White Ivy(47)

“Sylvia told you?”

“Well, both of them did.”

“Your mom hasn’t aged a day since I saw her back in middle school,” said Ivy.

Gideon laughed. “She’ll be happy to hear that.”

“I probably looked like a drowned dog… we should get together properly next time so she doesn’t think you’re dating a crazy person…”

“That’d be nice,” he agreed, but didn’t suggest a time or place in his usual take-charge way. Ivy immediately changed the topic to demonstrate how trivial her suggestion had been.

“By the way, I’ve been mulling it over for a while now, and I think I’m going to apply to law school.” That got his attention. She’d never seen his brown eyes so large and keen across the rim of his wineglass.

“Really? What spurred this on?”

Self-conscious pride made her adopt a droll tone as she explained how she’d always wondered about the path not taken—“I worked at a law firm, as you know, and loved it there”—and that she’d recently decided that it wasn’t too late to change careers, especially after speaking with Liana. Gideon questioned her about the specifics: when, why, how sure was she? “On a scale of one to ten,” she said, slicing into her steak and watching the pink juices flow out onto the bone china plate, “I guess it’s a ten.” How warm his fingers felt over hers! And how wide his smile, glowing in the lamplight with encouragement and admiration. “I haven’t gotten in yet,” she said, and he said, “You will,” as if he owned law school as well.

“Other than Liana,” he said, “my uncle Bobby would be a great person for you to speak with. He’s a partner at Fenton and Heath. I believe they do a lot of work in international law. Would you like me to connect you guys?”

“That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

“And I suppose you’ll have to let the Kennedy School know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just assumed you’d want to spend this year exploring different options and studying for the LSATs… but of course one can’t simply just quit one’s job,” he added quickly, seeing her blank expression. “And you can always study nights and weekends. It’s still early days yet.”

Ivy wouldn’t have refuted him if not for the faint blush forming on his face, a blush that revealed his embarrassment at having embarrassed her, in presuming that she had the means to do whatever she wanted, now that she had a goal, as if all this time she had been teaching not out of necessity but out of an idle indulgence whose only purpose was to allow her time to come to terms with her natural, inevitable path in life.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” she said, not quite fully grasping what she was committing to, only knowing that she was about to say something very, very foolish. But there was no helping it. She must always “save face,” no matter the cost. “The timing works out if I leave now,” she said, ticking off the months on her fingers, “I’ll have five months to prepare to take the test in February.”

“Ah, is that so?”

“And there’s a prep class I want to sign up for in September. I can even schedule coffee meetings without worrying about school hours!”

Gideon tactfully refrained from commenting. He refilled her wineglass, fixing his gaze on the little vase of flowers at the center of their table.

“If you need—time off—to figure things out,” he said, “I’m sure my parents would be perfectly happy to help out… the interest rates banks charge these days are practically criminal.” Their eyes met.

Ivy would never be able to forgive herself for the garish smirk that automatically formed on her face, somewhere between a sneer and a frown, out of sheer shock once she realized what he was offering.

“Wow… that’s…”

He waited, his head slightly cocked. So this was what Gideon looked like when he lied, she thought. No, not a lie. He meant it. He would ask his parents to lend her money. Money he himself did not have or was unwilling to give. Perhaps he was offering only because he knew she would refuse.

“… Crazy,” she finished, half-laughing, dismissive, the whole thing a great amusing joke. “Your parents are saints if they really would just—give away—their money to someone they barely know. It’s a kind thought, but completely unnecessary.”

Both now certain of her refusal, he continued to warmly suggest ways he could be helpful, the perfect picture of poise and attentiveness.

After the waiter came and took their dessert orders, Gideon leaned back in his chair and seemed to take a proverbial stretch, like a driver taking a break from the wheel. Ivy imitated his pose, looking around the room, pretending to admire the restaurant’s grand atmosphere, oxblood walls and fresco ceilings and waiters in tailcoats; she and Gideon were probably the youngest guests by two decades.

“Ivy?”

She turned, beaming. “Yes?”

Humbly, he asked if she was willing to join him and his family at their beach house in Cattahasset in two weeks.



* * *




“WEI?”

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Why haven’t you been answering our calls?”

“I wanted to explain about the checks. I haven’t been mailing them home because I’ve decided to apply to law school next year. I’ll need to save money.”