Mom comes into my room when Ivy’s in the bathroom—?she must have been waiting to talk to me alone. She sits on the edge of my bed and says in a low voice, “Is this for real, Chloe?”
“I think so.” I’m still a little pissed at her for not defending me more—?and a lot pissed at her for marrying Ron in the first place—?but I really need to talk to someone about this, and she’s all I’ve got.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and it actually kind of makes sense to me,” she says. “Even though I never for a second considered it before. There are things about her . . .”
“I know.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then Mom says, “Do you think I need to do anything?”
“In what sense?”
“I don’t know . . . Put her in therapy? Introduce her to more gay people? There’s my friend Patricia’s brother—?he’s gay. I could ask her if he would talk to Ivy.”
“I think that might confuse her more.”
“I just feel like I should do something.”
“I don’t think we have to do anything right now,” I say. “Except maybe try not to be so heteronormative about everything.”
She squints at me. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
I shake my head. “Forget it. I’m just saying we should try to let Ivy know we’re okay with this and that it’s no big deal. She thought you guys were mad at her.”
“Oh, poor baby,” Mom says. “I’ll make sure she knows I’m not—?of course I’m not—?but I feel so worried for her.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Can’t you?” I say, and then Ivy comes back in.
Mom gets up and gives her a hug. “I love you,” she says. “You’re the best girl ever.”
“Thank you,” Ivy says. “You’re not mad I’m gay?”
“Not at all!”
“Is Ron mad?”
“No,” Mom says. “No one’s mad about this. I promise.”
There are tears in her eyes as she steps back. Ivy doesn’t notice them, but I do. And I know it’s not because of Ivy’s sexual orientation. It’s because Mom can’t ever adequately explain to Ivy all the complicated nuances of her worries, fears, and hopes for her. Neither of us can.
James can tell from my texts that I’m dealing with something major at home, and so he just shows up at the door half an hour later and tells me he’s taking me out for an ice cream break.
He’s so nice. I’m lucky to be with someone who’s always so nice.
Over a hot fudge sundae, I tell him the whole story, and he says, “Holy shit!” and laughs.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sorry. But it’s a little funny, right? I mean, there you are, wondering why she’s not falling in love more quickly with David Fields’s brother, and meanwhile she’s gay.” He laughs again. “Are you sure, though? How does she know?”
“What do you mean? How does anyone know?”
“Yeah, but this is Ivy—?she can be a little confused about stuff. And it’s not like she’s ever said anything about it before.”
“I saw her with Diana,” I say. “I know what lust looks like.”
“Glad to hear it.” His hand reaches under the table and slides along my thigh.
I move my leg impatiently away. I don’t even know why. I just don’t want to be touched right now.
James sits back and folds his arms over his chest. “What’s going on with you, Chloe?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like being groped in a public place, that’s all.”
“So let’s go somewhere private.”
“Maybe in a little while.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”
“Sorry,” I say, only I don’t feel sorry. I feel annoyed. And I don’t know why. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
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.”