Page 6 of Our Crooked Hearts
“I never get excited.”
I laughed. “I’m going back to bed now. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said.
Before I could put my phone down it lit up with a text from Nate.
In my life
why do I give valuable time
to people who don’t care if I
live or die?
Instagram poetry or sad lyrics? I refused to give him the satisfaction of googling it, but now I was too annoyed to sleep. I changed his name to NO in my contacts and headed to the bathroom to poke at my lip. My brother, Hank, walked in scratching his bare chest, then halted mid-scratch.
“What happened?” He shoved in next to me, peering at my lip in the glass. “Wait, isthiswhy Dad was yelling at you in the middle of the night?”
I squinted at him in the mirror. “Way to ask if I’m okay.”
“I was coming to congratulate you for finally getting in trouble for once. I just thought it’d be for afunreason.” He stared at my reflection. “You know what you look like? You look like that ridiculous dog from across the street, the time he ate a bee and his mouth blew up. Are you okay? What’d you do?”
I elbowed him away. “Ate a bee. Stop blowing your gross breath at me, it’ll stick in my hair.”
Hankhahed a big mouthful onto the crown of my head and walked away laughing. He’d been home from his first year of college for less than a week and already I was over it. No food was safe from him, and if anyone asked him to do anything—pick up his shoes, clean a dish—he whined about how he was on vacation. I wouldn’t get away with that shit for one hour.
“Ivy, you awake?” My dad’s voice drifted up from below. “Come down here a sec.”
I found him leaning against the kitchen counter in his appalling cyclist’s Spandex, shoveling granola into his mouth. He smiled at me when I walked in, then winced. “Oh, sweetheart, your lip. That little turd.”
I shrugged. Natewasa turd. He pounced on mispronunciations like a cat on a cockroach. He’d hold up his finger in the middle of a conversation, pull out a notebook, and start scribbling in it while you stood there like an asshole.Sorry,he’d say with this fake-apologetic smile.I just had to get this story idea down.Once I got a glimpse at one of these “ideas.” It said,Magical island where all men die but one. Object of sexual obsession/ascends to god?
But he was the junior everyone had a crush on. Saying yes when he asked me out seemed obvious. He’d had all these ideas about who I was—that’s one of the perils of being quiet, people invent personalities for you—and I couldn’t admit even to Amina that Ilikedit. I liked the person he thought I was. Cool instead of faking it, aloof rather than worried about saying something stupid.
My dad must’ve mistaken my grimace for hangover agony, because he pressed his own cup of coffee into my hand. “Let’s talk about last night.”
“I messed up,” I said instantly. Dad was easy, he just wanted you to take responsibility. Hank would make excuses until he suffocated under the weight of his own bullshit, but I could play the game. “I had no idea Nate was drunk. He was supposed to be the designated driver.”
Dad nodded. “That’s a good start, but you still need to be aware.Youhave to stay vigilant, no one’s gonna do it for you. What happened last night…” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t like you.”
I could’ve agreed right then and walked away. But the words hit me funny. Maybe because I’d just been thinking about Nate telling me who I was. And getting it all wrong.
“It wasn’t like me,” I repeated. “What would you sayislike me, then?”
“Hey, I’m just saying we’re lucky. We got a smart one. We never have to worry about you. Your brother, on the other hand.” He tipped his head and made a comical face, I guess to imply it’s funny when sons get into trouble. Daughters, not so much.
“Don’t get soft, Rob. I’m sure she can think of a dozen ways to give you a heart attack.”
My mom stood in the basement doorway. We both startled; neither of us had heard her coming up. Her hair was down and the white of her left eye was stitched with fine red threads.
“Dana.” My dad took a step toward her. “What were you doing in the basement?”
She ignored him. “How’s the lip, Ivy?”
The ibuprofen hadn’t kicked in yet. It was killing me. “Fine.”
My mom stepped closer to inspect my injury. Too close. There was an odd scent coming off her skin. Sharp, almost herbal. But it was early for her to have been in the garden.
