Page 53 of One More Made Up Love Song
Ivy’s phone is up to her ear, but she pulls it away long enough to turn it to face me. Her Mom’s picture fills the screen, and I nod my understanding as she returns her attention to the call.
Wayne climbs into the front seat of the SUV and looks at me over his shoulder. “Good to go?”
I nod, even as Ivy starts talking into the phone. “I promise she’s good,” she says. “A little hungover. But she’s young. She’ll bounce back quick. I really think you should call her.” She’s quiet for a beat before she adds, “Idothink she’ll answer. She told me she would.” Another pause. “Same phone number. You won’t be interrupting anything. I left her in the hotel room with a pizza and the five-hour version ofPride and Prejudice. But she can pause that long enough to talk.” After another beat of silence, Ivy rolls her eyes. “Seriously? Fine, fine. Hang on.” She puts the phone on speaker and looks pointedly at me. “She wants to say hi.”
I grin. “Hi, Mrs. Conway.”
“Hi, Freddie. I hope you’re taking good care of my daughter.”
I meet Ivy’s gaze and lift my eyebrows.
She gives her head a quick shake, a silent answer to my question. She hasnottold her mom the truth.
Interesting.
I clear my throat. “I’m doing my best,” I say.
“You’ll have to come out to the farm when you’re back in Tennessee. Stay a few days. We’d love to see you. We’ll have a new baby in a couple weeks. That’d be a great time to come.”
“Donkey,” Ivy silently mouths. “Baby donkey.”
“I’d love that,” I say. “Will I be able to meet Pirate? He’s the donkey with one eye, right?” I’ve heard a lot about the tree farm where Ivy grew up, and she’s shown me dozens of pictures. But I’ve never been there in person.
Honestly, it feels weird Ihaven’tbeen there in person, and I have a sudden desire to see Ivy’s childhood home.
“Pirate and all the others,” Mom says. “I might even have a few baby goats, though that rescue is still up in the air. Not sure they’ll need me. But there’s always something to see, with or without the goats.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Of course! You have a great show tonight. And y’all be good to each other.”
Ivy’s gaze shifts to mine, and we stare for a long moment, her mother’s words hanging between us. But then Ivy gives her head a little shake, and she looks back at the phone.
“Bye, Mom,” she says.
“Bye,” she calls back. “Love you lots.”
“Um, I definitely want to meet the new baby donkey,” I say as Ivy drops her phone in her lap.
“You’ll never escape,” Ivy says. “Mom will want to keep you. She’ll also tell you you’re too skinny and you need to eatmore of her fried chicken, which, honestly, that’s not a mistake. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
That same yearning from before fills my chest. I do not have the kind of family who fosters much sense of belonging. The idea of Ivy’s mom wanting tokeep mesounds nice.
Silence settles between us as the SUV turns at the next intersection and the arena comes into view. Fans are already lined up outside the building, filling the sidewalk and clustering around the merch tents set up outside. One woman in a Midnight Rush t-shirt points at the SUV, then nudges her friend.
The windows are too dark for them to see who’s inside, but it still makes my skin prickle with awareness that all those people out there are here to see me.
“So, you didn’t tell your mom, then,” I say, turning my attention back to Ivy.
“I will eventually. But—I didn’t want to complicate things. My dad won’t really understand the PR side of this.”
I nod, wondering if I should have a conversation withmyparents. They don’t exactly follow me online—they find the fame side of what I do utterly baffling. But telling them still feels like the courteous thing to do.
“I should?—”
“Call your parents?” Ivy finishes for me. “I thought you might want to. You’ll have about fifteen minutes after soundcheck. Maybe you could call them then?”
“Perfect.”
