Page 89 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
I fumbled with my phone, trying to open Instagram. It was rare for me to go on social media or post anything myself. I had people for that. As I tried to find the damn app and log in, I smiled. Ivy’s behavior made much more sense now. I couldn’t wait to read herlove letter.
I only followed a few dozen accounts. Ivy’s wasn’t one of them. That had always been to protect her. We were past that stage.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally got logged in and found Ivy’s account—now public.Brave woman.No doubt she’d done it for me.
She’d already racked up thousands of new followers. I could only imagine how many people were searchingfor her now, hungry to learn more. Some out of curiosity. Some with knives drawn.
Then I saw it.
The first photo in her post made me pause.
It wasn’t polished or posed. Just a selfie of the two of us on the couch, lounging in sweats. No filters. No perfect lighting. Just Ivy, grinning as she leaned her head against mine.
And I could still hear her saying, “Say cheese.”
My thumb hovered for half a second before I finally scrolled up. I was eager to read Ivy’s present to me. The one she was afraid I wouldn’t like because she’d overstepped her bounds.
For the last seven years, the question I’ve gotten the most is: How did you meet Mr. Holiday and become best friends with him? I’ve answered that question so many times. Each time with the story of how I fixed his orange-hair disaster and was amazed by his arrogance, and how I ended up insisting that men and women could be just friends. To prove I was right, I promised we’d be just that: friends. Only friends.
As fun of a story as that is, I have an even better one to tell today.
I’m going to tell you how I metJackand why I fell in love with him.
Those words took me aback, and I sat abruptly on one of the steps. Ivy hadn’t told me she was in love with me. Sure, I’d sworn she was, and over the years she’d toss out half-teasing comments about how she loved me more than her favorite purse. But this was different.
I read on.
Looking back now to the first time we met, I realize that I didn’t meet Mr. Holiday that day. I met Jack. The man who had come in almost weekly to get his hair trimmed just because he was looking for an opportunity to talk to me. And as soon as I gave him the time of day, he has been a constant in my life. Never has he failed to be there for me in all the big and the quiet moments. He has brought me soup when I’m sick and caught a red-eye flight across the country just so he could be the first one to wish me happy birthday.
He does his best to love the things I love—even if that means eating OREOs. I’ve never told him this, but I know he doesn’t actually like them. He’s never said a word. But every time I eat my favorite cookie, he’s right there beside me, downing one, too. Just for me.
I chuckled. Of course she knew. I should’ve guessed my fake OREO enthusiasm hadn’t slipped past her.
With such a great guy in my life, one might be curious to know why it took me so long to realize Jack was more than my best friend. The truth is, I can be stubborn, and I really did want to prove him wrong about men and women being friends.
I knew it.
But now, looking back, I think I better understand why it took me so long to see what was in front of me all along. I was afraid of Mr. Holiday. The man you all think you know. I’ve seen firsthand what that spotlight demands—especially these last few days, when it’s turned toward me, too.
Believe me, that light is blinding. And hotenough to burn.
But no matter how intense it gets, Jack has always stood inside it with grace. Even now, as lies and wild accusations swirl. All for clicks. All to feed people’s need to watch others fall.
But none of it is true.
Jack has never faked a thing with me. Especially not our relationship. You don’t show up for someone—again and again, for seven years—unless it’s real. Jack loved me enough to stand by all these years, not knowing if I would ever reciprocate his feelings. Yet he never pushed or crossed a line I didn’t want him to. Instead, he chose to love me day after day, where I was at. He was the best friend a girl could ask for. He still is. But I’m lucky enough now to call him my boyfriend.
I know some of you may be thinking,Has she seen the photos of him kissing another woman?Oh, yes, I’ve seen them. And the thing that bothers me most is that he was kissed without his consent. Worse, that someone was paid to capture it.
Ivy was so brilliant not to use names. Not only did it make it look like she was taking the high road, but it called out anyone who would engage in that kind of behavior. I was falling more in love with her by the second. So much so that I was willing to risk my ego again and beg her to marry me, knowing full well she’d turn me down.
Do you know what Jack was doing at the store that night? He was there because my period had started, and I wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t even tell him—he just knew. And he wanted to get me a little period care package to make me feel better. You know what? It did.
So there you have it—a little piece of who Jack really is. I plan on keeping the rest of him to myself. Honestly, I don’t knowhow I ever got so lucky. But I’ll let you keep Mr. Holiday. He’s a great guy, too, but he has nothing on Jack.
I let my phone fall into my lap, my eyes stinging. Ivy had me almost wanting to ditch the whole Mr. Holiday thing. But he served his purposes, and this way, Jack was exclusively for Ivy.
Speaking of . . . She peeked her head around the corner, nibbling on her bottom lip.
