Page 21 of Sawyer

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“So, you got the part? The starring role?” asks Uncle Alan. “That’s amazing, Ivy!”

He and my aunt are sitting side by side across from me while I rock back and forth in a rocking chair at the foot of their bed. I love the casual intimacy of their bedroom, but even more, I love that I’m welcome here. I love that I’m comfortable here. Walking into their bedroom and sliding into the rocker at the end of a summer day became a habit so many years ago, I can’t even remember when it started.

“You were so good inKing Lear! I’m not a bit surprised,” adds Aunt Priscilla, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. Her eyelashes are gone. It breaks my heart. “Who’s playing Heathcliff?”

My cheeks get hot. In fact, I’m positive they’re crimson.

“Is that right?” Her eyes widen knowingly. “Huh. I didn’t even know Sawyer Stewart was interested in theater!”

It’s crazy how well my aunt and uncle know me.

“How do you feel about that?” asks Uncle Alan. “Working with your old flame?”

“Well…I was surprised when he walked into auditions,” I tell them honestly. “But he was good.Reallygood. A natural actor. He’s going to make an amazing Heathcliff.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” my uncle points out.

I take a sip of the decaf coffee I’m holding and think for a second before answering.

“I don’t want it to be awkward,” I say. “But I tried to talk to him tonight, and…”

“Not so good, huh?”

“He agreed to play nice and get along for the sake of the play, but…I don’t know. Still felt really awkward after talking.”

“That was a pretty intense summer you two had.”

“It was over a year ago.”

“Ivy—”

“And it was just a fling!” I insist, quickly adding, “Besides! I’m engaged to Clark!” I hold up my left hand, the diamond on my fourth finger catching whatever dim light is filtering into the bedroom from the adjacent hallway. “So, it really doesn’t matter what happened that summer. It’s in the past. Ancient history.”

“Why does your ‘ancient history’ feel like today’s headline?” asks Uncle Alan. I’m about to protest when he continues gently, “You had feelings for each other. You know you did. And feelings don’t just die—ignoring them won’t make them go away. In fact, ignoring them, in my experience, can sometimes make them hold on harder.”

I remember Sawyer’s eyes, bright with tenderness, his face close to mine, our bodies naked and entwined. Though we never declared them aloud, our feelings for each other that summer had been deep and intense. Even now, I can’t deny that I feel something for him that goes beyond friendship. Maybe I always will. But I remind myself that I didn’t choose Sawyer Stewart. At the end of that summer, I walked away from him and went back to Fairbanks. I let him go.

“Just some food for thought,” says Uncle Alan, his voice gentle.

I hop up from my favorite chair, fold the blanket I was using and grab my almost-empty mug from the bedroom floor. “I’m going to turn in.”

“Goodnight, sweet girl,” says Aunt Priscilla. “We love you.”

“We love you tons,” echoes Uncle Alan.

“Love you, too. Light off?” I ask, pausing by the door.

My aunt nods. “Yes, please.”

“Goodnight,” I say, flicking the switch and pulling their bedroom door closed behind me.

I cross from their room to Vicky’s, which is mine for now, and lie down on the bed.

My mind goes back in time.

Junior year at UAF. Early May.

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