Do you know what this means?

Phoenix:
?

Ivy:
One of us is in the wrong place.

When my text goes unanswered after several minutes, the severity of my pathetic emotions set in. I’ve probably scared him off. Or maybe he fell asleep? Or hell, maybe I’ve read into everything way too much and he doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Shit, that would be the worst. I don’t know.

Just as I close my eyes again to try and drift to sleep, my phone begins to sing the Foo Fighters’s song that makes me giddy with anticipation and desire.

“Hi,” I whisper sheepishly. My insides shift subtly, and I feel a bit lighter at the thought of him on the other end of the line.

“About that … what if one of us wasn’t in the wrong place?” He wastes no time getting to his point. “What if we lived in the same state? Same area code, even?”

Any semblance of exhaustion is pulled from the room as I attempt to process what he’s trying to tell me. I sit up immediately and search my brain for words.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was finalized, but the proposal I’ve been working on the past few weeks is for a freelancing gig just north of Chicago,” he says quietly. “We can actually see if this … if
us
could work.”

A veil of silence presses over the phone as words escape me and I feel my heart rate spike.

“I mean, I know that you may be headed to New York soon, but even the opportunity to be around you for a few weeks is better than nothing.”

Is this for real? He’s making it crystal clear that he’s interested in exploring whatever this is between us. My toes curl in excitement. It’s a legitimate chance to be together. To see each other whenever we please. To hold hands and touch. To actually attempt to date without the assistance of wireless Internet and modern technology.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s not in writing yet, but it’s looking like it’s a done deal. I spent my entire day on the phone with them presenting my revised plans. They are petitioning for approval on the budget to make it happen. I think they want me to come up in a few weeks to meet in person, and I’d love to spend time with you again if you’re free.”