Love Nouveau (17 page)

He softly laughs. “No, I don’t run marathons, Ivy. I was training to run the Chicago Marathon, but ended up getting injured during a long run and never made it to the starting line.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I don't know why I’m apologizing, but I imagine having a lofty goal and falling short is nothing short of frustrating. Or heartbreaking. Both, really.

“Anyway, I was out one morning for a long run along the lakefront path. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and the sky was simply electric. It was my first and only time I have ever witnessed a sunrise. And it was breathtakingly beautiful—a kaleidoscope of blinding light in shades of gold, fiery orange, and magenta. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was also the moment I decided to break up with Annie.

“That sunrise was so exquisite it begged to be shared with someone. But I didn’t want her to know about it. She just wouldn’t have appreciated it. So I kept it a secret. It wasn’t worthy of being shared with her. A lot of moments weren’t worthy of being shared with her, but I was too blind and too comfortable to do anything about it. It took some time, but I finally realized during that run that staying with Annie for as long as I did meant I was sitting idly and not spending time with my soul mate. Sitting on the curve of that breaking wall, I realized that by staying with her I was doing a disservice not only to myself, but also with the woman I was meant to be with and share sunrises with…” His voice trails off in a reflective moment before he adds, “you.”

The gravity of his words hit me like a freight train, fast and overwhelmingly powerful. Our connection is unmatched. I never imagined anyone could genuinely feel this way about me. Heck, I never imagined I could genuinely feel this way about anyone else. Or genuinely feel, period.

I have no words for him. Just feelings. And I know we need to talk about the implications of what he just confessed, but I don’t know where to even begin. Even at this distance, even with only knowing him for such a short period of time, my heart is tethered to his. He believes he’s meant to be with me, and I want to believe that he is right. I want to believe that this emotion we share is strong enough to overcome the odds. That together we can prove that distance is no match for us.

That sometimes people are just meant to be together.

THE REST OF THE WEEK passes in a blur as I’m kept busy helping Genevieve complete all of the final wedding preparations. And by helping I really mean doing her bitch work. It is exhausting. I address envelopes for her thank you cards from her bridal shower. We go to Bloomingdale’s four times to add more items to their wedding registry. And we even have her makeup trial done three times, because we left the first two appointments wearing the wrong shade of champagne eye shadow. In case you are wondering, champagne comes in thirty billion shades.

If I ever get married, I’m just going to elope because all of this fanfare doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Genevieve is so focused on her wedding day that she’s forgetting it’s the years that come after that are the most important.

It’s nearing midnight and Phoenix hasn’t seemed himself all night. He wasn’t playful in his texts throughout the day and now there is a sadness looming in his voice that I just can’t decipher. My mind grazes over the past hour, thinking back to anything I might have said that could have rubbed him the wrong way. I felt like I’ve carried most of the conversation, and on the whole tonight’s call has felt a bit … strained.

Maybe he’s pulling away from me because he knows that there is no way for us to be together. An ‘us’ is simply not in the cards given our very different futures and the physical distance between us. I wouldn’t blame him. It’s already going to be so hard to end whatever this is that we have when the time comes.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Phoenix? You just seem so sad tonight,” I ask with a frown. I don’t want to push him to talk, but something is clearly weighing on his mind and it’s going to chew at my insides until I know what it is. When he hurts, I hurt.

The whoosh of his lungs as he exhales is startling. “No, I’m not okay. I’m not sure what I am right now.”

Shit. This is it. This is the part where he tells me we can’t be together. But truthfully, I’m so thankful for the little time we shared. I no longer believe in coincidence. Rather, I believe in my instinct. Trusting myself to follow what I’m drawn to. I have faith that my intuition will not steer me in the wrong direction, but instead, guide me to the exact place I need to be at just the right moment in time. I refuse to regret opening myself up to him, and I brace myself for the blow that inevitably is going to come as I wait for him to continue.

“I got a voicemail from my Uncle Tom while I was in the shower this morning.”

And exhale.

That’s certainly not what I was expecting. And Uncle Tom? That’s not a name I’ve heard before. Then again, he’s never really talked about his family. From what I’ve gathered, his father is estranged and he’s an only child, which really leaves him with no one of importance in his life.
Except for maybe me.
I nervously chew on the tip of my thumb and listen intently.

“That's my dad’s brother,” he says with a heavy sigh. “He called … he called to tell me that my dad is sick.”

Oh, no.
Even through their relationship is strained, I can’t begin to imagine how much this must hurt. Now, more than ever, I want to crawl through the phone and into his lap. I want to be able to reach out and comfort him. Damn this distance.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Phoenix.” There are no apologies I can offer to help ease his weary mind, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “Have you tried calling him?” I ask, my voice thick with sincerity.

“My dad? No,” he says sharply, and in the silence on the line, I swear I hear him whisper, “
I’m scared
.

“I did call my uncle back though…” His voice trails off and I hope the silence will encourage him to open up. “He has an aggressive case of non-Hodgkin lymphoma,” he continues after a few minutes of silence. “It sounds like they didn’t catch it early enough, so even with treatment his prognosis isn’t good.”

I feel the air get sucked from my lungs and my heart physically aches for him.

“I’ve spent the past few weeks avoiding phone calls from my dad,” he confesses. “He has reached out at least once a day since the end of April. I’ve sent each and every one of those phone calls to voicemail and never once checked his messages.”

“Maybe you should call him back?” I suggest gently. “I’m sure he would find comfort in talking to his only son.”

“No! I’m far too angry,” he clips. His voice is steel and I know there is no changing his mind. At least not today. “I just thought I would feel different. I’ve always thought that he was the one who should have died. He should have been in that car wreck, not my mom. So, in a way, this disease is just karmic retribution. But now … him dying isn’t going to bring my mom back. It’s just going to make me an adult orphan. And it pisses me off.”

He doesn’t have to explain himself—I know exactly what he means. The notion of bad shit happening to good people is something I’ve grappled with most of my life. So when bad shit happens to bad people, you expect it to feel much more satisfying. Except it never does.

“I’m sorry that I'm being such a downer.”

“No, you’re not being a downer. You’re just sorting through it all.” I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my free arm around them, hugging myself tightly. “I wish I were there with you.”

“Me too,” he says with a sigh. “But I get to see you in what, three weeks?”

“Less than three.” I’m half tempted to skip Genevieve’s bachelorette party this weekend and head to St. Louis to be with him. He sounds like he could really use a friend right now.

No.

Actually, I’d like to believe that he could really use
me
.

“I can’t wait. There have been a few times I’ve wanted to just jump in my car and drive up there to see you,” he confesses.

My heart feels lighter at the thought of him dropping everything to road trip it to Chicago for a visit.

“Well, you know what they say, good things come to those who wait, but great things come to those who are patient.” Though my patience is wearing thin these days.

I much prefer instant gratification, and I would do anything to make time move faster so we could be together again, but I know the wait will be worth it.

Jesus Christ on a cracker, I sound like a walking ad against premarital sex.

“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.

“Sure, Ivy,” he says with a sigh.

I take a deep breath, knowing that I am about to overstep an unspoken line and probably tick him off.

“Reconsider calling him. I know things between you two are strained, but I don’t think they are irreparable. When your mom died, he lost two of the most important people in his life. And he’s been trying to reconnect with you. That has to count for something,” I suggest softly.

The only sound I hear is that of his thoughts processing my words. Nothing. At least I hope that’s what he’s doing and not reveling in the calm before the shit storm. My heart races in anticipation when he finally begins to speak again.

“I can’t promise you that I’ll call him. But I can promise that I will at least think about it … for you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper into the phone. I know that I’m totally the wrong reason for him to see it through, but I want him to want to call his dad, so I’ll take whatever he is willing to offer. “Try and get some sleep tonight. Okay?”

“I will.”

“Sweet dreams, Phoenix.”

“Only if I’m dreaming of you, Ivy.”

THE NEXT DAY MY OFFER letter from Gallery 545 arrives, at least I think it arrived earlier that day. My parents left it on the console table in the foyer in a stack of junk mail and never said a word about it to me, so for all I know it could have been sitting here all week.

They simply are the epitome of thoughtfulness.

I sit down on the stairs and rip it open in lackluster fashion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m truly excited for the opportunity, but as I scan the words on the pages I’m unable to process anything it says. My mind is too absorbed with the pain that Phoenix is deflecting. My soul aches to comfort him.

Estranged or not, his father and his uncle are Phoenix’s only living relatives. And I know on some level it will be painful to lose him. Even through hate, we still find comfort knowing someone is there just in case we ever need them. I just hope that Phoenix is able to push his pride aside and pick up the phone to connect with him before it’s too late.

When the front door slams abruptly, I nearly jump out of my skin.

“What?” Genevieve barks at me, her arms overflowing with Louis Vuitton, Neiman Marcus, and Barney’s shopping bags. “Don’t just stand there, Ivy.” My name is sour off her tongue and she rolls her eyes in disgust. “Help me carry my stuff upstairs.”

I look at her briefly before returning my eyes to the paper that details my future. Sighing, I fold it a few times before stuffing it in my pocket and reach out to take part of Genevieve’s load. The offer isn’t going anywhere and I am certainly not in the right mindset to dive into my New York plans just yet, especially when part of me yearns to stay here knowing that Phoenix is coming for several weeks.

“What is all this stuff?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Most of these are clothes for my honeymoon. CJ and I are headed to the Intercontinental resort in Bora Bora for a week before chartering a yacht to Tahiti the second week.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice,” I say, feigning excitement for her. Mostly, I think I’m looking forward to her becoming someone else’s problem day in and day out, though I doubt she’ll ever stop trying to boss me around.

“Yeah, it will be. Mom and Daddy are giving us our dream honeymoon as a wedding gift.”

I struggle to keep my jaw shut though their grand gesture really shouldn’t surprise me at all.

“So about this weekend,” Genevieve begins, “I need you to get to the hotel early to set everything up for my bachelorette party. I’ve already taken care of just about everything since I know exactly how I want things. I just need you to actually step up and execute.”

Read as
I don’t want to lift a finger and it will be much easier to just make you do my bitch work.

“Do you think you can handle that?” she snaps.

“Sure, Gen,” I say with a sigh, dropping her shopping bags onto her overstuffed down comforter.

“I’m serious, Ivy. I’m trusting you to make this night perfect for me. If you don’t think you can take care of it I need to know now. I can have one of the other bridesmaids do it or I can just get there early and do everything myself.”

I barely hear her mumble
I probably will anyway
under her breath. Genevieve is being unnecessarily sharp, but we’re only a week and a half away from her big day where she’ll walk down the aisle and hopefully out of my life.

“I’ll take care of it. You just relax,” I tell her, pressing my lips into a tight, fake smile. I’m sure my feeble attempt to reassure her doesn’t do much to ease her stress. I watch as she examines her face closely in the mirror, pulling her skin to study her pores.