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IVY
Some say time is our most valuable commodity, the only thing we can never get back. For me, time is a storm in which I am forever lost.
Others view this as my downfall—the way time slips through my fingers like a breeze-blown dandelion. Wishes adrift. How the measurement of moments passing is nothing but grains of sand and shooting stars and butterfly kisses. Fleeting and intangible. Perhaps. And yet it’s terribly difficult to be shackled by that which eludes me. Those who see it as my weakness don’t understand all I hold in its place.
The stolen moments, the fantasies, the forbidden secrets.
Shadows swallowing golden rays.
All mine.
Reality is so often a pretentious bore. I far prefer the storm.
Freshly manicured acrylic nails, dressed in an elegant and glittery opal, float in front of my face.Snap. Snap.
“You in there, Ivy?” Celeste Carver—my best friend. And in so many ways, my polar opposite. She’s proper yet secretively wild and one of those stunning Elizabeth Taylor-curvy girls.
“Oh, I’m here, Lettie.” Her terriblyimproperchildhood nickname rolls off my tongue in jest, causing her head to tilt with the quirk of her dark brow while I serve up a teasing dig. “I merely got distracted while you were checking out thewaiter’s ass.”
“Touché.” She flaps her hand, accepting defeat, her gaze seeking out said waiter with a wanton pout. “It can’t be helped. I’m in a dry spell.”
That nearly sends the lemonade I’m attempting to swallow across the table. I cough a garbled laugh, the sweet and tangy beverage stinging my throat. “You broke up with Nelson ten days ago. It’s not that dry.”
She sighs, clutching an imaginary strand of pearls and showcasing a less-than-stellar Southern accent. “Why, Ivanna Kingston, how droll. You can’t get off properly to a man named Nelson. The dry spell has been simply treacherous.”
Celeste has a way of making life lighter, which is why sitting here at the airport Chili’s, preparing for her to venture across the globe for a daredevil six-continent journey, has me off-balance. Her butchered accent is endearing though, so I chuckle at her animation.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should.” She leans forward, a serious divot marking the space above her slender nose. “In fact, you should rip off that chastity belt and find someone to thrust some excitement into your life while I’m gone.”
Not willing to battle this argument for the five thousandth time, I choose to ignore that line of badgering and distract her. “I’m going to miss you so much. Send me pictures so I can live vicariously through you in both your death-defying adventures and yoursexcapades.”
“I am excited.” She smiles. “It’s exactly what I need before some sort of real-life nonsense is expected of me or I finally bag the coveted role of a politician’s wife.”
We graduated college just shy of four months ago, neither of us with a clear direction. Well, Celeste’s directionless approach to life could very well be a destination in itself. She’s mastered the art of makingnothinglook fabulous and is certain tonailher roleas first lady of something.
“It’s unbelievable the spot opened up at the last minute. Wishthere had been two.” A frown creeps down her chin, one I refuse to allow her to cart on her expedition.
“Wouldn’t have mattered. I never applied, so they would have given it to someone else.”
She scoffs. “I’m sure there’s a dollar amount that would have convinced them you’d applied.”
She’s probably right. In our world, money is superior to facts, but this was so out of the blue that I couldn’t find the motivation to take it on—not with how unsettled everything at home feels.
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t remember filling out the application either, and blocking things out is more your hang-up than mine.”
Her jab is as old as time, not offending me in the least.
“Hey,” I balk in mock indignation. “I do not block things out. I choose which moments are worth taking up brain space. Totally different. It frees room for my creativity.”
“Well, I can’t argue with your brilliance. Paint a masterpiece while I’m away, bestie, and we’ll open a glamorous gallery when I return.” She slides the strap of her crocodile Gucci purse onto her shoulder, a heavy breath falling with the movement. “But right now, I need to get through security, or I’ll miss my flight.”
My stomach clenches. I hate how much this feels like an ending—like everything I’ve ever counted on is about to change.It’s a temporary trip, a few months. No need to freak out.“Right. So, communication will be—”
“Sparse.” Guilt coasts over her features. She didn’t want to leave me, only caving after I relentlessly insisted she seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “I promise I’ll be in touch when I can, but the travel, time difference, excursions, and the director’s belief thatthe best experience arises device free”—her eyes roll in bewilderment since she tends to view her phone as an appendage—“will make it a challenge.”
Leaning in for a hug, I smooth my hand over her back inreassurance. “It’s okay. Enjoy every jump, climb, flight, and fling. I’ll see you in three months.”
