Page 53 of Sawyer

Because I love her.

***

Ivy

I’ve been cut off.

The text I received while I was with Sawyer was from my father and informed me that my credit cards and bank accounts have been frozen. I have been removed from my father’s health insurance plan. Further, if I don’t return to Juneau by January 1, he will evict me and Clark from the apartment he purchased for us, find a renter, donate all of my belongings to Goodwill, and sell my car.

His message ended with the warning that should my “disappointing and wayward behavior” continue, he had no problem disowning me. He’d remove me from his will, leave his company to his shareholders, and instruct his lawyers to give his vast fortune to the Catholic church.

While I’ve been subject to my father’s emotional neglect since birth, he’s always taken care of me financially. And, to some extent, I’ve equated that care with love. (“Maybe he doesn’ttellme he loves me, but heshowsit by taking care of me!”) I’ve never been the target of his renowned ruthlessness until now. And while it saddens me, I’m not entirely surprised.

What does that say about me? And my relationship with him?

You’re warm and kind. You’re here, caring for your aunt…You’re different, Ivy. You can break the chain.

The summer before last, when I was falling in love with Sawyer, I cut off contact with him, in large part because my father had already given his stamp of approval to Clark’s and my relationship. He’d impressed upon me the potential usefulness of the Rupert family’s political influence for the benefit of Caswell Coal.

Sawyer Stewart, a tour guide from Skagway, didn’t fit into my father’s plans for me, and defying my father for the sake of my heart felt both selfish and dangerous—selfish to put my wishes and feelings above my father’s, and dangerous to my fragile self-worth to risk his approval for a boy who loved me but couldn’t offer me the sort of financially sound and politically powerful future that Clark could.

I returned to college and buried my feelings for Sawyer. Per my father’s wishes, and despite the warnings of my heart, I forgave Clark and started dating him again.

I allowed my father’s plan for my life to take precedence over my feelings.

And yet, just over a year later, when faced with Aunt Priscilla’s diagnosis, I somehow found the strength to follow my inner compass. This time, I didn’t defy my heart. I defied my father instead, and I can’t help but wonder if what happened with Sawyer is at the very crux of my new-found courage. Perhaps the agony I felt when I left him—the utter terribleness of cutting him out of my life despite my feelings for him—was something my heart simply wouldn’t tolerate again.

This time, I didn’t ignore my heart or my conscience. I couldn’t pretend that my aunt would be “just fine” without me. Iknew she needed my help, and I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t offer it.

I also know the debt of gratitude I owe her for a lifetime of love—not that she’d ever dream of collecting on it—and how much I love her in return. I was motivated by love and gratitude, by my conscience and my heart, to make the right decision this time. And yes, I knew my decision to leave Juneau would anger my father and jeopardize, if not destroy, the positive footing we’d finally found. I knew that any love he felt for me, real or imagined, might be revoked as a result of my decision.

But I did it anyway.

Maybe because I also know—deep in my heart—that my father doesn’t know how to love me (or anyone else, for that matter). And maybe, because of that, there was even a little defiance in my choice to leave Juneau and Clark and my apartment and my internship. I feel that same sense of rebellion rising up within me now, stronger and more stubborn than I ever could have expected.

I won’t let you push me around, I think.I don’t care what you take away from me. I’m your daughter to be loved, not your chattel to be browbeaten. And I will no longer accept less from you.

Sitting at the kitchen table at my aunt and uncle’s house, I open my father’s texts and hit the Respond button.

IVY:

I am in receipt of your text.

I think about writing more…about how I understand why he’s chosen to cut me off, and how sorry I am to have disappointed him so bitterly. Then I sway the other way and write a furious paragraph about how he drove my mother away and is doing the same to me. I erase that message and write something else about how sorry I am for him—that I know hegrew up feeling unloved, and that I don’t blame him for not knowing how to love me.

In the end, however, I add nothing else. Mostly because there’s nothing left to say that would help or heal or pierce the block of ice that encases my father’s heart.

Wishing I was completely out of fucks for him but finding many fucks still sitting hopefully in my stupid heart, I bury my head in my pillow and cry myself to sleep.

***

Over the next few days, I realize that while my basic needs (food, a place to sleep, a car to use, etc.) are mostly met by living with my aunt and uncle, there are other things, like my preferred brand of tampons and favorite deodorant, that are quite expensive. I don’t want to add to my aunt and uncle’s financial burden, so I’m determined to find a job and make a little spending money of my own.

To my surprise and satisfaction, most off-season jobs in Skagway offer a competitive hourly wage. I interview for a job as a part-time office assistant at city hall which pays $29.32 per hour. Bearing in mind that minimum wage in Alaska is $11.73 per hour, this is a really good salary.

When they offer me the position—which dovetails perfectly with the hours the girls are in school and only requires my presence four days a week—I take it without a second thought. And right away, I like it. I like greeting visitors and directing phone calls to the appropriate department. I like managing the bulletin boards in city hall (and adding a little fresh pizzazz to them!) and helping the other city hall employees with mailings and other administrative tasks. While it’s true that I studied political science at UAF, I’ve never seen how a small-town government works, and I find myself fully engaged on a daily basis. And best of all, I still have time in the afternoons and evenings for errands, laundry, picking up the girls from theirafter-school playdates and activities, cooking dinner, and getting to rehearsal on time.

Speaking of rehearsals, they’re getting intense now.

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