Page 100 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Seriously? Dideveryoneknow how I feel about him?”
“Well,hedidn’t, so at least you managed to convince somebody. But we know you, Ivy. We’ve heard the way you talk about him.”
It occurs to me that so many things about a relationship with Freddie will be different because of his fame. And it probably won’t always be easy. There will be ripple effects that impact my family, no matter how much I try to keep them out of the limelight.
Freddie’s family is annoyed by his fame. They see it as a nuisance. As noise. And they’re missing out on having a relationship with someone really incredible because of it.
It makes me grateful to know it doesn’t matter to my parents. They’ll love him because I do. But also because they’ll see how amazing he is.
“I really love him, Daddy,” I say, and he smiles.
He stands and moves over to where I’m sitting and wraps his arms around me. “I’m happy for you, Ivy. Also, he asks really good questions about my trees.”
I let out a little chuckle. “You’re gonna turn him into a farmer.”
“You think he’d give up singing to move out here and work with me?”
I think of the way Freddie lights up on stage. “Not a chance,” I say. “But maybe when he retires?”
Dad grins. “I’ll hold out hope for that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Freddie
“And this is Daphne here?”I ask, pointing to a little girl in the photo album spread out in front of me. She has her arm looped over Ivy’s shoulders, and she’s smiling wide. Ivy is easy to spot. Her wild curls were even wilder when she was a kid.
“Yeah. That was Ivy’s seventh birthday party,” Mrs. Conway says.
“Seems like they were really good friends,” I say as I turn another page.
Ivy was right—she really was a cute baby. A cute kid too. But the photo albums I’m looking through tell me something much more important. They draw a clear picture of a family who has always had fun together. A lot of the pictures are totally random. Unposed, candid shots that aren’t great quality but still seem to tell a big story. The girls in the backyard or riding on a tractor or feeding the animals in their mom’s rescue. There aren’t a lot of posed photos, which iswhat you see in photo albums at my house. Professional quality photos of the four of us posing behind birthday cakes, posture rigid, fake smiles on our faces.
Those photos were important to my mom, and I don’t fault her for wanting to document our lives. But I get the sense Ivy’s family has so much fun on Christmas morning, they forget to take any pictures at all.
“So, Freddie,” Mrs. Conway says. “I have a question for you.”
I close the album and look up at her. Ivy might have her Dad’s curly hair, but she has her mom’s eyes.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Now, I want to preface this by saying I don’t want to take advantage. I imagine you have people asking for things all the time. And that’s not what I’m trying to do here. But, well, not everyone gets the chance to have dinner with someone of your level of influence. So I’m shooting my shot.”
“Okay. Noted,” I say, more than a little intrigued by where this conversation might be going.
She takes a deep breath. “The other day, I came across an article about you and Ivy and your newly discovered romance…” She hesitates. “And it mentioned Daphne’s accident.”
My stomach drops into my shoes. “That shouldn’t have happened,” I say. “I have a publicist who is supposed to keep an eye on things—who should have?—”
She lifts a hand, cutting off my words. “I didn’t mention it to upset you. Or to complain. It was bound to happen eventually, and the article didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. They included a picture of the vehicle—they probably found that from the news articles that ran right after it happened—and that was pretty much it.”
“Still, it had to be jarring to see it when you weren’t expecting to.”
Her expression softens. “It’s not how I like to remember Daphne, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Conway says. “But it did get me thinking. We’ve been talking for years about doing something in Daphne’s name. A foundation of some sort to promote education and awareness. I don’t want teenagers to drink. Ever. But if they’re going to anyway, I’d like them to understand how it impacts their body. Daphne was smart. She wouldn’t have climbed into that car if she’d thought she was in danger. So she must have believed she was safe. That her boyfriend hadn’t had enough to drink for it to matter. What if I’d sat her down and been more straightforward? Told her what signs to look for. Insisted thatanyamount when you’re only eighteen is enough to make you a risk.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t bring Daphne back. But I can talk about her. I can educate. I also thought I could provide support for other families who have been through what we’ve been through.”
“I think that’s an amazing idea,” I say.
“I also thought if people are going to be digging up things about her accident now that you and Ivy are together, maybe if we’re the ones talking about it, then we get to control the narrative. It can’t be a scandalous story if we’re the ones telling it.”
