Maybe Micah’s right. Maybe I should consider going back to college. Maybe I’ll use this sliver of free time to investigate schools. I have no idea if it’s feasible given my age and income, but there’s no harm in looking. And certainly no harm in understanding what it takes to apply as an adult.

  Dang. That feels good. Like really, really freaking amazing. Better than I thought it would. Why did I fight Micah so hard on this? He obviously has my best interest at heart. Nell’s too. He’s been wonderful for us from the word go. He forgave me when anyone else would have held a grudge. He loved Nell from the second he laid eyes on her. I can trust him. I should trust him.

  No. I do trust him.

  As I climb the steps, a call comes in. My mother’s contact photo fills the screen and I stare, sad to feel dread as the phone vibrates away. I love her. Dearly. And she loves me. But every time I talk to her, I feel like I’m talking to Dad instead. I have no idea if she means what she says or if she’s only saying what he wants her to say.

  With a deep breath, I steel myself and accept the call. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Oh, my sweet, sweet Ivy! How are you, my darling?” Her voice cracks and I can just see her, swallowing down any emotion that doesn’t require smiling.

  I used to be the same way. Because if I ever stopped smiling, I’d start screaming.

  “I just got home from work and Nell will be walking through the door from school any minute.” I lean on the porch rail and stare at the sky, blue upon blue upon blue with puffs of white clouds floating past.

  “Work?” Mom sounds like she’s never heard the word before. “What an adventure you’re on.”

  It’s not lost on me that instead of telling her how I am, I explained what I’m doing…and it’s enough to satisfy her. She won’t press the issue. She never does. She’ll toss around a few useless platitudes, she’ll talk about how happy she is, how good I am, painting everything in a sickly-sweet light, then tell me she loves me and say goodbye.

  It’s the only way she survives. Anything else and she’d be forced to admit how miserable she is.

  “I got a job as a receptionist at a psychologist’s office. It’s not exactly my dream job, but it’s dream adjacent. And who knows, maybe I can still go back to school.” I laugh lightly, then turn to lean my back against the railing, catching my reflection through the window. My hair is down and my hips are full and I look more like myself than I have in a long time.

  “You’re really putting down roots out there.”

  I turn away from my reflection. Mom does this all the time. Walks right up to the point, then leaves it hanging, forcing me to make the connection myself. When I was younger, I thought she did it on purpose, to teach me to think through problems myself. But lately, I’ve wondered if it’s because Dad wants her to say something she doesn’t agree with.

  “I’m happy here. Why not put down roots?”

  “I miss you, Ivy. And oh, how I miss little Nell. You two are the light of my life.” Mom’s voice cracks again and my heart breaks.

  Does she even realize how unhappy she is?

  “I miss you too, Mom.”

  After the time I’ve spent with Micah, after seeing how different and alive Grandma is now that Grandpa’s gone, after coming to terms with how I felt with Julian…my mother’s behavior is so clear to me. The slow erosion of her personality into a smiling automaton. I was headed down that path, and I swore I never noticed it happening, but there was part of me that knew. A part that screamed and screamed, trapped deep inside, desperate to have a voice again. Desperate to have a choice again.

  Mom must feel the same way. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

  “Can I ask you something?” The wind picks up, blowing my hair across my face, and I pinch the phone between my ear and my shoulder to tuck a wayward lock behind my ear.

  “Always, my girl. Anything. Ask away.” She sounds like she’s smiling in hopes of hiding how nervous she is—a tactic I know well.

  “Are you happy?”

  There’s a pause on her end, then a tight laugh. “Of course I’m happy. I’m married to a wonderful man who loves me very much. I have this lovely life because of him. How could I not be happy when I’m so blessed? It’s you I’m worried about, my darling. You and Nell. You’ve upended your life and I so wish you’d come home. I love you and miss you more than you know. I need to know you’re okay…” She trails off and I consider letting the conversation end there.

  But I’m tired of swallowing my thoughts to avoid hard conversations.

  “I upended my life because I wasn’t happy with Julian. He…” Where do I even start to make her understand?

  “Julian provided a lovely life for you and your daughter, Ivy.” I don’t know if Mom’s trying to convince me of that, or herself as well. “He’s a good man.”

  “That depends on your definition of good, I guess. He made me feel like I could never do anything right. Like I had to walk on eggshells around him. Like I couldn’t survive without him. Like he was the only reason I’m a functioning adult.”

  It feels so good to say these things. Sure, I’ve said them to Grandma, but only after she helped me to see how true they are. Talking to Mom about it feels like I’m finally owning it. Finally taking responsibility. Finally starting to grow out of that poor broken girl I was into the strong woman I want to be.

  “Ivy…” Mom sighs. “I didn’t want the conversation to come to this, but with all due respect, you couldn’t survive without him. You’re too much like me. Where would you be without Julian?”

  Woah. Okay then. I wasn’t expecting that. Not from her.

  “Then what am I doing now, Mom?” I ask, heading inside the house because suddenly the sun is too bright and the wind is too strong. “I’m not with him and I seem to be handling everything pretty well.”

  “But are you handling things well? Or are you leaning on someone else and letting him do it for you?”

  I look around the kitchen, filled with things that aren’t mine, then turn in place, taking in the living room, the pool outside the windows. I’m not as on my own as I’d like, but I have a job. A voice. My situation with Micah is nothing like when I was with Julian.

  “It’s complicated,” I say, pacing from the wall of windows in the kitchen to the stairs.

  “It isn’t, though. You use people, Ivy. I love you to pieces, but you were more than happy to let your father support you and Nell until you met Julian. And then you were just as happy to let him support you until you got tired of him and moved on to my mother. And now? You’re back with Micah, living in his house, doing the same thing all over again.”

  I freeze, frowning, my knuckles white as I grip the stair rail. “How do you know I’m living with Micah?”

  “Did you really think your dad would be okay, not knowing where you are? As soon as Julian got your address, we looked the house up. When it was clear you couldn’t afford a place like that on your own, we did some digging. It wasn’t hard to find out who owned the place and honestly Ivy, I was so disappointed. Micah? Really? After everything he did to you…”

  “I don’t know what to say to that, Mom. I really don’t.” I run a trembling hand through my hair. “Wait. Yes, I do know what to say. I’m a grown woman and you need to respect my boundaries.”

  “Boundaries,” Mom scoffs, like the very idea is ridiculous. “We’re worried about you, Ivy. You threw everything good away. You spat in the face of the man who loves you. Embarrassed your father and me. And now, you’re back with the man who ruined your life.”

  “Micah didn’t ruin my life.”

  “Why are you a receptionist for a psychologist instead of an actual psychologist?”

  I can’t believe she has the nerve to ask that question. She knows I didn’t have a choice.

  “Because I had Nell and didn’t have the time to go to school. Dad—”

  “And you had Nell because…”

  I’ve never heard Mom so declarative. I don’t know how to handle this version of her.

  “Because Micah and I made a mistake.” My grip on the phone tightens. “Plenty of people make the same mistake and—”

  “But he’s living his life without consequence.”

  “That’s because he didn’t know! He didn’t know I was pregnant.”

  “How convenient for him.”

  I explain the situation, my voice rising as years’ worth of pent-up frustration and fear jolts to the surface. “He never saw my texts, Mom.”

  “I can’t believe you fell for that story.” She sounds so much like Julian. I hate it. I hate hearing her sound like that. Judgmental. Hateful. Condescending. “If he wasn’t going to have a phone, don’t you think the first thing he should have done was tell you?”

  “He swears he texted me, but somehow I didn’t see those messages.” I bite off my words, angry now. “Dad was monitoring my phone like a hawk back then and I was so stressed out all the time because of it. Maybe I missed Micah’s messages. Or maybe he’s lying and never sent them. Or maybe, I don’t know…” I wave a hand through the air, searching for maybes, and grab the first one I find. “Maybe Dad deleted the message!”

  My jaw drops. Maybe Dad deleted the message…

  Dad’s controlling. Overbearing. Domineering, even. But surely he wouldn’t do something so deceitful, so duplicitous, so hurtful…especially when he saw how much it broke me to think Micah abandoned me. He wouldn’t destroy his only daughter.

  Would he?

  “Now why would he do that?” Mom sounds genuinely flummoxed by the suggestion.

  “Because he wanted me dependent on him, the same way you are.” I clamp a hand over my mouth. It makes a terrible kind of sense. What if, all these years I thought Micah was an asshole, because my own father did something so despicable, so unforgivable…

  “You’ve been listening to my mother.” For some, anger is hot, all fire and flash. For my mom, it’s a frozen wasteland.

  I shiver, but instead of apologizing, I double down. “I have been listening to her. You should too. My life has gotten so much better since I started taking her advice.”

  “You keep saying that. ‘My life is so much better.’ But where’s the proof?”

  “It’s in the way I feel! Like I can express myself without fear! It’s in the way Micah looks at me. It’s Nell, surrounded by family, thriving.”

  “Thriving.” Mom chokes on the word.

  “Yes! She’s thriving. She’s her vivacious, superhero loving self and doesn’t have to hear how she isn’t ladylike or that she’s inappropriate or that everything about her needs to be small and contained and the complete opposite of the way she is.”

  “And you don’t think it’s important for her to learn boundaries?” Funny how she can use that word without scoffing like she did when I used it.

  “There’s a difference between boundaries and, and…” The word dances around my head, just out of reach. “And abuse!” I finally shout.

  Mom laughs. “Abuse? You grew up wealthy, with two parents actively involved in your life, your health, your well-being. The only thing you didn’t have was financial support when it came to childcare for the baby you shouldn’t have had. And suddenly you’re abused?”

  “There’s a fine line between guidance and control. Between being supported and being forced into dependance.”

  “And what is that difference, Ivy?”

  I start to doubt myself. I’ve been so righteous in my stance, so certain Julian and Dad were bad for me, but what if…?

  No. There are no ‘what ifs’ here. I know how I feel when I’m with them and it isn’t good. “It’s hard to define,” I say, “but I know it when I see it.”

  “I see.” Mom’s heavy sigh has me ready to open her eyes to the truth.

  “But do you?” I ask. “Do you see how you never say what you’re thinking? How you always agree with Dad on the outside, even when you don’t on the inside? You always take his side, even when it kills you.”

  “Maybe I always take his side because he’s right. He’s strong when I’m weak. He can draw the hard lines when I’d be…”

  “Reasonable? Realistic? Kind? Come on, Mom. Part of you has to know that the way we live, it’s joyless. Nothing’s ever good enough.”

  “Your father’s good for me. And he’s good for you.”

  “He has his thumb on you so hard you can’t breathe. I know you feel it. I know it.”

  There’s a moment of silence. Me, standing in the kitchen, and her so quiet she must be holding her breath. Maybe she heard me. Maybe she’s finally going to admit she’s unhappy with my father. Maybe she’ll break the pattern like Grandma did, like I did. Maybe we’ll all find the strength to set ourselves free so Nell will have three strong women to look up to on my side of the family and an army on Micah’s.

  “I love you, Ivy.” There’s goodbye in my mother’s voice. “I love you and I miss you and I’m sorry you feel like this.” She’s retreating. “You can’t begin to understand what you mean to me.”

  I know how much I love my daughter, so I have an idea what I mean to her. The difference is that I’m making the hard choice for Nell’s health and well-being, while my mother is still too afraid.

  “I love you too, Mom. So much. Enough to say things I know you don’t want to hear. Enough to have this uncomfortable conversation so that maybe, you’ll find ways your life needs to change. I know you don’t agree with all of Dad’s choices. I know you don’t like the way he treats you, the way he treats me and Nell. I know it. I feel it because I lived it. And maybe you’re not ready to accept that, but when you are, I’m here. Me and Grandma and Nell. The four of us can figure all this out together. Life doesn’t have to be joyless, and it doesn’t have to be for somebody else all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to do things just for you.”

  Mom takes a shaky breath. She’s crying and I want to reach through the phone and hug her tight because I hate that she’s hurting and scared and confused. The part of her that knows what I’m saying is true is small and buried under decades of my father eroding her confidence. I felt the same way when I started talking to Grandma, but only had a few years of Julian to get out of my system. Grandma was forced into the realization when Grandpa passed away, but Mom? She’s been trapped in the relationship for so long, she can’t tell if I’m crazy or if she is.

  “I love you,” she whispers through tears. “I’m so sorry…I just…we’ll talk later, okay? When you’ve had a chance to calm down and are thinking more clearly.”

  The line goes dead and I sigh, wiping away tears of my own. She heard me. I know it. And while she’s not ready to talk about it now, maybe she’ll be ready to have a conversation soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Micah

  I walk into the house to find Ivy with sheets of paper spread over the dinner table. There’s a pen in one hand, her phone in the other, and different colors of highlighters in a straight line beside her. It reminds me of the way she studied for the SATs while my dumb ass wasn’t even planning to take them. She grins as I come in.

  “What’s all this?” I ask, pulling out a chair to sit beside her. “Did you decide to start looking at colleges?”

  “I started to.” Ivy flashes me a smile before she puts her phone back in her face. “But then I…well…I’m apartment hunting.”

  What the fuck? Apartments? Is she kidding me? “Why?”

  The question is blunt and sharp and maybe I should have been gentler, but I’m tired of constantly being pushed away. I’m not him. I’ll never be him. And sure, she’s afraid she hasn’t had enough time to change and heal, but she’ll always have a voice with me. How can she still not see it?

  Ivy glances in my direction, but she might as well be looking through me. “Nell and I, we can’t live here forever. It’s not right to take advantage of you like this.”

  “Take advantage?” I stand and move to the other side of the room, leaning on the wall, physically distancing myself in the hopes it’ll keep me from saying something she won’t want to hear.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Ivy.” I fold my arms over my chest, saying her name too harshly. “How many times do I have to say you’re not taking advantage of me. I like having you here.”

  She picks up a highlighter and pulls off the cap before dragging it across a line of text, then double-checks it against whatever’s on her phone. Busy, busy, busy. “And I like being here. It’s just…don’t you think I should know what it’s like to support myself? I’ve never had to do that before.”

  Oh Jesus. This again? Really?

  “I think you should do whatever makes you happy. If you’re happy here, great. If you’re not…?” I rake my hands through my hair and yank open the fridge without a clue as to what I’m looking for. All I want is her, but she keeps pushing me away.

  Oblivious, Ivy continues, “I moved out of my dad’s house and right into Julian’s. Then went from Julian to Grandma and from Grandma to you. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s capable of taking care of herself. It sounds like someone who, you know, takes advantage.” She highlights something else and suddenly, everything about her seems wrong. This isn’t Ivy studying for the SATs, this is a woman who’s panicking and keeping herself busy to avoid whatever’s in her head. This is distraction as a survival mechanism.

  “Ivy…?” I let the fridge door close. “Where is all this coming from?”

  She chews her bottom lip. “My mom called today.”

  “And I take it that didn’t go very well?”

  Ivy stares at the mess of papers in front of her, shuffling them around like the answer might be written somewhere in one of the piles. “She just said some stuff that really got me thinking. I was talking about how I’m working to be more independent, and she pointed out that…” She shrugs and finally makes eye contact. She’s hollow and scared and hurt and confused. It’s all dancing through those pale blue eyes and why does it feel like she listens to everyone else whenever they have something to say, but won’t listen to me?