Page 28 of One More Made Up Love Song
“Then tell her that,” Ivy says. “Put the poor woman out of her misery.”
“She isn’t miserable,” I argue. “She wants a photo op. That’s not the same thing.”
Ivy frowns. “Is that really what you think?”
I shift on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of Ivy’s scrutiny.
“Freddie.” Ivy moves closer and sits down beside me, turning sideways and tucking one leg under her so she’s facing me. “I know you’ve been burned before, but there are women capable of liking you foryou.It isn’t always about your fame.”
I turn to face her. There are faint circles under her dark brown eyes, and I’m suddenly aware of how late it is. She got up as early as I did this morning, and she’s been working ever since.Withoutthe three-hour nap I took before the show.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say, and Ivy rolls her eyes.
“Is that the only reason you aren’t calling Mira? Because of the fame thing? If you just randomly met her on the street somewhere, would she interest you? If neither one of you was famous, would she catch your eye?”
“That’s a stupid question,” I say. “Weareboth famous. You can’t separate that out of the equation.”
“Sure you can,” Ivy says. “Your fame won’t always matter as much as it does now.” She nudges my leg with her foot. “Just think about it. Think about Mira in a vacuum. Just her. Her personality. Her vibe. Does she interest you?”
“I still don’t think?—”
“Humor me,” Ivy says, cutting me off.
I frown and grab a pillow from the opposite end of the couch, tucking it against my chest. “Why are you being so mean to me?”
Ivy rolls her eyes. “Asking you to be honest is mean? Come on. Think.”
I’ve gotten very good at following Ivy’s instructions over the years, so I force myself to think about the last interactionI had with Mira. But it only takes a moment to come to the same conclusion I did when her last text came in. Mira’s fameisoverwhelming, but it’s not the only problem. We don’t have the sparks I want.
“She’s not the one for me,” I finally say. “And not just because of the fame thing.”
Ivy nods. “Okay, good,” she says. “Was that so hard?”
For a split second, it sounds like there’s relief in her tone, but I can’t be sure it isn’t wishful thinking. That I only want Ivy to be relieved because I’ve suddenly, inexplicably started noticing her in ways I never have before.
“Is it good?” I ask.
“It’s decisive,” Ivy says, “which is always good. But you have to tell her, Freddie. Tell her you aren’t feeling it, and you don’t want to lead her on.”
I groan out a protest, but I know Ivy’s right. Mira deserves the truth. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll respond to her text.”
“Good,” Ivy says. “You should.”
Silence stretches for a beat before I ask, “Do you really think I can have a relationship with someone who doesn’t care about my fame?”
It’s a pointed question, and I realize, as soon as it’s out of my mouth, that I’m baiting her. Luring her into a conversation about my love life to see how she’ll respond. To see if I can guess whether she’s picked up on any of the shifting vibes between us or if it’s all inside my head.
“Of course you can,” Ivy says. “You’re more than your fame, Freddie. You always have been.”
Warmth spreads across my chest. Ivy is too real a person to blow smoke, which means I can only take her words at face value. “Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t remember the lasttime I met a woman who didn’t already know who I was. That’s a weird feeling.”
Ivy bites her lip. “I barely knew who you were when we met.” Her eyes widen. “Not that I’m saying—I mean, I know I don’t count. I’m just saying generally. I exist. There have to be more women out there like me.” She closes her eyes, visibly wincing as her face scrunches up. “Not that you need a woman like me. I just mean like me in the sense that she wouldn’t be a fan.”
I can’t decide if Ivy’s obvious discomfort with this subject is a good sign or not. There’s a blush climbing up her cheeks bright enough to hide her freckles, and that’s saying something, because Ivy has a lot of freckles.
“I get what you mean,” I say, but I’m not all that sure I agree with her. I’m beginning to think someone like Ivy is exactly who I need.
“Good,” she says as she hops off the couch. “Definitely text Mira then.”
