White Ivy(10)

The movie plodded onward—dark woods, abandoned sheds, blood dripping out of the bathtub. Liza, Una, and the twins took enormous pleasure in clutching at the guys in the room each time the man with the chain saw appeared. Ivy didn’t dare clutch at Gideon, but she imperceptibly shifted her weight toward him, until the sides of their knees met. A hot current shot through her entire body. In response, Gideon pressed his leg against hers, warm and heavy, touching thigh to ankle. This was it! The moment she’d been fantasizing about for three years. She kept her eyes glued to the screen, wanting to remain casual and not embarrass him by looking over. Once in a while, she felt his leg twitch slightly and press back into hers, as if reminding her of its presence. She returned the pressure to show she understood. Like this, they remained conjoined for the last hour of the movie.

When the credits rolled onto the screen, Ivy, red-faced, peeked over at Gideon, wondering what she would say. Her jaw dropped. Gideon’s head was tilted back on the sofa; his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open. He was fast asleep.



* * *




NAN WAS AN anxious woman. A light sleeper, prone to insomnia. Her two obsessions were money and her family’s health. All night, she’d been tormented by fears of Ivy licking germs off dirty chopsticks, fed stomachache-inducing ice cream, shivering with cold under too-thin blankets in an overly air-conditioned house. It would have shocked Ivy to know that she’d inherited her overactive imagination from her mother.

Nan shook her husband awake just as the sun was rising. “I think you should go pick her up early from that Korean girl’s house. I bet she didn’t sleep at all. We shouldn’t have let her go.”

She forced Shen to call the Kims’ house—they had Mrs. Kim’s number from one orchestra concert in seventh grade so they could follow up about buying a violin for Ivy (they never did). On the phone, Shen’s face was bewildered at first, then anxious, then grim. When he hung up, he informed Nan that the Korean woman said Ivy hadn’t been at her house last night. Una went to a sleepover, probably Ivy was there as well. “She gave me the boy’s address,” said Shen.

“A boy?” Nan’s heart went weak with fright. “That dog-shit daughter of yours. Get up! We have to go right now! Get up, you useless bastard. What if something happened to her? What if it’s too late?”

“Too late for what?” said Shen.



* * *




MR. SPEYER WAS ladling pancake batter into the sizzling pan when the doorbell rang. Sitting at the Speyers’ sunlit kitchen table, Ivy listened to talk about the next Red Sox game. When Gideon asked if she could make it, her face hurt from smiling so widely. She hadn’t stopped smiling all night. She’d probably been grinning like a fool in her sleep. Before she could respond, Sylvia Speyer, who had gone to answer the door, came back to the kitchen and announced in a dubious tone, “These people say they’re here looking for their daughter?”

Ivy turned around in her chair. In an instant, she realized it was all over.

Mr. Speyer did a double take. But, like Gideon, gallantry was such an ingrained habit that even caught unawares, he managed a polite hello. As his gaze took in all four Lins—Nan, Shen, Meifeng, Austin—he clucked, “Goodness, are you all here to fetch Ivy?”

Ivy jumped to her feet, every cell in her body exploding in panic. She opened her mouth but caught herself in time. She couldn’t speak Chinese in front of so many witnesses.

“Go get your things,” said Nan in her native dialect, her eyes rapidly roving over Ivy’s bare legs, the thin strap of her pajama top falling off her shoulder, the unkempt hair. Ivy watched, mesmerized, as her mother’s nostrils flared out like door flaps each time she inhaled.

“Now!”

In the ensuing silence, Austin said in a tentative tone that he was hungry. It was what he said at home to defuse the anger toward Ivy. “Can I have some pancakes?” he asked, louder this time. Meifeng gripped his hand. Mr. Speyer suggested that they all wait for Ivy in the living room.

Ivy went to the basement, gathered her things, came back upstairs. She heard her classmates whispering about her in the kitchen—her mom is batshit crazy—like, four doses of Prozac—old lady smells like onions… seen her dad before, he works at our school—NO! Yes! So that’s how she got in—Shhhhh—psycho… She heard Gideon’s voice among the others: “I kind of feel sorry for her.” Then Tom’s wild laugh: “That’s why she follows you around, Gideon. She thinks you might actually be into her. You’re so cuuute and niiiccce…”

Ivy backed away. Her heart made queer palpitations. Her mouth was very dry.

In the living room, the baffling nightmare continued. There was Austin sitting cross-legged on the rug, his face pink with joy, eating the pancakes Mr. Speyer had served him on the coffee table. The rest of the Lins were sitting side by side on the cognac leather sofa, their backs as straight as reeds. When they saw her, they stood as one. Shen gripped Ivy by the forearm, leading her to the front door.

“Let’s go, Austin,” Nan said sharply.

“But I’m not finished eating!”

“One—two—thr—”

Austin came running, tears welling.

“Thanks for coming, Ivy,” said Gideon, hovering at the door.