Undoing Ivy

Ivy walked into Kings Bar, exhausted after a long day of cleaning out Richard's house. The massive undertaking of prepping it for sale was something she hadn't expected. It had been ten years since she'd been there. She'd left the day she went to college and hadn't looked back. Richard's home was a time capsule of her childhood: at first beautiful and loving, then lonely, him retreating from her once her mom died, suddenly a single father to a child that wasn't his. He had paid for everything, college, grad school, and then left it all to her when he died. The gorgeous mid-century house he'd renovated meticulously, now hers. She'd been in town three days, no one seeming to recognize who she was. A relief, really; she had no intention of making it known. Quick three weeks and then gone again. The idea of another frozen pizza in a disgusting motel room was something she couldn't do again, though, so she walked into Kings Bar that night for a decent meal. As she walked through the doors, a voice called from the bar. "Kitchen's closed." "Can I at least get a drink?" she asked, hopeful. The bartender poured a whiskey, not asking what she wanted, and brought it over, studying her face. She recognized him immediately. "Where are you from?" he asked, looking at her, studying her face. She stood out in this town, dressed for the life she had in New York, expensive, avant-garde, both sexy and refined. Her hair was shoulder-length, perfectly blonde, achieved at a salon, delicate waves framing her face, grey eyes. She owned a room when she walked through the door, and then maintained it with her wit and intelligence. "New York," she answered, sipping the whiskey. He kept studying her face. "You look familiar." She looked down at her phone. "We went to high school together," she answered casually. "I remember you!" he said, surprised by his own recognition. "Your, uh, uh..." He snapped his fingers, trying to recall, but the name didn't come to him. "Ivy. My name is Ivy," she answered quickly. "That's right, you were in my Spanish class." He stepped back, studying her, his eyes lingering. "You look very different." The words stung. She knew what he meant: in high school she'd been practically invisible, ignored, easy to miss, every bit of her hidden behind big sweatshirts and tied-back ponytails. "Do you remember me?" he asked with a smirk, leaning in closer to her. "Yes, Austin Brooks," she answered quickly. Popular, football quarterback, perfect then, with his perfect girlfriend. She'd had a crush on him back then, he was so beautiful, light brown hair, light brown eyes, 6'5", broad shoulders. He and his friends had had that school under their thumb. He looked the same, just a little age on his face, some soft stubble, but it definitely added to his looks. He looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "Listen, I can have them make you a burger, does that work?" "That works," she said. He went back to the kitchen and brought out a place setting. The bar was quiet tonight. He poured her another whiskey without her asking. "Is this your place?" she asked. "Yes. Took over for my uncle. I've run it for the last seven years," he said, placing the placemat and silverware in front of her. "So what brings you back here? Just a visit?" he asked, leaning forward on the bar into her space. "I'm cleaning out my stepdad's home. He passed away this summer. Richard Lee." Recognition crossed his face. Everyone knew Richard, the world-famous architect who'd settled in this small town. He'd invested a ton of money into it and was very well known and loved. "You are Richard's stepdaughter?" he said, genuinely shocked that he hadn't known. "Yes." It wasn't a secret, but after her mom's death the town had kind of forgotten the family he had, and she'd stayed invisible. "Anyway, I'm here prepping to sell it," she said, moving the subject forward. The burger came out of the kitchen and he placed it in front of her. She picked it up and started to eat. She was hungry, hadn't eaten anything all day. He watched her with a smirk. "Jeez, slow down," he said. "You're going to choke." He moved his thumb to her face, wiping ketchup from the edge of her mouth. She stopped eating, paralyzed by how comfortable he was just touching her. He put his thumb in his mouth, tasting the ketchup that had just been on her face. She looked up at him, flustered, embarrassed. "Sorry, this is my first real meal since I got here." She ate slower, more deliberate, as he watched her. She finished up and placed money on the bar. "It's on me," he said, giving her the money back. "Just come back tomorrow." "Thanks," she said, placing her money back in her wallet. She turned to leave, his eyes watching every movement she made, following her out the door. She got back to the motel and got ready for bed. She lay down and couldn't get him out of her head. "Jesus, Ivy," she said to herself. "Get it together. You've fought off trust-fund boys in New York, and this hometown quarterback had you weak." She turned off the light, knowing perfectly well she'd be back there tomorrow.