“And when did you arrive, Syd?” Mason’s careful tone tries to hide what’s behind those words.
“Anna and I got in yesterday,” I reply with the basic facts because I don’t owe him anything more.
“James,” Ivy’s voice purrs. “Would you mind helping me with my bags?”
He drops his gaze as though he needs a moment to collect himself. When his eyes lift, I see the shift—the contrite smile. The pleasantness meant to convey friendship, a boundary. “Sure. After we eat.” He heads to the kitchen without looking back.
I clutch at the pieces of him still fresh on my skin, trying to hold onto what we had in the sunroom, but we both know the rules. The dance. The careful distance. Everything we’ve promised is now neatly folded beneath polite smiles and measured words.
Ivy stands there for half a second, processing the way he politely distances himself—despite the years they spent together, despite the engagement—before she follows him into the kitchen. I can’t make out the quiet murmuring that follows.
“Is Anna napping?” Mason grabs his bag, tone softening.
“Yeah. She should be up soon.”
He hesitates, searching for words he’s never been good at finding. “Can we talk later?”
“Yes, after she’s asleep tonight,” I nod, and he walks off toward the guest room. A long, slow exhale finally escapes me, but the quiet doesn’t last long.
Ivy’s voice shatters my solitude, loud and so un-Ivy-like: “James, I’m only asking for another chance. We were so good together. We can be that again.”
I take a few steps closer when I hear James’s deep timbre. He isn’t harsh, but there’s finality in his tone. “I didn’t come here for that, Ivy. I don’t want to hurt you again, but we’re not getting back together. You are great. Beautiful. Kind. And someone’s going to be lucky to fall in love with you. But it’s not me.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with me?” Ivy takes slow, gasping breaths.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says gently. “That’s the truth. The problem was never you.”
I hear her breathing, shaky, uneven. The kind of breath you take when the ground beneath you has started to shift.
James waits, giving her a minute. When he speaks next, it’s quieter. Regret coats every word. “I made a lot of mistakes when we were together. But the worstof them was letting things go on when I already knew. I should have been honest a long time ago.”
“I don’t understand. We were supposed to get married.” Her voice is soft, broken. “This isn’t the first time we’ve broken up and gotten back together. After that first Christmas here, we barely spoke for months, then came back from it. Why not now?”
James exhales. Loudly. I imagine he’s running his hands through his hair in that pause.
“This isn’t like that, Ivy. I never told you the full truth about why my parents separated. My dad hurt my mom. Not just emotionally. It was... more than that… and I vowed to never be like him. But by dragging this out, by not being honest with you sooner, I hurt you anyway.”
He pauses again, swallowing hard. Ivy’s quiet cries pick up.
“I’m sorry, Ivy. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
I step away, not wanting to hear any more. His painful words and her devastation after all this time pull at my chest. Guilt knots there. The damage left in our wake. The hurt. The fallout. And the family I’ve loved for so long is caught in the crosshairs.
Wetness slides down my cheek, and I search outside through the setting sun. Two birds cut across the orange sky, wings steady despite the wind, flying toward something I can’t see but somehow trust is there. Together they’re going where they’re meant to be.
Before long, Ivy escapes from the kitchen, face in her hands, and runs up the stairs.
I walk into the kitchen where James is leaning against the countertop, rubbing his jaw. When he sees me, he gives me a sad, quick smile. I want to go over and comfort him, but I know I can’t. Not right now. Instead of wrapping my arms around him, I open my phone and select a song. The soft, familiar notes hum through the speakers.
John Legend’s voice, warm and soulful, fills the quiet.
James’s eyes pin me in place, and I sink against the fridge, never looking away. As we’ve done so many times when words failed or too many eyes were watching, the lyrics say everything.
“Thank you,” he mouths.
I nod, fold my hands over my heart, and let the words carry our vows to each other. BecauseAll of Meis ready for more.
“What do you think about ordering pizza?” His tone is soft, still caught in Ivy’s pain. He opens the drawer where Margaret keeps the takeout menus. “Pretty sure we’re headed into the most awkward dinner of our lives.”
