Love You Better Page 10

  She points the spatula at us. “You two are barf.”

  “These cookies are not barf, though, B. They’re fucking amazing.”

  “Really?” Of course, that turns her mood around. “They’re not too brownie-y?”

  “No. They’re the perfect cookie/brownie hybrid,” I say through a mouthful. “They’d be killer if I was high.”

  “It’s true!” Ivy sing-songs. “They’re delish! Chef’s kiss!” She kisses her fingers. “Can we have some for the road?”

  Ivy turns wide, pleading eyes on Bailey, and I fold my hands in prayer beside her and do my best impersonation of that sad cat from that movie with the ogre.

  “Pleeeeease?”

  She rolls her eyes and blows out a puff of air.

  “Yes, fine. Now go away before you eat them all.”

  Ivy puts some cookies in a Tupperware container, then we say our goodbyes and head outside. When we reach the parking lot, she notices that it’s not my Jeep parked on the street, but my soccer buddy’s truck. She turns a wide smile on me, dimple out for all the world to see, and my heart leaps in triumph. Because I am a fucking moron. I toss her the keys, and she fumbles them, letting out a stupidly adorable squeak, and I stifle a laugh.

  “You think I’m ready for the interstate?” she asks with a little dance.

  “I do. You’ve mastered the streets of campus town. You can handle the one-hour drive back home.”

  “Oh yikes,” she says, and raises her hands to the sky. “Please watch over me, Road Goddess, for I am an interstate virgin.” Then she kisses the keys and hops toward the driver’s seat like she isn’t the most fascinating person in the world.

  The hour-drive back home is, well, eventful. When Ivy pulls the truck up to the curb in front of her house, she puts it in park and then turns to me with a sheepish look.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad?”

  I chuckle. “Are you sure? Because you don’t sound sure.”

  “I was doing really well until we got into town. I didn’t realize how much hillier it is here than it is on campus,” she protests. “I haven’t practiced hills yet.”

  She’s frustrated because she thinks she failed by being unprepared. Ivy fucking hates being unprepared.

  “Honestly, I think you crushed it, all things considered,” I say earnestly. She really did do a fine job. “You were thrown to the sharks and fucking swam, Ives.”

  “Yeah? Tell that to the big jerk who honked at me.” She huffs and folds her arms over her chest. She’s probably cursing that stranger in her head.

  “To be fair, you did stall at the stop light and start rolling backward toward his car.”

  “Inches, Kelley! It was only a few inches, and I would have gotten it started and over the hill faster if he wouldn’t have been making me nervous with his honking. He really should learn some patience.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure he learned his lesson when you yelled out the window at him to ‘hush’ and called him a ‘big rude bully.’”

  I laugh at the memory, but what makes it even better is that I know without a shadow of a doubt that Ivy would have firmly put that man in his place had he been standing in front of her and not in the shitty Ford Focus behind us. You don’t fuck with a pissed-off, determined Ivy Rivenbark. I pity the fool who tries.

  “Ugh, whatever. He is a big, rude bully, and he should hush.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. But seriously,” I reach over the seat and rub her shoulder, “you did a great job.”

  She studies me for a minute, no doubt searching for any hint that I’m placating her, but I know she doesn’t find it because soon a smile is blooming on her face and pop!, out comes that fucking dimple that I hate to love.

  “I did do pretty great, didn’t I?” She shimmies a little and pumps her fists in the air. “Dan-i-ca Pa-trick!”

  I shake my head, grinning like a dumb ass. “Let’s go inside, speed racer. I’ll grab your bags.”

  We walk up the cracked sidewalk side by side, and when I swing the door open for Ivy, she calls out for her little brother.

  “Bug,” she shouts, louder than necessary for the tiny house, but that’s because Jacob probably has headphones in. “Jake-a-bug!”

  “Ivy Bean!” he shouts from his bedroom, and then comes lumbering out in worn jeans and the Pokémon t-shirt I got him for his last birthday. “What are you doing here? Are you staying?”

  “We’re home for the weekend! Ms. Pierce gave me Saturday off, and you said you needed help with math, so I’m at your service,” she exclaims and wraps him up in a tight hug.

  “Thank you,” he whispers into her shoulder. Even though he’s only twelve, he’ll be taller than Ivy soon, and I can’t get over how much he’s changed from the little four-year-old boy I met eight years ago. There’s the same solemn tone to his voice that I heard when I called him the other day, and I know Ivy hears it too. I don’t know if he’s struggling in his classes, or if he’s lonely, or if those little punks at school are giving him trouble again, but my heart breaks a little.

  “You okay, Bug?” Ivy asks as she tightens the hug. “Do I need to threaten some more flea-bag jerkfaces?”

  He snorts and pulls away, shoving his thick glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “You can’t go threatening everyone who fucks with me, Bean.”

  “The heck I can’t. And don’t cuss.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m j-just glad you’re home.”

  Jacob used to be cool with all of his classmates, but it’s like last summer a few of them came back to school soulless, and Jacob’s thick glasses and asthma make him an easy target. And even though he’s almost mastered his stutter in normal conversation, the kids know it comes back when he’s overwhelmed or nervous, so of course they provoke him because they’re assholes. They also make fun of him because he stayed back in kindergarten an extra year, so he’s a little older than the rest of his class. I want to break their fucking kneecaps.

  “Alright, well, Mom said she only works ‘til eight tonight so I got stuff to make dinner!”

  Jacob’s face pales. “No, Ivy.”

  “Hush, you. I’m not that bad.”

  “Please. Just...no. We can make sandwiches or have hot p-pockets.”

  “It’s only pizza, Bug,” she pouts, and I laugh. “And anyway, I was going to let you and Kelley do most of it.”

  At that he heaves a sigh of relief and then turns to me.

  “Whaddup, Kell?” He puts out a fist like he wants me to bump it, but I fake him out and pull him in for a hug.

  “Don’t try to fist bump me, kid,” I tease as I headlock him and ruffle his hair. He’s laughing when I let him loose. “We’re family. We hug.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. He’s showing more and more of an Ivy attitude each time I see him. It’s fucking brilliant.

  “Alright, Jake. What do you say you and Ives get started on that math, and I’ll start the pizza? Sound good?”

  “Yup!”

  “Extra sausage!” Ivy sings.

  I shake my head at her. “Fiend,” I tease, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

  * * *

  I was right.

  Saturday night Netflix and Fill, and Ives, as usual, is asleep by 10:58 p.m. She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, wearing my 10th grade soccer hoodie, and snoring lightly. Jacob is sprawled out on the floor under her with a Halloween-themed blanket draped over him. I gave him that blanket for his fifth birthday. I look them over, committing this moment to memory. No matter how many times I see her asleep, no matter how often I catch her wearing my clothing, it never affects me any less. And seeing Jacob curled up in a gift I gave him fills me with so much warmth. We might not be blood, but that kid couldn’t be more my brother even if we were.

  Since we came home this weekend, we did Netflix and Fill at Ivy’s house with Jacob, and we were all able to cook dinner together. These nights are my favorite, even though Ivy can’t
cook for shit. It always ends up with me doing the cooking and she just hands me the stuff I need when I ask for it. She’s got a soft spot for Italian food, so tonight we (see also: I) made spaghetti with homemade meatballs and homemade marinara sauce. She put the store-bought garlic bread in the oven (it was only a little burnt), and Jacob set the table and grated the parmesan cheese like a champ.

  My chest constricts as my gaze falls to her pouty lips. They’re parted slightly, and I once more find myself sinking into the memory of the time in 12th grade when I almost kissed her. It’s my biggest regret, and not just because I likely missed my only chance to taste her, to feel if her lips are as plush as they look. I regret it because of the chain of events that followed. How it led to more than a year of silence. How for fifteen months, she was lost to me, and when I finally got her back, she was different.

  She’s mine again, but not.

  She’s the same, but not.

  We don’t talk about that time, and I’ve never told her that for fifteen months I couldn’t breathe right. That not seeing her every day caused a physical ache in my chest that still, after over two years of strong rekindled friendship, hasn’t quite disappeared. It’s why I’ll never make that mistake again. I’ll never attempt to cross the line, no matter how badly I may want to. Because I can’t lose her. Not again.

  Second semester sophomore year, when we started the Netflix and Fill tradition, we were both in student dorms and the evening usually consisted of ordering pizza or subs from a campus restaurant and watching ridiculous comedies with our roommates. My roommate would always get tanked and pass out, and Ivy’s roommate, Bailey, would usually leave around 11 p.m. to go to a party. It always ended up being just Ivy and me, if you didn’t count my drunk-ass, snoring roommate. This was before her internship and before she started really cramming for the LSAT, so we’d stay up talking until sunrise. It was therapeutic, and it patched up our broken relationship one shitty comedy at a time.

  I bend down and nudge Jacob awake, and he sleepily stumbles to his room, blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape.

  “Ives,” I kneel next to the couch and whisper, brushing her hair off of her face and massaging her shoulder. “Ivy, move to your room. You’re gonna be miserable tomorrow if you sleep out here.” I graze my thumb over her cheek, and she leans into the touch. She’s warm and soft and fuck. I trace my fingertips up to her ear, tucking a strand of hair, and then slide my hand back to her shoulder, giving another soft shake.

  Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at me in a way that makes my heart race and my groin heat. Her eyes are a deep, sparkling blue, and I can’t look away.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven. You didn’t even make it into episode two,” I tease, and she scoffs sleepily.

  “Whatever. Math is exhausting.” She stands and stretches her hands above her head. My old hoodie is baggy and long on her, but it rises slightly, showing off the bottom curve of her ass in her yoga pants.

  “Are you leaving? You can stay on the couch, you know.”

  “I’m going to head out. I told Ma and Pop I’d have breakfast with them since we’re home. You and Jacob can come, if you want.”

  “I think we’ll stay here and toaster some Eggos. But tell your parents we said hello.”

  “Sure.”

  She nods, making her way to her bedroom and doesn’t even glance behind her as she replies, “Drive safe, Kell. Thanks for dinner.” As she disappears into her bedroom, I hear her call out, “love you!”

  “Love you back,” I say quietly. Then I leave, locking the door on my way out.

  I do my marathon training on the streets of my hometown the next morning, making it a point to run past several nostalgic places of interest. The elementary school where I met Preston and he became my first best friend. The middle school where I discovered my love for soccer. The practice fields where I spent weekends and summers, and the arcade where Preston and I probably still hold the Mortal Combat high scores.

  When I run past the high school, I’m inundated with memories of Ivy. The assembly where we met on the first day of ninth grade. She fucking wowed me, and I walked her to all of her classes for the first month of school. I ended up with too many tardy slips and Ma grounded me from video games for two weeks, but it was worth it. The first time she came to one of my games, she’d painted her face and ironed my jersey number onto her t-shirt, and I swear my chest puffed up to twice its size with pride. It was my best game that year.

  And then there was Senior Prom.

  I run down Main Street and turn right on Franklin Avenue so I can see the ice cream shop where she and I take Jacob in the summers. I pass the pizza place where we went after homecoming in 10th grade. I thought it was a date. I wanted it to be a date, but that didn’t end up at all how I’d wanted.

  Not for the first time, I roll my eyes at myself. I need to stop fucking doing this shit. It’s borderline obsessive, and I’m pretty sure my balls are shrinking from all the mental pining.

  As I turn the corner back onto Main Street, I hear someone calling after me, so I stop and turn around.

  “Kap!” Preston yells from the window of a BMW. “Kap, man. Hold up, I’m going to park.”

  I press stop on my watch timer and head to where he’s parking. Other than some likes on social media here and there, I haven’t talked to Preston since the summer before sophomore year of college. He went out of state to Stanford. His parents are fucking loaded, and when I said I was glad my parents aren’t the type to force me into their chosen profession, I mostly meant I am glad my parents aren’t like Preston’s.

  “What up, Kap?” Preston walks over and shakes my hand. “How you been?”

  “I’m good, man. Been good. Student teaching. Got a marathon in a few weeks. You?”

  “Great. Had to come home this weekend to sit in on some meetings with my dad.” He’s got the same cocky grin I remember. “You know, preparation and all.” I watch as he smooths down the lapel of his suit jacket, and I’m pretty sure he did it just to flash the shiny ass Rollie on his wrist.

  “Cool. You headin’ back today?”

  “I fly out this afternoon. I wish I’d known you were in town, man. We could have gotten drinks.”

  “Yeah, definitely. Or next time you could come back to my campus. I know it’s not Ivy League,” I mock jokingly, “but we had fun when you visited freshman year. You’d like my roommate. We could get some guys together for a pickup soccer game.”

  “That would be great. You just home for the weekend?”

  “Yeah, we’re heading back tonight. I teach in the morning.”

  Preston cocks his head to the side. “We? Who’s we?”

  “Oh, yeah, Ivy. I’m here with Ivy.”

  Preston lifts an eyebrow at the mention of Ivy. Last he knew, she and I weren’t on speaking terms.

  “So, she’s visiting from her aunt’s?” he says slowly.

  “Her aunt’s?” What the fuck? “No, she transferred to BU sophomore year. She goes to school with me.”

  “Ah,” he nods his head slowly, “so that’s why you dropped off the face of the Earth.”

  “No, man,” I huff. “I dropped off the face of the Earth because I needed to pull my head out of my ass and focus on school and because you go to fucking Stanford 2,500 miles away.”

  I think Preston’s always resented my relationship with Ivy a little. He thinks Ivy is why he and I stopped hanging out in high school, and I’m sure now he thinks she’s why we lost touch in college. In reality, we aren’t close anymore because he can be kind of a stuck-up douche sometimes and our priorities are vastly different.

  “What do you mean her aunt’s? Ivy doesn’t have an aunt.” I change the topic.

  “Yeah, Kap. She does.” He scrunches his eyebrows at me as if I’m the one who is mistaken. “You know how she left right after graduation? She was down in Bowen with her aunt, going to the community college there. Deferred her BU acceptance and scholarshi
p and everything.”

  I stare at him blankly.

  I don’t know where Ivy was freshman year. I don’t know why she came back. We never talk about it. The first time I tried, she clammed up, and I was just so relieved to have her back that I never asked her again..

  “You didn’t know that?” he asks incredulously. “I thought everyone knew that.”

  I shake my head slowly. “Nope, not everyone.” How the fuck does he know? His parents are pretty involved in the community, but why the fuck wouldn’t he have told me?

  “Shit, Kap. Sorry.” He shrugs, obviously not sorry. “Maybe you need to have a talk with your girlfriend, then. See what she’s hiding.”

  And this is why I stopped hanging out with Preston in high school. He’s a dick.

  “She’s not hiding shit from me, Preston.” I start to pop my earbuds back in. “And we’re just friends.”

  “Fuck, still?” His laugh grates in my eardrums. “I thought by now you’d have gotten your di—”

  “—Don’t finish that sentence, Preston,” I warn. He throws his palms up and flashes a smarmy grin.

  “Just joshin’, Kap.” His jokes stopped being funny a long time ago. “I gotta get to the airport, though, so I’ll be seeing ya. I’ll call and we can plan my visit to campus.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Hell no. “It’s been a pleasure.” You’re an asshole. “Have a safe trip back.” I hope your pretentious ass BMW gets rear ended and you spill coffee on your $1,000 suit pants and get first degree burns on your dick.

  I don’t wave goodbye as I continue my run.

  The drive back to campus is tense at first. When I mention I ran into Preston, Ivy just nods and asks how he’s been. I want so badly to tell her about what he said, to ask her how the fuck he knows where she was freshman year of college and why I don’t.

  But I clamp my mouth shut.

  I respect her privacy, because if she wanted me to know, she’d have told me the first time I asked. She’d have brought it up sometime in the last two years. We would have already talked about the time between high school graduation and sophomore year of college when it was complete radio silence between us.