Ivy: Well???
I set Trusty in the passenger seat of my car and double-check that I have everything for my drive east. It’s Mom’s birthday on Sunday, and I’m expected for the weekend, along with Claire and family, but I’d better update Ivy before I leave, or I’ll never hear the end of it.
Me: Well. If nothing else, I’ll soon be in the best cardio condition of my life.
She sends me a gigantic face-palm. If I had a dollar for every one of those she’s sent me lately, I could probably afford a new car.
Ivy: Enough with the sneaky plan! You. Have. His. NUMBER!!
The liberation I felt after confessing to Ivy has been obliterated by her constant nagging since.
It’s been nearly two weeks since Moab, and I have yet to catch the slightest glimpse of Noah. He wasn’t at church last week, and we haven’t had any YCS meetings because Tony is out of town again. I’ve been exercising religiously, trying and failing to run into him like before—I even biked the trail once, thinking I could cover more ground that way. Ivy insists I need to take a more direct approach.
Like texting him.
Considering what happened the last time Ivy convinced me to take a direct approach with Noah, I’m not optimistic about my chances. Besides, I want it to feel natural when we see each other again, not forced.
I mean, semistalking him by spending hours on the trail he runs isn’t exactly organic, but I could still pretend we just happened to be exercising at the same time. If I straight-up text him, that’s no happy accident.
I text Ivy instead. No phone. I told you I need to see him in person.
Ivy: Thank him for all the Band-Aids. Easy opening. See where it goes.
Me: Too late for that. It’s been two weeks! There’s no easy opening now.
Ivy: Isn’t there a pickup line about needing help with your chemistry?
Now it’s me sending the face-palms. She sends hysterical laughter back.
I wish there were a way, but nothing’s coming to me. It’s like he’s disappeared, although Jamie mentioned she saw him Saturday when a bunch of people got together at the park.
That’s the other thing.
I’m not ready to risk the wrath of a good roommate for another rejection. I’m trying not to be annoyed that Jamie is decidedly more disappointed about my breakup than I am. The contemptible part of me wonders how much of that is because of my friendship with Noah.
Not that we’re friends lately. I’m beginning to think he’s intentionally avoiding me, and that makes anything overt even riskier.
Me: I have to hit the road. I promise I’ll let you know if there are any developments.
Ivy: Right. Like there’s any chance of you seeing him at your parents’ house. Ugh. Drive safe.
Buckling in for the longish haul, I hit play on an audiobook, and the drive passes without incident. Soon enough, I’m happily distracted by the cutest niece and nephew ever born. So distracted that when Claire asks me about the angry new scar on my calf, I let it slip how much worse it would have been if Noah hadn’t been there with his first-aid kit.
“Noah?” she says. “As in Noah Jennings?”
I see the sideways communication she throws at Ryan. Before I can say anything else, he’s scooped up Ava from where we’ve been playing on the floor and airplaned her out of the room.
It’s awfully quiet with only me, Claire, and a nursing baby Clark. Deprived of my entertainment, I’m reduced to drawing patterns in Mom’s plush carpet and contemplating the merits of background music until Claire breaks the silence.
“You went on a trip to Moab. With Noah Jennings.”
“It’s not what you think. I was actually there with Alec—”
“Hot Alec? Volleyball Alec?” Clark startles at Claire’s sharp tone, giving me some time to gather myself. The look she gives me when he’s soothed is hurt and confused. I haven’t been terribly communicative lately.
“We were dating.”
“You and Alec?”
I nod.
“Were? Past tense?”
“Were,” I say.
“And why was Noah there?”
Embellishing the carpet drawings, I dive in. Before I know it, I’ve spilled everything, from tutoring and Mexico to YCS and running and Jamie’s crush and Moab. Even the weird, wonderful, conflicting things I feel from him—like the understanding he gifted me over the campfire and the almost-kiss and the angry look that ended our latest charged interaction.
More than I told Ivy.
The telling takes long enough that Clark is contentedly sleeping on Claire’s shoulder when I finish. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
She waves off my concern. “Water under the bridge. I’m glad we’re talking now.” Clark fusses a bit, so she bounces him with reassuring pats on his back. “Do you think . . . ?”
“I don’t know,” I say, slumping against the couch. “Mostly, I think there’s too much history between us. I just need to get over it.”