Love Nouveau (15 page)

I bring my fingers up to touch my lips and trace the emerging smile.

The job would be a six-week project, commissioned by a national telecommunications firm for their new satellite office. That could mean six glorious weeks together. And if we accomplished as much as we did in one night in Madison, imagine what we could do in six weeks.

Somehow the distance has only made us closer, and I’m eager to discover just how in sync we are when we’re finally within each other’s grasp again.

“Sleep with me tonight.” His voice is so soft, I almost miss his request. “Just stay on the line, close your eyes and fall asleep with me. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.”

My insides melt at the thought of listening to him breathe through the night. I curl up on my side, throwing my arm over a spare pillow to hug it close to my body, imagining it’s him. Burying my nose into the fabric, I inhale fresh linen instead of his defining scent.

“One day, Ivy, you’re going to roll over in the morning and find me there next to you.”

I can only hope, Phoenix. I can only hope.

As a delicate snore comes through the line, I give a knowing smile and close my eyes.

GLANCING AT MY CELL PHONE, my heart races when the 212 area code flashes.

New York. It’s the call I’ve been waiting for.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ivy? This is James Horejsi from Gallery 545.”

My hands grow clammy and I wipe the sweat against my linen pants as I barely register anything that James Horejsi says.

“There is an official offer letter in the mail, but I wanted to call and offer you the position personally. Take some time to consider the opportunity and the implications of moving to New York. It’s a tough town and not for everyone. The offer is on the table for two weeks from this Friday. I will give you a follow up call at that time.”

Holy shit.

I got the job. I have an open door to get to New York and start a life for myself. To make a name for myself. To proudly stand on my own two feet and think
I
did this. I can hardly contain my excitement and find myself jumping on my bed like Genevieve and I did when we were little, pumping my fists in the air while I dance to imaginary music.

James ends the call abruptly and I immediately dial Phoenix. He answers on the first ring.

“Why hello there, Cubby Bear!”

I am so overjoyed I nearly fall off the bed.

“I got it! I got the job!” I squeal into the phone like a giddy schoolgirl.

“There was never any doubt in my mind that you would. Congratulations, Ivy. I’m really happy for you.” Pride rings through his voice, veiled with a hint of sadness. The moment is bittersweet. Telling him that I’m headed to New York is the definitive answer that we are not getting any closer in proximity, but in spite of this revelation, he still seems happy for me.

More than anything I wish that he were here with me to celebrate. I don’t think there is anyone in this city who will be happy for me. Certainly not my parents who are probably secretly holding out that I’ll take the LSAT and head off to law school, Genevieve won’t give a damn, and Rachel will just be in denial about me leaving her again.

WHEN I RUN DOWNSTAIRS FOR dinner, my stomach is in knots. It is nearly impossible to gauge my parents’ reaction to the news I’ll be sharing tonight. Will they be excited that I’ll be out of their hair and on the East Coast? Will they reiterate their disappointment for my career choice? Deep in my bones, I think I already know the answer.

“I have some news,” I announce as we finish passing the pork chops around the table.

“Oh! Me, too!” Genevieve chimes in. “I heard from the florist today and it turns out they
will
be able to get the tiare apetahi for the centerpieces.”

Mom delicately pats the back of her hand. “That’s great, dear. When does CJ get back? We would love to have him over for dinner sometime soon.”

I should really be annoyed at the fact my mother is ignoring me, but I’m used to being glossed over in favor of Genevieve.

“His trip was extended so he could get a few more contracts signed while he is overseas. He should be back next week,” Genevieve says proudly as she sits up a little straighter in her chair.

“Well, we would love to have him over for dinner again before the wedding. Wouldn’t we, Stephen?”

My dad grunts in acknowledgment.

“Besides CJ still needs to meet your sister, you know,” my mother points out and Genevieve releases a huge sigh.

“So what’s your news, Ivy?” Genevieve asks, spearing a delicate French green bean on her fork and popping it into her mouth.

I choke back a smile. I’m not sure if I’m excited about leaving these kind of moments behind or if I’m simply proud that I nailed an especially challenging interview and found a job that’s perfect for me all on my own.

“Well, the gallery in New York called me this afternoon.”

My mother’s fork clanks as she drops it on the plate and temples her fingers in front of her mouth.

“They offered me the position.” I try to hide my elation.

The glance my parents exchange is impossible to miss. After a quarter century of marriage, they have perfected the art of silent conversations. Clearly my interview has been a point of closed-door discussions for them and they have already come to some kind of decision on the matter.

“Oh, that’s nice, honey,” she deadpans before picking her fork back up and continuing with her meal. There were no congratulatory words, no emotion in her voice. Just
that’s nice
.

I hate that word. ‘Nice’ should be reserved for mundane bullshit things like tea parties, perfectly pressed linen pants, and precisely arranged bouquets of flowers.

Genevieve doesn’t acknowledge my news, too self-absorbed with her
nice
wedding details. I look toward my dad and he’s giving me a stern, disapproving glance.

“Before you make any decisions, you should know that I had lunch with Juan Ramirez earlier this week. You remember Mr. Ramirez, don’t you?”

How could I forget him? He’s the family friend who always comes off a little too friendly. From the day I got boobs he’s been salivating over my developing body.

“Well, Juan said they are hiring for an Associate Director position at the Museum of Contemporary Art. I told him about your studies and your time in Italy and he was quite impressed. Apparently, the job has your name on it. All you have to do is call and it’s yours, no interview necessary. The position comes with quite a bit of notoriety and a healthy salary. Certainly more than what you’d make holed up in some tiny no name art gallery in New York.”

Unbelievable!

I cough, nearly choking on my food. I cannot believe the audacity of my family. I’ve always known how backhanded and manipulative they can be, but this is reaching a whole different level. The depths my parents will go to try and control me truly know no bounds. The Museum of Contemporary Art is within walking distance to my parents’ home on Astor Place and they would expect me to live here if I took the job. My father’s childhood friend is Vice President on the board there so, of course, my parents would use their contacts to keep me leashed close to home.

“I’ll give you his number after dinner. Just give him a call in the morning and firm everything up,” he says as if I have no choice in the matter.

I slap my hands down on the table and stand up, outraged. “You’re kidding, right? The one great thing in my life right now, the thing that I worked hard to achieve on my own without the Cotter family name, you’re trying to take that away. I just … I just cannot deal with you people right now.” I throw my napkin onto my plate and turn on my heel. I need to get away from my family and just be happy with myself for once. I need to be in New York. This whole exchange only validates my desperation to get out of town.

Quickly, I grab my house keys and storm outside heading downtown on foot. I need to remove myself from their hold and just walk. Clear my mind and rid myself of my family’s bad energy.

That exchange went about as well as I suspected: zero support and enthusiasm. Although, I definitely did
not
predict my dad playing the Museum of Contemporary Art card. Why can’t they just be supportive of me for once in my life? I want to be in New York. I
need
to be there. There is nothing holding me to Chicago.

Except a small sliver of possibility named Phoenix.

I’ve never been anything like Genevieve. Why do they think they can just buy me off? Why can’t they accept me for who I am? Would it really be
that
bad to have a daughter who works in a New York art gallery for a living? Shit, I am more cultured than all three of them combined. They should be kissing my ass at the doors I could open with connections in the industry I’ll be making.

I’m walking down North Avenue to no place in particular, grappling at my options, when a firm hand grabs my arm and spins me around.

“Ivy! Why are you ignoring me?”

It’s Matt. Of course it’s Matt because God obviously has a sense of humor and really just wants to fuck with me today. I swallow a groan and pull my arm away from him.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for two blocks. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Matt,” I say curtly with a sigh. I really don't have the time or patience to deal with him right now. I silently remind myself that when your past calls you don’t answer since it will have nothing new to say. “What do you want?”

He throws both of his hands up, feigning innocence. “Calm down, Ivy. I’m not stalking you or anything. I live just around the corner, next to the pet store. I saw you crossing the street back there and wanted to say hi. But when I noticed how out of it you looked, I got worried.” He stuffs his hands shyly in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

I stop to look at him. His crooked smile is still charming, just no longer charming enough to get into my pants. The light in his eyes tells me he still cares, which really should not come as a surprise. I remind myself that I'm the one who stopped caring a long time ago. To be honest, I’m a bit surprised that he’s even standing here talking to me considering I was the catalyst for his theatrical departure back in Madison. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to him for the past year. I hate that he goes out of his way to be nice. I’m not worthy of his kindness.

“Do you want to grab a drink? Some coffee, maybe?” he asks, shuffling his feet.

I want to ask him what he’s playing at, but he seems genuinely interested in just catching up. My mind flashes to Phoenix and guilt sinks its vicious teeth into my neck. Even as an innocent offer, assuming that’s what this is, it wouldn’t feel right. Plus, I’ve hit my annual allotment for drama and nothing good could possibly come out of
just
coffee with Matt.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He bites his bottom lip and looks away. “Okay. Well, if you change your mind, you know how to get a hold of me.”

I nod at the offer, even though there is no way in hell that will ever happen. “See you around, Matt.” I turn back to the direction I was walking and slowly exhale, releasing tension I didn’t realize I had been holding in my shoulders.

“Ivy?”

I turn back around to look at him. And, for the first time in all of the years I’ve known him, I
really
look at him. When you strip away the alcohol and the parties and his family’s money, Matt isn’t so bad. During this year apart, he seems to have gotten his shit together and has turned into a guy you can just sit down and talk with.

“You look different. Good … happy. Well, not in this moment, obviously. Just in general.” He nods at the sight of me. My soul melts ever so slightly at his kind words and the reason behind them. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I reach into my back pocket to grab my phone to call Phoenix and erase this whole exchange from my mind, but there’s nothing there. My phone is on my nightstand. Charging.
Damn it
.

I continue to aimlessly wander the streets, without concern for my safety, as thoughts about my future plague my soul. When I walk through the front door a few hours later, my dad is waiting up for me, whiskey neat in hand. He tilts his head slightly, inviting me into his office. I shouldn’t feel awkward in here, but I do. I look at the rows of thick books that line his dusty shelves and see a small picture frame tucked into the side, hidden from view. It’s an unusual sight as our family was never one for hanging photos throughout the house. I pick it up and find a faded picture of the two of us at Wrigley Field. I couldn’t have been older than six with my sweaty pigtails and cotton candy smeared across my mouth.

“Ivy,” he begins, “about earlier, I was only trying to be helpful. Your mother thought it would be a good idea.”

Helpful.
Right.

I place the frame back on the shelf and turn to him.

His eyes plead with mine. “I did not mean to make you upset. Honestly.”

There is nothing else to do but nod. I’m not going to argue with him, but I refuse to let anyone make this decision for me. Even if this gesture of handing over a job I didn’t earn on a silver platter came from a good place, I couldn’t accept it.