Chapter 7
1016 Words
Chapter 7: The Emergency Strawberry Towel Crisis
The scream came from upstairs.
"Asher!"
A loud thud followed.
Then another.
Then what sounded suspiciously like furniture losing a fight.
Downstairs, Asher nearly dropped the coffee mug he was washing.
For half a second, genuine panic flashed across his face.
Then he heard Ivy yell.
"DON'T COME UP HERE!"
He sighed.
Too late.
That sentence guaranteed he was absolutely going upstairs.
The second-floor hallway was quiet except for a series of strange noises coming from Ivy's room.
Rustling.
Banging.
A muffled curse.
Something falling.
A dramatic gasp.
Asher knocked once.
"Ivy?"
"No."
"...No?"
"I'm not here."
He stared at the door.
"I can hear you."
"No, you can't."
"I literally just did."
"That wasn't me."
"Then who was it?"
Silence.
A few seconds passed.
"...A ghost."
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Of course.
"Open the door."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm having a personal crisis."
"Should I call someone?"
"You are someone!"
"Then why am I outside?"
"Because you're the problem!"
That got his attention.
"The problem?"
"Yes."
"What did I do?"
The door suddenly flew open.
Asher blinked.
Then immediately looked away.
Not because anything inappropriate was happening.
Because Ivy looked absolutely ridiculous.
Her hair was piled on top of her head in a chaotic mess.
One sock was on.
One sock was off.
She wore an oversized hoodie.
And wrapped around her shoulders like a royal cape...
...was the pink strawberry towel.
The strawberry towel.
His strawberry towel.
The emergency towel he'd given her yesterday.
She pointed dramatically.
"This."
"The towel?"
"Yes, the towel."
"You've declared war on a towel."
"It started it."
He stared.
She stared back.
Neither spoke.
Finally—
"I think you're losing your mind."
"I LOST IT THREE YEARS AGO."
Fair.
That was fair.
Ivy stormed back into her room.
Asher followed.
The room looked like a tornado had broken in, gotten confused, and left halfway through.
Clothes everywhere.
Pillows on the floor.
An open suitcase.
Three empty snack wrappers.
A notebook titled:
HOW TO AVOID MY EX
Asher saw it.
Ivy saw him see it.
Both froze.
Then she launched herself across the room.
Too late.
He had already read the title.
"...Wow."
She grabbed the notebook.
"You saw nothing."
"There are tabs."
"No."
"There are color-coded tabs."
"No."
"Why does avoiding me require organization?"
"Because you're difficult."
"I exist."
"Exactly."
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
A real one.
The kind she hadn't heard in years.
Unfortunately, her stupid brain immediately remembered why she used to spend hours trying to make him laugh.
Traitorous brain.
Absolutely disloyal.
"Stop laughing."
"I can't."
"Stop."
"This is genuinely concerning."
She threw a pillow at him.
He caught it.
She hated that.
People shouldn't be that athletic.
Life was already unfair enough.
"You want to know the worst part?" she said.
"I'm scared to ask."
"The towel smells like you."
The room went quiet.
Not awkward.
Not dramatic.
Just...quiet.
Asher's smile faded slightly.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
"Oh."
"See?"
He looked genuinely confused.
"I don't understand the problem."
"That's because you're a man."
"I don't think that's related."
"It is."
She pointed at the towel.
"This thing is dangerous."
"It's cotton."
"It's emotionally cotton."
"...What?"
"I don't know."
She sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
Then covered her face.
Because somehow explaining this made it worse.
Everything felt worse lately.
The house.
The memories.
The stupid towel.
The way Asher still knew things nobody else noticed.
The way he remembered details she had forgotten herself.
The way he never acted angry.
That one bothered her most.
She almost wished he hated her.
Hate would've been easier.
Hate would've made sense.
Instead, he still looked at her the same way he always had.
Like she mattered.
Like she wasn't a disaster wrapped in anxiety and bad decisions.
Asher sat beside her.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just enough.
The way he always used to.
Neither spoke immediately.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
Cars passed in the distance.
The house felt strangely peaceful.
"Ivy."
His voice was quiet.
She peeked through her fingers.
"What?"
"You know I don't hate you, right?"
Her hands slowly lowered.
The question caught her completely off guard.
Because she hadn't said any of that out loud.
Not a single word.
Yet somehow...
Somehow he'd found the exact thought anyway.
"That's a weird thing to say."
"Maybe."
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Hate me."
Asher looked down briefly.
Then back at her.
"No."
The answer arrived immediately.
No hesitation.
No performance.
No bitterness.
Just no.
Something inside her chest squeezed painfully.
So she did what Ivy Collins always did when emotions became inconvenient.
She made a joke.
"That's unfortunate."
A faint smile appeared.
"Why?"
"Because then I have to carry enough self-hatred for both of us."
"Ivy."
"What?"
"Don't do that."
The smile disappeared from her face.
There was no teasing in his voice now.
No laughter.
Just quiet concern.
And somehow that felt much harder to deal with.
For a moment, neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Then—
The front door downstairs slammed open.
Both jumped.
Followed immediately by Grace's voice.
"WE'RE HOME!"
Ivy blinked.
Asher blinked.
They looked at the clock.
Sunday evening.
Already?
The entire weekend had disappeared.
Before either could process that realization, rapid footsteps thundered upstairs.
Then Grace burst through the doorway.
The woman stopped.
Looked at Ivy.
Looked at Asher.
Looked at the destroyed room.
Looked at the strawberry towel.
Then smiled.
A dangerous smile.
The kind mothers invented specifically to ruin lives.
"Oh," Grace said slowly.
"Oh no," Ivy replied immediately.
"Oh yes."
"Mom."
"Interesting."
"Mom."
"Very interesting."
"Mom."
Theodore appeared behind her.
Took one look at the scene.
Immediately backed away.
Smart man.
Very smart man.
Grace folded her arms.
"So..."
Ivy already hated whatever was coming next.
"...would either of you like to explain why Asher is sitting on Ivy's bed?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then, from somewhere downstairs, Mochi the cat chose that exact moment to let out the loudest, most suspicious meow in recorded history.
And somehow...
That made everything worse.
- Writer
