Page 46 of When Ivy Met Mr. Holiday
“Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together.”
Woodrow Wilson
Jack
“So,howdoIdo this?”
I stared at the rolls of cutesy Christmas-patterned paper and the piles of gifts waiting to be wrapped, sitting between Ivy and me on her bedroom floor. We wore our matching snowman sweaters because on that day’s schedule was a snowman-building contest.
Ivy had alreadybribed Shane, talented architect that he was, to be on our team. This family took their snowman-building seriously. I’d seen some pretty fierce negotiations in my career, but nothing like the Wells family that morning during breakfast as they’d haggled and playfully argued about who would be on whose team.
I was particularly impressed by Ivy, who had privately threatened Shane to let it slip to Poppy that her dad had once dated Sophie’s mom. Shane had hopped on team Ivy real quick after that.
Ivy might have been ruthless when it came to snowmen, but the gifts between us spelled out how thoughtful she was. She’d carefully chosen each present in the hope that it would bring joy to the recipient, and she was graciously allowing me to claim they were fromus.
Unspoken thoughts and words bounced between us, but Ivy seemed determined not to address the elephant in the room. The elephant being that I knew exactly how she tasted now and how well she molded to my body as we slept together. We’d crossed the line of friendship, yet Ivy wouldn’t—or couldn’t—acknowledge it.
She’d said nothing the night before as we lay in the dark together, her in my arms, breaths synced, hearts racing. Or at least mine had been as I’d ached to tell her I loved her. But I knew I couldn’t. Ivy clearly wasn’t ready for that truth. The only reason she’d even shared the bottom bunk with me was to make sure the bed didn’t squeak. She refused to give her family any more reasons to believe we were a real couple.
Why didn’t she realize we werethe perfect couple?
I thought back to the previous night and all the laughter as we’d played games with her family. Her on my lap, kissing me for good luck, smiling warmly whenever I touched her. Sure, there was trepidation on her part, and her constant private reminders that she was only behaving this way to protect me and my career. But I knew Ivy. She didn’t fake emotion. She didn’t fake anything. I’d never met someone as genuine as her.
Ivy twirled a tape dispenser around her finger and flashed me a taunting smile. “I can’t believe you’ve never wrapped a gift before.”
“I don’t know why this surprises you.”
She stopped twirling the tape and gave me that look of hers. The one that tried to open me up and read me like one of her history books. This look always made me uneasy. Some histories didn’t need to be revisited.
“Where did you learn how to play games like that? How did you even know the Candy Land characters?” she asked, subtly trying to crack the book open.
I shrugged, hoping she would drop it, not wanting to unlock those memories. Good memories of my childhood hurt worse than the bad ones, even though they were few and far between.
“Come on, Jack,” she coaxed. “Tell me. Please.”
I pulled a personalized “spa” gift box for Ivy’s niece Poppy toward me, refusing to look at Ivy, knowing that she would push until she got the truth out of me. The silence hung uncomfortably between us. It was unusual for us.
That was one of the things I loved about Ivy—she made the quiet comfortable. There was never pressure to fill the void. No expectations to say anything just because the moment demanded it. Our mutual presence was always enough.
Until now.
She seemed to need this from me, and I wasn’t sure I could give it to her.
The seconds stretched. Long enough for her to give up.
She exhaled, but not in frustration. Worse. In disappointment.
The last thing I wanted was for her to be disappointed in me.
She forged ahead while I kicked myself for not being more open with the woman I loved. The woman who had never wanted anything from me other than my company and friendship. That was a rarity in my life.
“Wrapping a gift is easy as long as you cut the right amount of wrapping paper. Not too much and not too little. Measure, measure, measure, Mom always says.” Ivy tried to infuse some levity into the moment.
“My mom never said things like that,” I tossed out there, trying to sound casual.
I saidcasual, yet it was anything but. I’d just opened a door to Ivy that I’d never wanted her to walk through. The one to my past. But I supposed she deserved a peek. To see what she was signing up for if she would ever admit what was right in front of her eyes—us.
And how could I expect her to admit her feelings when I refused to be open with her?
