He smiles back and takes a bite of his burger.
I push the unidentifiable salad around on my plate. “Do you think these are potatoes?”
He shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of the mound identical to mine on his own plate. “It tastes like macaroni to me.”
Suddenly, the heap of food on my plate becomes very unappealing and I’m not hungry anymore. I push it aside. Nix is sitting across from me, sipping his beer. “He eats anything,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes.
Nix is an attractive dark-haired guy. In high school he always had a girlfriend but never seemed interested in any of them. He’s tall, but not as tall as Xander, and he has an athletic build. His hair is short, his eyes are chocolate brown, and his skin always looks tan. He looks the same as in high school, just more mature and more built. But he now wears a very detailed tribal tattoo that circles his biceps with an intricate feather design draped down his arm. It’s always peeking out from under the short sleeve of his T-shirt. Garrett told me he got it right after graduation—he went to visit his great-uncle, who lives on an Indian reservation, and came home with it. Garrett said he never really explained to them why he got it, but he figures it has something to do with his family heritage.
I stand up and toss my plate in the trash. My phone rings again, but this time it’s my mother and I decide to bite the bullet and get it over with.
“Hello.”
“Ivy, it’s your mother, honey,” she says, as if I didn’t have caller ID or recognize the sound of her voice.
“Mom. Hi.” I drop down to sit on the steps.
“I’ve been calling you. Why didn’t you call me when you broke off your engagement with Damon? I had to hear it from him.”
“I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on right now.”
“Well, sweetie, I’d like to have lunch this week if possible.”
I take a couple of deep breaths. “Mom, I’m going on the road with another band for a few months and I’m busy getting ready, but I promise I’ll call you as soon as I get settled.”
“Ivy, honey, it’s important. Your sister’s tuition is due and I don’t have the money and somehow I missed the mortgage payment last month.”
“Mom, I’ll see what I can do. Money is tight right now.”
“Oh,” she responds. “Do you think you could ask Damon?”
“No! I should be able to get you some money in a few weeks.”
“I can’t wait that long. The bank will take the house.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Listen, come get my car. I’ll text you where it is. I’ll leave the keys and the signed pink slip under the mat. That should hold you over for a bit.”
“Ivy, that would help tremendously.”
“I have to go, Mom. I’ll call you soon.”
“Thanks, honey. I knew I could count on you.” She hangs up.
Her response was as automatic as mine. She knew all she had to do was ask. But what bothers me is that she didn’t even ask where I was going or with whom. That just wasn’t as important as getting a check.
My body fills with so much tension I feel paralyzed. I put my head in my hands and sit alone for the longest time, wondering how I’m ever going to free myself from her. Finally, I stand and head backstage to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. The floor is slatelike and my heels click against it with each step, but that’s not the only sound I hear—I hear Xander’s voice. With just one simple word he’s back in the front of my mind again and I stand frozen in place in the almost nonexistent space between the stage and backstage.
“Fuck,” he says, and the way the word rolls off his tongue catapults me back in time.
I had missed a week of school and band rehearsals. I was in the tenth grade and Xander had just gotten his license. I was sick, but I still had to babysit—my mother was working. The doorbell rang and when I opened it all I could see was a finger hooked around a hanging plant of ivy. I slammed the door shut, thinking it was the neighbor kids playing a practical joke and almost caught his finger.
“Fuck!” he yelled, and I immediately opened the door again.
He came into view and handed me the pot. I raised an eyebrow and just looked at him.
He grinned. “What?”