White Ivy(66)

“That was a long time ago,” said Gideon, picking up a pebble and tossing it into the water. “But honestly—I wouldn’t mind raising my kids here. Did you have a good time here?”

People had been asking Ivy that all week: are you happy, did you sleep well, are you having fun? And no matter her state of mind, she would always respond with honest conviction: Yes, I love it here. Because access was always preferable to no access.

“It feels like I’ve been waiting to come here my entire life,” she said, her throat swelling. What was the point of pretending otherwise when it was so close to the end anyway?

They made their way farther down the shore to a rock formation jutting several hundred feet into the water, wide enough for someone to walk straight out into the sea. The sun had disappeared behind gray clouds. A violent wave crashed into the stones and sprayed them with salty droplets, and this reminder from the sea, so stark and indifferent to her pain, flung Ivy’s resolve to the surface like the piece of seaweed splayed on the driftwood. Better to be the one doing the leaving. “There’s something I wanted to say to you.” She turned around. Gideon was on one knee.

The hand that gripped hers was cold and hard. Gideon’s voice, while right below her, sounded as if it were being broadcast from a faraway place, one with a muffled signal, so that she only understood humming disjointed phrases: “—unexpected—you told me the other day that you loved me—unprepared—I did some—rather—don’t want to lose you—” His voice came back in full near the end: “I want you to be my w-wi-wwiife. W-will you m-m-marry me, Ivy?”

Was he joking? she wondered. No, no, not Gideon. He would never play a joke of this magnitude. And his face was so white, his lips so drained they appeared almost purple.

Then a hot licking happiness drenched her like a bucket of steaming water on a chilly night. Her shoulders convulsed, one hand rose to cover her gaping mouth. But how to thank him? How to express her leaping gratitude?

“Ivy?”

“Yes! Oh, yes!”

Then they were in each other’s arms, laughing. He took out a black velvet box from his pocket and opened the lid. The stone was a brilliant blue sapphire, rimmed with little diamonds. He took her left hand and slid the ring past her knuckle. It was too big. She closed her fist to keep it from sliding off.

“We’ll get it resized,” said Gideon.

“Did you have this with you the entire trip?” Had she been wrong about everything?

“It’s Grandma Cuffy’s,” said Gideon. “Mom’s been keeping it for me… I asked her for it this morning.” Ivy made a small gasping noise, drinking in every word. “As for Sylvia,” Gideon went on, “I know she really does like you. She’s been telling me all week how wonderful you are, how much you fit into our family. I hope you’ll give her a chance.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Ivy. It really didn’t. “I was just in a bad mood earlier. Imagining things on my own.”

“Her heart’s in the right place.”

She placed a finger on his lower lip. “Do you know… I actually thought you were bringing me here to break it off with me.” She felt his surprise in the twitch of his neck.

“Why?”

“When I told you I loved you, you said you cared about me a lot.” He began to clarify but Ivy added, “And then we had that fight yesterday about the cat.”

“Was that a fight, really?” His tone made it clear he did not think so.

Ivy tried to justify her earlier certainty—why had she been so angry, so sure that Gideon was pulling away from her?—but like a person at the end of a twelve-course meal who could no longer evoke the sensation of hunger, she could not bring to mind a single piece of solid evidence of how Gideon or his family had wronged her. A flicker of stubborn pettiness held out, insisting it’d not all been in her head, but the voice was instantly quashed under the undeniable reality of Gideon’s warm, reassuring embrace.

“And you didn’t let me finish the other day,” he said into her hair. “I love you.”

“You what?” she whispered.

“I love you.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t move. I think a seagull just crapped on your shoulder.”

“My grandmother says getting shit on by a bird is one of the luckiest omens… We’ve been blessed by the Chinese gods, Gideon!”

They laughed until their sides hurt.



* * *




POPPY’S MASCARA-LESS EYES were wide with anticipation. “Are you…!” Ivy held up her hand. Poppy made a humming sound in the back of her throat. Gideon said, “We’re getting married!”

Gasps echoed through the room. Poppy stammered, “Oh, my little boy!” Ted rubbed his wife’s back. “Did you know about this, Poppy?” he asked. Sylvia came over and kissed Ivy’s cheek; I’m so glad, she whispered. Then Ivy was swept up by Poppy’s embrace; there was nothing delicate about it, Ivy felt all her ribs pressed against Gideon’s mother’s, the bony points of Poppy’s shoulders digging into her chest bones. Gideon and his father were embracing. “I’m proud of you, Giddy,” Ted said, and Gideon, for a split second, looked like the mischievous boy Ivy remembered from middle school. She knew then that Sylvia had been wrong about their childhood, at least her brother’s version. Gideon had probably been proud of his father, proud of being a senator’s son, and wanted to walk the same, unassailable path as his ancestors before him, those people in the black-and-white photos whom he’d so proudly spoken of that first day at Finn Oaks.