Page 30 of Till Cupid Do Us Part

11

PRESENT

NIKO

Ivy’sfavourite romantic comedy plays on the TV as I use refilling the popcorn bowl as an excuse to sneak out of the room. My phone feels heavier than a brick in my hand. I’m more aware than ever of how heavy my footsteps sound. I keep looking over my shoulder every second one to make sure she hasn’t heard me pass the kitchen into the hall.

The phone call I’m about to make feels more daunting than any other. I wasn’t even this nervous when I asked Ivy’s father for permission to marry her last month. The man is only a few years older than me but still welcomed me into his family eventually. I had to prove myself first, and I appreciated that fact.

Travis, on the other hand, he could take me or leave me.

Asking him for approval for what I’m about to do tonight feels right but also real fucking weird. I don’t need him to tell me I’m making the right decision because I know I am. There isn’t a single fragment of doubt in my mind about that.

I want his approval for purely selfish reasons. I’ve done a lot of shit wrong with him, and for once, I want to try and do something right.

He knows I want to marry Ivy. It’s been obvious from the moment he first saw us together. That doesn’t mean he necessarily knows it’s coming. The kid has been blindsided enough.

His contact name pops up on the screen when I send the call through. My throat contracts as I bring the phone to my ear and listen to the dial tone.

Maybe I could have done this earlier—shouldhave. I’m leaving neither of us a lot of time to figure anything out. Even if he says no, I can’t say I would wait to ask Ivy to be my wife. I’m pretty sure that makes me an even shittier father.

“Dad?”

Fuck, I can’t breathe properly. “Hey, Travis,” I choke, struggling to inhale fully.

“You good?”

“Can you talk?”

Music swells in the living room, and I move further down the hallway, away from where Ivy is. With my back to the wall, I stare into the master bedroom, focusing on the pile of Ivy’s clothes on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m between showings. Is this about Junie? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Jill’s watchin’ her.”

“Alright,” he says, sounding relieved. “What’s this about, then? I don’t have a lot of time.”

A car horn blares in the speaker, followed by my son’s grumbled curse.

“Are you drivin’ right now?”

“Relax. Bluetooth is a thing now.”

I almost laugh. “I’m not that fuckin’ old.”

“Are you going to tell me why you called if it isn’t about Junie?”

“You love her, yeah?” I blurt out.

“Junie? Yeah, I love her. She’s my sister.”

“Even though she’s Ivy’s?”

The pause that follows that question is so tense I can feel it from the other side of the phone. He speaks before I can tell him to just forget it.

“Her being Ivy’s daughter doesn’t change that she’s still my sister. It wouldn’t be fair to punish her for something she can’t control.”

“That’s mature of you.”

---