Page 49 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

“Vee, you have to be hungry,” Mya says through my bedroom door. “You’ve barely eaten in two days.”

The strain in her voice increases the heaviness in my chest, as I tuck myself deeper into a ball underneath my blanket. It’s been two days since the premiere, and I’ve barely left my room since I insisted Andreas drop me off here instead of his place.

“You know that man’s going to return in five minutes with enough food to feed the entire building,” Mya continues. “We don’t have enough room in the refrigerator.”

Meow.

Ms. Shelby’s purring pushes through the door, too.

“Even the cat misses you,” Mya says. “I know you need your space right now, but at least let me send Ms. Shelby in there with you.”

For two days I requested to be alone. Mya, Andreas, and Ari have all hung around though, none of them allowing me complete solitude for too long. I want to get out of the funk that’s settled over me since the night of the premiere, but I just keep replaying the events of that night over and over.

My mind keeps racing with thoughts of how I would do things differently if I could go back to that night. Maybe I would’ve even skipped the premiere all together, knowing that Andreas would be better off without me there.

The tightness in my chest grows, making the muscles in my stomach ache.

This is just like graduation all over again.

No, now it’s worse because not only did I embarrass myself I made a fool out of Andreas. His night became about me and my problems.

“Ivy?” Mya calls again.

I push out a heavy breath. “Okay. Send her in.”

A second later the bedroom opens a few inches, and Ms. Shelby enters. She comes right up to my bed, purring. Her big, blue eyes peering up at me, patiently waiting for me to make room for her.

I oblige by scooting over. She leaps onto the bed and folds her body into the space I just created.

Ms. Shelby nudges my chest with her head a couple of times. Her purrs of satisfaction sound off as I begin stroking the top of her head. She moves in closer.

“You don’t hate me, right?” I ask as if she would understand what’s going on.

She licks one of her paws and begins cleaning herself. For some reason that makes me smile.

A second later, I hear the apartment door open and close. Andreas’ murmured voice floats to my ears. Ms. Shelby hears him, too, and she looks eagerly toward the door then back at me, expecting me to get up and go to him.

“I want to,” I tell her. “But I can’t.”

I don’t know if I can look him in the eyes right now. After his refusal to leave the night of the premiere, I’ve accepted he’s not going anywhere, but it hurts to look at him.

When I start to tell Ms. Shelby this, there’s another knock on the bedroom door. “Baby?”

My heartbeat increases from the sound of his voice.

“I know you’re not ready to come out yet, but I got something for you. I’ll slide it under the door,” he says in a tone so full of understanding that it brings tears to my eyes.

How could he not hate me?

That’s the only thought that crosses my mind. I recall back to after my graduation and the way my parents immediately reacted. Even when I sat in the hospital my mother and father scolded me for making a scene and being so ridiculous when nothing was really wrong with me.

A rustling sound comes from the door. My eyes go to the thin package Andreas slipped underneath. From the size and shape, I immediately know what it is.

Ms. Shelby jumps down, beating me to the door.

When I see the cover of the magazine through the clear, plastic wrapping, I sink to the floor and press my back against the door.

With trembling fingers, I lift the magazine and stare at it. The October 1975 Ebony magazine with Diana Ross on the cover.

This is the final magazine from my list that I’d had taken from me. And my favorite, the one I’d treasured the most out of them all.

But it wasn’t just taken from me.

Ripped away from my hands, torn apart, and then burned.

Bitterness wars with love inside of my chest.

I brush away a single tear. With gentleness, I pull the magazine out of the plastic wrapping and just place it in my lap, staring at it.

“Beautiful,” I whisper.

A memory of me giggling with my Aunt Gloria when she first brought this magazine home to show me.

“Isn’t she stunning?” she’d asked me as we gazed at Diana in a white feather hooded shawl. The studded headpiece tilts across her hairline, showcasing a few curls on the left side of her face. To me, she looked like a queen staring into the camera.

“She’s pretty. Like you,” I’d told my aunt. At seven years old, my stunning and stylish aunt looked like she belonged on the magazine cover, too.

The glamour of the photo replicates the styles from the film Mahogany that Ms. Ross was promoting during this time.

I thumb through the magazine scene from that iconic film in which Diana plays Tracy, an aspiring fashion designer.

Throughout the film, Tracy’s style is demonstrated.

My first time watching the movie with my aunt I especially adored the scenes where Diana wears a cream-colored, wide brim hat with a long, white coat.

She carried herself with such elegance in those scenes.

With reverence, I run my finger over pages of the images, my present day mixing with memories of my past.

“Clothes tell a story, Ivy. If you pay attention, you can read it,” Aunt Gloria often told me.

Not even noise from the opposite side of the door deters me from falling deeper in love with these photos.

And with Andreas.

Something warm and assuring blooms in my chest as I think of the man who gave me the magazine.

Then my gaze falls back to the photo of Diana Ross in a light blue and ivory cat suit, laying on a prop as she smiles. More scenes from the movie flash through my mind. The way Diana Ross’ character fought for what she wanted.

The way my aunt dared to step out on her own, defy her family to chase after the life she wanted.

And then there’s me. Here, alone in my room feeling sorry for myself while the man I love brings me the gift he knew would make me remember who I am.

Ms. Shelby meows and crawls into my lap, forcing me to pick up the magazine out of her way so she doesn’t step on it.

An involuntary laugh pushes through my lips.

No, this isn’t like last time.

It’s nothing like my graduation.

Back then, I was surrounded by a family that made me believe a panic attack was a demonstration of my incompetence and weakness.

Three years ago, I didn’t have a therapist to help me work through what I was feeling. Nor did I rely on my two best friends the way I should’ve.

I damn sure didn’t have a man who shows me how much he loves me in big and small ways.

I shake my head, finally feeling like I’m coming out of a daze.

Ms. Shelby meows and leaps off my lap as I rise to my feet. I pull the door open, and the voices on the other side grow louder.

One in particular sends a cold chill down my spine.

“No! Hell no.” Andreas’ barely restrained anger booms throughout the apartment.

“Excuse me?”

Oh shit, I silently curse upon hearing my mother’s response.

“Young man, do not speak to my wife that way.”

My heart sinks hearing my father’s words.

What are they doing here?

It doesn’t take much to answer my own question.

They know. Somehow, they know what happened the night of the premiere and they’re here to remind me how much of a failure I am.

“I’m not only speaking to your wife,” Andreas counters, shocking me.

He must surprise my parents as well because they both remain silent.

“Ivy is not your punching bag,” he tells them.

“We’ve never treated her?—”

“Oh no?” he cuts her off. “What do you think it is when you rip a child’s dream right out of her hands and force her to burn it in the family fireplace?”

A collective gasp from my parents. My grip on the Ebony magazine tightens.

“Or when she tells you what she wants to study but you scoff at her dreams and call her an embarrassment to the family? And she forces herself to work her ass off to get three fucking degrees at once just so she can appease you while trying to cut out a slice of happiness for herself?

“That’s not treating her like a goddamn punching bag?”

“I don’t know what Ivy’s told you about us?—”

“Enough,” Andreas tells my father. “I’ve heard enough. I heard about the time after she had a terrible panic attack, the two people who should’ve held her and let her know she was safe and that everything was okay, scolded her and made her believe she was defective instead.

“So no, you’re not going to see her. Not now, and if I have it my way, never again would she have to set eyes on either one of you for the rest of her life.”

“We raised her,” my father insists.

“And you did a terrible job at it.” Andreas doesn’t even hesitate as he says this. “Despite your horrible, controlling, and borderline narcissistic parenting Ivy grew up to be one of the most endearing, ambitious, and devoted people I know. I won’t allow either one of you to sabotage her anymore.”

“Sabotage?” My mother sounds incredulous.

“After all we’ve done for that?—”

“That what?” Andreas growls.

“For a child that wasn’t even ours. That’s who,” my mother responds haughtily.

“Shonda …” my father says.

“No, if he wants to stand here and insult us like this, the least he should do is get his facts straight.” There’s a beat of silence before she says, “She’s not even our daughter.”

“What?”

Everyone, including Mya who’d been silent until now, turns to face me. I stride up the hallway, glaring at my mother.

“What did you just say?”

A flash of guilt invades my mother’s eyes. But then she lifts her chin.

“It’s true,” she confirms. “You’re not even our daughter.”

A new ache in my chest starts.

“Gloria was young when she had you,” my father says.

“Aunt Gloria?”

My father pinches his lips, looking away for a second before nodding. “Yes. She was only sixteen when she gave birth to you. Your mother and I wanted a third child but,” he glances over at my mother, “we were having trouble.”