Page 5

Chapter Five

Ivy

For a moment—when my keys are still hanging in the door and I can feel the strap of my gym bag slipping from my shoulder—the low chatter of the TV presenters travel down the hallway to greet me and I forget that no one else is supposed to be in my house. I forget that Pops is in hospital, I forget that he won’t be sitting in his recliner with the blanket Nan knitted for him thrown over his legs when I round the corner.

My bag finally slips from my shoulder as I toe off my sneakers but as the realization washes over me that it can’t possibly be Pops in the living room, I manage to catch the strap before the bag crashes against the tiles.

Pops is in hospital, a twenty-minute drive away, and the knitted blanket is with him. My stomach turns over, the delayed disappointment squeezing my lungs. I press a hand to my chest, feeling the expansion of my lungs and focusing on the deep breathing exercises Nan used to have me do whenever I felt overwhelmed. The shaky but controlled breathing works and the disappointment fades to a dull throb, setting my lungs free.

It still takes me by surprise at times that Pops isn’t waiting for me whenever I come home. That he isn’t sitting at the kitchen counter doing his crossword, or sitting in his chair watching something likely football related, or listening to music from the fifties while flipping through a years old car magazine. It makes my chest ache that this ‘temporary solution’ could become my new normal, that he may never come home again.

No . I close my eyes and take another deep breath in. He’ll be fine .

I refuse to think about a time without him, regardless that it could be right around the corner.

If denial is a place on earth, I’m living smack-bang in the center of it.

And that is fine by me.

I don’t want to lose anyone else. Especially not Pops, not yet.

A familiar laugh floats down the hall and my shoulders automatically relax. Katie’s laugh.

“I gave you a key for emergencies,” I call out as the plush white couch in the center of the open living room comes into view and so does the sprawling blonde hair of my best friend. Some sports panel show is on the television that sits over the large fireplace and Katie’s bare feet are propped out in front of her on the ottoman we use more as a coffee table. I feign a scowl as I drop my gym bag onto the bench. “ Only emergencies.”

“This was an emergency,” Katie tells me, raising an arm and waving it around in greeting. Her eyes are glued to the TV. I glance up, my fake scowl turning real as I watch a football highlights reel play on the screen. At least Katie had the decency to turn the volume down when I walked in.

“Oh? And what would that be? You forgot to pay your cable bill?”

Katie laughs, finally turning around on the couch to face me. “I was out of bagels.” A smile breaks out on my face as she holds up half a bagel in her hand, generously smeared with cream cheese.

“So sorry, can’t imagine the distress that must have caused you.” I slap a hand over my chest nodding sarcastically.

“You have no idea.”

“Do you want coffee?” I ask. My eyes drift to the TV again. The Broncos logo flashes on the screens behind the panel of presenters and it makes me think of Scott.

Tall, handsome, jaw chiseled sharp enough to cut right through my heart, Scott.

Damn him for being tied to football .

It makes me curious. About him, about what he does for work, how he’s tied to the stupid sport. I hate that I’m curious about that world again.

I busy myself with the coffee machine, taking Katie’s silence as a yes. It’s always a yes when it comes to coffee. It’s the first thing we bonded over when we became friends in college.

“How was the gym?” she calls again over her shoulder as her eyes are still glued to the TV. The volume is low enough that when I turn on the coffee machine, I can barely hear the presenters anymore. Still, something builds in my chest and I struggle for a moment to take a breath. I force myself to take a sip of water, eyes darting back to the TV. They’re showing college reels now, some feature on a player it looks like as they’ve blurred most of the screen to single out one man on the field. It’s the quarterback. I can tell from the two seconds of film they show. It runs in my blood even if I wish it didn’t.

I decide that they must be showcasing some fresh talent that’s either being watched or has already been drafted and while I could probably put up with it, the film switches games and the distinct difference between University of California, Los Angeles’ blue and gold clear against the bright red of Harvard fills the screen. The memory of watching similar film reels when I was younger, late at night wrapped in my bed covers and clutching my favorite stuffed bear, clouds my mind and the echo of my dad’s deep, happy laugh fills my head.

Ouch.

“Go home to watch football, you’re ruining my morning,” I say, my eyes burning as I watch the steady stream of coffee pouring into my mug.

“Spoil sport,” Katie remarks, yet she still turns the channel over—Bravo, much better— before turning her body around on the couch to face me. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “So, did you hear from mysterious football man?”

I smile, still not facing her in the hopes she won’t catch it. “I still cannot believe you told him I thought I had something in my teeth. ”

“You did!”

“I know, but you aren’t supposed to share those kinds of things with him! ” I take her mug out from under the coffee machine before picking up mine and joining Katie on the couch. My legs curl underneath me as I lean into the corner of the lounge, and after Katie takes her mug from my hand I wrap both my hands around my own mug.

Coffee, in my opinion, saves lives. Mine especially.

“So …” Katie says as she waits for me to finish savoring my first sip.

“I messaged him. He messaged back. I saved his number.” I lift a shoulder, trying my absolute best to come off easy, confident.

I conveniently forget to mention the nervous pacing and many, many drafts of a first message I’d written out before sending the one I settled on.

She rolls her eyes at me and completely crushes any delusions I have of coming off cool, calm and collected. “Oh, please. You were probably a nervous wreck sending the first message and we both know it.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my ability to date.”

“If you had any ability to date, you’d have been snapped up the moment you walked on to campus that first day of college. You’re a smoke-show.” She grins behind her mug at me. “You’re just too modest to admit it. That’s why you have me.”

“What? To remind me I have shit dating skills but follow it up with telling me I’m hot?” I ask resting my head on the back cushions of the couch.

“Yes.” She nods. “And to steal your bagels.”

“I know you have some at home. Grant buys them for you especially.”

“You get the better ones. He’s too cheap to go to an actual bakery for them.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes, I bring the coffee mug back to my lips. “That’s what you get for dating an accountant.”

“Grant isn’t boring.”

“I never said he was. ”

“Your face did.”

“Stop reading my face then.” I poke my tongue out at her, nudging her nearby foot with my toe. I love her and she tells me all the time how happy Grant makes her, and I believe her. I do. But I also can’t help but notice the frustration when he doesn’t listen to her when she tells him about her day or the way she becomes quiet when he tells her she’s being dramatic about something. He’s nice but my best friend deserves more, better and bigger than just nice .

Katie goes quiet for a moment before shaking her head and plastering a grin on her face. “Can’t help it, you truly would be so shit at poker. Promise me you won’t ever play.”

“Promise.” I laugh, letting an easy quiet fall over us as I contemplate whether I should share the details of the texts with Katie. I sink back into the couch a little more before telling her quietly, “I agreed to go out to dinner with him.” I keep my eyes focused on the dwindling amount of coffee left in my mug.

“You did?” Katie jolts forward, shock sinking into her features.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I go on dates.”

“I know that, but you don’t—” She pauses, her head cocking to the side as her words turn softer. “I didn’t think you’d be interested considering he works for the Broncos. I thought that you’d maybe find it too … painful.”

Sadness creeps into my chest, blurring the memory of the brooding man a little.

I sigh. “I guess. I mean, he’s not actually a player, right?” I meet her gaze waiting for her to tell me the bad news.

“Not that I know of. I tried to drag Grant over to meet him but by the time he detached himself from his phone, you guys were gone and then he left instead of coming back inside with you.”

“Surely we’d know his face if he was a player. He would’ve been recognized.” I lean forward, placing the mug on the tray that lives permanently on the ottoman.

“To be honest, maybe Grant could but I certainly don’t think I could pick them out of a crowd. Sure, some players would be super recognizable. The ones that have been around for ages or have been in the shit for some reason or another. But if he’s quiet and keeps to himself, we might not.” She rolls her mug gently between her hands, obviously trying to remember if she has seen Scott before.

“No. We were at Pats. He’s come to the bar a few times. The place is always crawling with die-hard fans. There is no way he plays professional football for the Broncos and could get away being there without being recognized.” I nod more to myself than to Katie, settling on my decision that there is no way Scott is a football player.

“Did he say anything about what he does over there?”

Truthfully, after one shot and a beer I’d practically sculled before heading outside with Scott to try to calm my nerves—not to mention the many drinks that came after he’d vanished—I couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been saying. “He mentioned he did a psych degree in college … I think.”

“You’re such a lightweight.” Katie laughs gently.

“Maybe he’s an accountant or something in their finance department.” I shoot her a wink before uncurling my legs from underneath me getting up from the couch. “It would kind of cancel out the whole football thing if he was as boring as Grant is.”

One of the decorative pillows hits the back of my knees as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I laugh, calling back to Katie as I head for a shower. “Are you hanging around today? I could use a hand with some stuff for work if you are.”

A groan sounds from downstairs and it makes me laugh again. Her reply filters up to me as I reach the top of the staircase. “Sure. Why not? My cutting and pasting could use some improvement since the last time you made me help you!”

** *

It’s funny how time seems to slow down when you’re waiting for something to happen. My date with Scott looms closer and closer yet Saturday seems to drag on forever. After Katie helped me prep countless name tags and cut outs for my classroom set up day next week, she called Grant to drop over wine. We ordered pizza and got stuck into the latest season of Housewives on Bravo. It’s escapism at its finest but I was desperately avoiding staring at the quiet text chain between Scott and I.

Like people say, a watched pot never beeps … or something like that.

After my run on Sunday morning, I stuff a new pack of UNO cards into my bag and head for the hospital. The entire drive over I fidget and fiddle, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. I play with the volume on the radio. I go from singing half-heartedly along with the song to chewing on my bottom lip.

I’m nervous today.

I love playing cards with Pops. We play all sorts: Gin, Canasta, even Go Fish. UNO is our favorite though, our Sunday morning ritual. We started playing after I stopped wanting to go to football games with Pops. His way of us spending time together every week. It started when I was eight and never stopped. Even as a teenager and hanging out with my friends was the main event on a Saturday, the tradition held up. No matter how late the party, no matter how long I’d stayed out on a Saturday night, I always got up on Sunday morning and played cards with Pops. Even during my college years.

It’s our thing.

But today, I’m nervous. No need to dig any deeper into why. The text sitting unanswered is the exact reason why.

Scott: Looking forward to tonight. I’ll pick you up around 7?

I didn’t answer. Hadn’t answered. Yet.

Part of me thought he’d definitely cancel, maybe even hoped for it a little bit. But even so, a bigger part of me is over the moon that he hasn’t. Katie has brought up our date more times than I can count and each time my cheeks heat and my face goes a shade of red I’ve never seen before.

I’m nervous about seeing Pops, I’m nervous about what will happen after seeing Pops.

Dating isn’t my specialty. I went out with guys in high school, had my fling with the football world before shutting that down for good. During college I’d gone to my fair share of parties and had the odd hook up here and there. Truth is though, I never really cared. I’d gone along because the movie they’d suggested had been one I wanted to see, or the food at the restaurant they’d asked to go to had been raved about and I was keen to give it a go.

Even with the few short-term relationships I’d had, the spark had fizzled and my interest dimmed after a while. They’d never made me nervous, or breathless with a smile, or curious.

I felt all of that as soon as I spoke more than two words to Scott.

He makes me nervous.

I try to focus on the board as I order Pops and I breakfast at the Starbucks drive through. A treat for us both and a distraction for Pops. Even Nan used to say the hospital food sucked.

The grateful smile on Pops’ face when I walk in carrying his black coffee over ice and the smeared bagel relaxes my shoulders a little.

“You’re my favorite grandchild,” he tells me, his eyes tracking my movements closely as I set the coffee tray on a nearby table.

“I’m your only grandchild.”

“I lucked out.”

I smile, handing over the coffee. “Mhmm, sure.”

His eyes roll into the back of his head a little when he takes his first gulp. I laugh taking a seat on the edge of his bed, sipping on my own. They filled a third of the cup with whipped cream this morning and I could honestly not be happier about it; future sugar crash be damned.

Pops whispers closely to his coffee, telling it over and over that it contains some sort of magical powers. He’s so dramatic.

Nan used to roll her eyes and scowl whenever he did anything like this—act like his life was a soap-opera or something—but there was always a smile on her lips and she’d indulge him anyway. Every time. He has a childlike optimism about the world that I love.

That fact only makes my chest hurt more whenever I find myself thinking about losing him.

“So, how was your Saturday night?” he asks me, coffee cradled against his chest like he’s scared one of the nurses might try to pry it away from him.

“Usual. Katie and I had wine, watched Bravo and fell asleep by nine.”

“Ivy.” Pops shakes his head. “You’re twenty-three. I want stories about you dancing on tables and doing shots off a bartender somewhere.”

I throw him a look. “Any other parent would be ecstatic to learn their twenty-something was being responsible and not partying their brain cells to death.”

“I’m not just any grandparent though.” He shrugs and meets my eyes. “I’m a cool grandparent.”

“I should never have let you watch mean girls.”

“Regina’s mother is an icon. You cannot tell me otherwise.”

I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief as Pops readjusts himself on his pillows, sitting up a little taller. He takes another sip of his coffee before putting it beside him and rubbing his hands together eagerly. “What are we playing today then?”

“UNO.” I retrieve the cards from my bag and drag the hospital table over with me before settling back on the end of Pops’ bed. “I got a new set to leave here with you. You can play with the nurses during the day when I go back to school.”

I watch him as he shuffles the new set of cards and the urge to savor the moment sits heavily in my heart.

Sundays, playing cards and drinking coffee, will be what I miss most when he’s gone .

The thought feels like a truck running over my heart and lungs all at once. Cutting off my blood supply and ability to breathe. I tell myself he’ll be fine but when I really think about it, I’m lucky he’s even still here.

He survives for me.

I know that. After Nan, he was devastated. I’d heard one of the nurses talking about us once, just after Pops was admitted a few weeks ago. She’d worked with Nan pretty closely and taken over from her when she retired before passing. She’d had this sad look on her face when she’d told another nurse that if my parents had still been alive, Pops would’ve followed Nan pretty quickly. I’d really looked at Pops after that, really really looked. He’s sad, even after five years. He’s so sad and he misses her. He’s tired too. He hides it from me but it’s unmissable when you look long enough.

He survives for me. He is all I have left and even though we’ve both been heartbroken after losing Nan, Pops won’t leave me to grieve alone.

Suddenly, his annoying backwards parenting behavior—all the pushing for me to go out and meet people and date, even—makes all the more sense. It’s that thought that makes me set my coffee aside as he deals a hand of cards to me and say, “I have a date tonight.”

Pops stills, eyes meeting mine, jaw dropping just a little before he clutches his heart and takes a set of sharp breaths.

I stand, rushing to his side. “What?! What’s hurting? Oh god, I’m sorry!” With shaky fingers I press the call button beside his bed and the morning nurse, Carol, rushes in. “What’s wrong with him? He just clutched his chest suddenly!”

“It’s alright, Ivy, don’t worry. Step back for me,” Carol tells me calmly, her eyes on the heart rate machine that I always have trouble reading as she picks up Pops’ wrist to check his pulse. She waits for a beat before dropping his wrist, scowling.

“Billy Booker, you prankster. Can’t you see you’ve terrified the girl with your little joke? ”

My brows furrow, eyes darting between Pops and Carol. Pops is grinning like a cat now, reaching for his coffee. He grins as he says, “Worth it. Carol, my little Ivy is growing up. She has a date!”

“Pops!” I say, stepping back to his seat and swatting at his arm. “Don’t. Do. That.”

“Couldn’t resist.” He waves me off, winking at Carol as she retreats from the room. “Sit down and pick up your cards, Ivy. I want to hear about my future grandson-in-law.”

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s one date.”

“What’s his name?”

“Scott.”

Pops looks thoughtful. “Strong name. How tall is he?”

I narrow my eyes, glaring. “Tall. Very tall. Why?”

“You can’t carry on the great Booker legacy without doing your best to breed with a D1 athlete, Ives! That would be a waste of all my efforts with your dad, and with you.”

“Oh my god.” I bury my head in my hands, Pops’ booming laughter filling the room.

“I’m just teasing.” He starts the game by picking up from the pack between us. “I’m excited to hear all about it, sweetheart. I am.”

“He seems really nice.” I can feel my face going red. “And he is really tall. So your legacy of a family line full of D1 athlete dreams seems safe.” I smile, throwing out a card in my hand, a sense of calm washing over me as we settle into the game.

Time with Pops does wonders.

I swear, he jokes about it a lot but I think he might actually have magic powers.

“Bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You barely ate lunch.” I tilt my head, watching him closely. He was fine most of the day but barely ate anything, pushing his lunch away claiming he wasn’t hungry. His color has paled a little as well as the hours flew past .

He waves me off. “I’m fine. The food here is barely food, you know that.”

“Hm. Okay. Well, call me if you need anything.”

“Not tonight though. You’ve got a date.”

I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous. It’s one date. Stop thinking he’s my soulmate.”

“What if he is though?”

“I doubt it, Pops.” He laughs with me but it’s quieter than before, like he’s struggling to keep something in. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I—” He coughs a little, “I’m fine, Iv—” Before he can finish, a burst of coughs takes over him and I rush back to his side to help him sit forward. I watch, helpless, as he reaches a shaky hand into his pocket for his handkerchief, covering his mouth.

“Pops?” I ask, the coughing continuing.

He pulls his hand away, his face a little red but still devoid of any real color. There’s blood on the white cloth and I feel my whole body start to shake. I don’t hesitate this time. “Carol!”

***

Carol promises me before she leaves, handing over to the evening nurses, that Pops is fine. She tells me that it’s nothing to worry about, that his body is just tired and a little bit of blood is perfectly normal. I insist she bring in one of the overstuffed, uncomfortable night chairs. Pops protested but once he fell asleep I overruled him anyway. He’s been sleeping for over an hour but I refuse to move from his side.

I check my phone for the time. It’s a little after five. Scott will just have to wait.

Ivy: I need a rain check. I’m really sorry. My pops had a medical emergency, he’s in the hospital.

The reply is instant.

Scott: Of course.

Is he okay?

Ivy: Not really.

Scott: Can I do anything for you?

The band that appeared around my heart the moment I laid eyes on the man cinched a little tighter.

Ivy: That’s okay. I just don’t want to leave him alone.

Scott: I understand.

I can’t bring myself to reply so I don’t. I lay the phone on the table next to me and sink back into the uncomfortable chair. The blinds are down, blocking out the afternoon sun. I pull the blanket covering my legs up under my chin and focus on Pops.

He’ll be fine.

He’ll be fine.

I say it over and over again in my head in the hopes that if I say it enough, it will become a reality.

Pops wakes up sometime around ten and kicks me out, promptly ordering me home and not taking no as a response. The drive is slow and silent. My knuckles are almost white against the steering wheel as I argue with myself to not cry. My body is heavy as I pull into the garage and I don’t have the energy to make it upstairs so I head for the couch, stopping by the freezer for the pint of ice cream stashed in the back. I’ll have to run an extra mile tomorrow to make up for it but I can’t bring myself to care.

I curl into a ball in my corner of the couch, blanket pulled over myself and ice cream resting against my curled knees. I flick through Netflix, pretending to be interested in the new shows before settling on watching Friends . Half way through a second episode and half the pint of ice cream, my phone chimes.

Scott: How’s your pops?

Ivy: He’s okay … they said it’s normal. Old age, I guess.

Scott: Ah.

I’m sorry, though.

For what it’s worth.

Ivy: Thank you. I’m sorry for cancelling.

Scott: Let’s go with rescheduling … I want that date.

For the first time in what seems like hours, a small smile curls up my lips.

Ivy: Someone’s keen. Haha

Scott: You have no idea.

Ivy: I’ll be needing it after the first week of school that's coming up.

I watch the three little dots appear on the screen, before they disappear and appear again. He’s writing and then deleting whatever he wants to say. It makes me laugh. He’s tall, dark and handsome but I can feel his nerves through the phone. It makes me feel better about my own, knowing he’s right there with me.

Scott: I’ll be out of town this coming weekend, but make it the Saturday after and you’re on.

Ivy: Done.