Jared pulls the milk from the bag on the counter, and then walks to the fridge. He pauses, leaving the door open as he peers into it.
“What?” I ask.
“We really should have gotten you some more stuff. Not much in here.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say as he closes the door. “I do have a car. And a credit card.” I smile at him.
“You’re right. You’re not a little kid, I know, I know.”
Over the week that I stayed with Jared after my release, our relationship evolved into something closer to brother and sister. We had our petty fight over him leaving the toilet seat up after I fucking fell in it, our squabble after I drank the last of the coffee. But we’re two peas in a pod. He’s my ride-or-die, my friend for life. I still don’t have one hundred percent of my memories. I’m still missing that chunk of time from the day I passed out at my house, but I remember almost everything else. The lying, the scheming, the hurt. Though he surely already knew, I sat Jared down one day and confessed that I used him, that he took my virginity. He grimaced at first, shaking off the memory, and then promptly told me he forgave me.
If only Brooks could. We haven’t spoken since he came to see me on my birthday three months ago. He talks to Jared occasionally for updates, but that’s the extent of it. I feel like he hates me, and with good reason. I would hate me, too.
Barks erupt from Lucy as she bolts into the living room. I poke my head around as she begins scratching at the wood trim next to the front door, tail swaying rapidly.
“I’ll get it,” Jared says.
When he opens it, I gasp. There he stands in a Georgia Tech jacket, his eyes glancing to me, lips lifting into a slight smile.
I don’t hear the words they exchange, but Jared tells me he’ll be on the porch if I need him.
“Can I come in?” Brooks asks, his breath steaming in the cold air.
“Yes.” I move toward him slowly, my feet weighted as I meet him halfway.
“Can we sit?”
“Of course.”
He takes a seat on the couch, and I follow, opting for the spot farthest away. I bite my lip and fidget, twisting and adjusting my body one too many times, unable to find a comfortable position.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m okay. I’ve been writing to Sarah, and she writes back. Well … her nurse writes the letters for her, but it’s been nice.”
“That’s great. How’s she doing?”
“She’s good. I just wish I could do something—bring her to live with me or something—but I’ve looked into it, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to do that.”
He frowns. “I am sure your letters make her happy.”
I shrug.
“Listen, I have been thinking about everything that’s happened over the last couple of months.”
I say nothing, allowing him time to speak, my gaze fixed on his legs as I’m not quite ready to face my wrongdoing.
“I’ve talked a lot with Jared. And I’ve been seeing a therapist myself.”
My eyes cut to him. Search him. “You have?” Jesus, what have I done to him?
“Yeah.” He holds up a hand. “Not only about us. I had issues before you became … anyway, it has really helped. It has cleared my head a lot, helped me sort out some pent-up anger or whatever that I have had.”
I nod. “I’m glad it’s helping. I remember almost everything. I’m—I’m so sorry I did all those things.” My eyes fill with tears as I fight their burn.
“I know. Look, I think any other man would hate you right now. And I’ve tried. Believe me, I have. But I know you were sick. You weren’t yourself. The good parts of Emily, those were you.”
“No … Emily was nothing but bad,” I mutter.
“I thought so, too, at first, but as time has gone by, I believe it less and less. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, I don’t know. But I felt something between us from the moment I met you … as Emily—a strong connection—and I know I didn’t imagine that. It was you, Ivy. You were shining through her.”
My eyes move to my lap, Lucy’s nose nuzzling my foot. “Maybe.”
“I mean, you know … you said have most of those memories. Were those moments in between the craziness fake? Was what I felt when we kissed, when we had sex, was that pretend?”
I turn to him. Wipe tears from my cheeks. “It was real. Every minute of it.” I cover my face with my hands, hiding my shame, before I drop them again. “Still, I don’t know how you can be here, how you can look at me after all the surgery, and it not be out of disgust, knowing I’ve simply been molded to look like this?”
His hand takes mine—not in a romantic way, but in a comforting way. “I loved you when we were kids. You were beautiful to me—before the pouty lips, before the big … anyway, you know that. And I was falling in love with the good parts of Emily, not just her looks, but you. I didn’t come here to say we can instantly wipe the slate clean and pick up where we left off at the beach, because that would be unrealistic and unhealthy for both of us.” My shoulders sag as he squeezes my hand harder. “But maybe we can start over as friends, and take things slow. Pick up from the day I came back from France.”
Our eyes connect, my breath hitching. “You’d actually be open to that?”
“If you are. I would love to be friends with you again,” he says. “With Ivy again.”