“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.”