Page 66 of Salvation
A laugh slips past her lips before she can stop it, and my heart swells three times in my chest. It’s one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard.
“You know what—I think you might be alright.” It’s said with an eye roll and a scoff, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling ten feet tall because my daughter thinks I’m “alright”— and that’s a start.
“So,” I say, changing the topic before she can take it back, “speaking of family—I was wondering if you would like to meet mine? My mom is dying to meet you.” A strange look passes over Willow’s face, and she slips her lips between her teeth, chewing on the bottom one. “If it’s something you don’t feel comfortable with, all you have to do is say no, and I’ll take care of it. I don’t ever want you to feel pressured.”
It’s true. My mom can pester me all she wants, but she won’t meet Willow until Willow is ready. She’s calling the shots here, and I will protect her decisions.
She looks up under her lashes, her gaze meeting mine, and her mask slips just enough for me to see beneath the attitude she uses as a shield. She’s vulnerable. “Do you think they will like me?”
I rub at my chest with the heel of my palm, a sudden ache forming there.
“I think they will love you,” I answer honestly.
Willow tilts her head as if trying to decide if I am telling the truth. Whatever she sees must convince her because with a tentative smile, she says, “Okay. I think I want to meet them.”
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My hands shake as I walk up the sidewalk to Ivy’s front door. Willow handed me everything I’ve ever wanted on a silver platter when she told me Ivy is no longer engaged, but I have no idea how to take it. So I’m here—doing this—because it’s the only place I know to start.
Quickly, I raise one hand and knock, then shove it back in my pocket to hide the tremble. I force myself to take a deep breathand calm my racing heart as I wait to hear footsteps on the other side.
This is Ivy, and before everything else, she was my friend. She’s not going to judge me.
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
My conversation with Hayes has been on my mind for over a week. Everything he said made sense, but I have still hesitated to make an appointment with the doctor. Maybe it’s stupid for me not to want to go alone, but that’s where I am.
I could have asked Hayes to go with me. He would have agreed in a second. I could have even asked my mom or anyone else in my life. Except, I didn’t want to. I want it to be Ivy. So here I am, with my hands shoved in my pockets and my heart trying to beat out of my chest, praying she says yes.
The door creaks open, and there’s a very real chance I might puke. Then my eyes land on Ivy, and all that pent-up tension inside my chest melts away.
Her honey eyes are on me, and there’s a slight wrinkle between her brow. Unable to stop myself, I pull one hand from my pocket and press my fingertip into the groove.
“Hi, sunshine.”
Ivy frowns, and my heart skips, reacting to every single thing she does.
I really should get these heart palpitations checked out because it can’t be normal to be this affected by someone. But I guess if I’m going to die, going out looking at Ivy would be the best way.
“Campbell, is everything okay?” Worry tightens her voice, and I drop my hand, remembering why I’m here.
Clearing my throat, I search for the words to tell her what I need. To beg her to give me just this one thing. “I’m okay. I just—I need a favor.”
“Okay.” She says it slowly, like she’s afraid to ask what that favor might be, and instead of keeping her waiting, I push forward, getting the words out before I can chicken out.
“Will you go to the doctor with me?”
Ivy’s eyes widen with surprise, whether with the force in which I asked the question or because of the question itself, I’m not sure.
“Are you sick?” As she scans me from head to toe, the worry in her eyes makes something warm spread through my veins.
I could spend forever with her eyes on me, and I’m not sure if I would think it’s enough.It simultaneously burns and soothes, making me feel alive and giving me enough clarity to know I’m doing the right thing.
“Physically, no, but mentally—” I stop and shrug, “yeah, I am, and I have been for a long time. But I never wanted to admit it. I was ashamed.”
“Why now? What’s changed?”
It’s a fair question, seeing as I’ve shut her down every time she’s tried to talk to me about this, but it still makes me want to laugh because what hasn’t changed in my life over the last three months? Instead, I rub the cut on my palm and give her the raw truth—the one that has the possibility of shattering me one day.
