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“Ha ha,” Ash says, “very funny.” She’s stuck the candles into the bread and lit them, little droplets of wax already beginning to run down their sides. “We have to sing fast,” she says with a laugh.
“We’re singing?” Caleb groans.
Ash shoots him a look. “Yes. We’re definitely singing.”
Bishop wraps his arms around me from behind, his chest vibrating against me as he sings. Ash stands in front of me holding the bread, her grin big enough to split her face in two. And despite his protests, Caleb is right there next to her, singing loud and slightly off-key.
“Make a wish,” Bishop says as I lean forward to blow out th
e candles.
This. I wish for exactly this. This is more than I ever thought I’d have. It seems greedy to wish for anything more. But there is more. The apple bread. A new-to-me coat, thick and warm with only a few mismatched patches in the wool. And, just when I think the surprises are over, from the box by the door Caleb lifts an ancient phonograph.
I laugh at the sight of it. I’ve never seen one in real life, only in the pages of book, and to have one appear here, of all places, seems like a kind of magic. Like Caleb has snapped his fingers and pulled a rabbit from a hat.
“It’s Andrew’s most prized possession,” Caleb says. “So if we break it, he will kill us.”
“He hides it in the summer when we’re not here,” Ash says with a roll of her eyes.
“Why did he lend it to us?” I ask.
Caleb glances at Bishop. “The besotted fool struck again. Traded him a deer for it.”
I round on Bishop, eyes huge. “A whole deer?” I practically screech.
Bishop holds up both hands, laughing. “It wasn’t one of ours. I took a separate hunting trip.”
“Was that where you were last week? That day you disappeared?”
He nods.
“You shouldn’t have given him a whole deer,” I say. “That was too much. We—”
“Shhh,” Bishop says, stepping into my body, which is pretty effective at shorting out my brain and quieting my protests. “No worrying on your birthday.”
Ash is already shifting through the metal cylinders that accompanied the phonograph. “How do we know what’s on these?” she asks Caleb.
He shrugs. “We don’t. Just pop one on and see.”
Ash grabs a cylinder at random and puts it in the phonograph, winds up the handle with careful hands. The music that pours out is scratchy, the voice of the man singing tinny and indistinct. But it’s music all the same, and the sound reverberates around our small living room, bouncing off each one of us, hitting ears and skin and pushing smiles onto all our faces.
“Let’s dance!” Ash says, her sock-clad feet already shimmying across the floor.
Caleb flops down on one of the sofas. “Not happening. This is where I draw the birthday line. There is no way I am dancing.”
“I’m with him on this one,” Bishop says, hooking a thumb toward Caleb.
Ash sticks her tongue out at them and grabs my hand, pulls me into the empty space between the front door and the kitchen. We dance like fools, like children, swinging each other back and forth, spinning under each other’s arms and giggling, high pitched and ridiculous. We replace each cylinder with a new one when the song is done. Caleb and Bishop watch us, laughing when Ash slips and falls, clapping when we take our final bows, our cheeks flushed and sweat beading our brows. For those few minutes we are not facing a long, uncertain winter. We are not dreading the dreary days ahead. We have not lost anyone we love. We are young and we are simply and completely happy.
We end the evening sitting quietly in front of the fire, listening to the cylinder spin one last song out into the golden air. Relaxed there, Bishop at my back, the firelight in front of me, the remains of my birthday bread on the table scenting the air with spice, I can feel the changes inside myself. I knew that beyond the fence I would have to become tougher, and those hard edges have been easier to accept than I thought they might. I’ll never be Callie; I would never want to be. But I’m comfortable with the heft of a knife in my hand. Some part of me enjoys the backbreaking work it takes to survive each and every day. But there are also spaces inside me that are softer than they’ve ever been, spots that are now filled with warmth and joy—the sound of Ash’s laugh, Bishop’s hands on my face, the pure kindness of tonight.
Callie once told me that no revolutions are won without sacrifices, and she was right. She may have been talking about literal war, but the sentiment applies just as well to what’s happening within me. I’ve lost so much, but I’ve gained something, too. Life beyond the fence is transforming me. Not into a new person, but back into the girl I’ve always been underneath all the layers my father and Callie built on top of me. Slowly, I am finding myself.
I am becoming Ivy again.
Later, Bishop and I are curled up in bed, the covers practically over our heads to keep out the cold. I kiss my way down the side of his jaw, the column of his neck. “Besotted fool, huh?” I whisper near his ear, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice.
Bishop groans. “I was hoping you forgot that part.”
