Love Nouveau (3 page)

I do not understand why you have chosen to fly directly to Madison upon arrival in the States. We will see you when you return to Chicago. I will plan to send our driver up to collect your belongings and take you home this weekend.

– Mother

Seriously? Reconsider staying in Madison. Miss graduation? This woman is ridiculous. Puckering my lips and releasing a drawn out exhale, I click reply.

Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll have Rachel bring me home after graduation. And Italy was amazing. Thanks for asking.

That woman is impossible. She clearly still hasn’t forgiven me for “bringing shame to the family name” as she so eloquently called it during my rebellious phase in high school. She called it shame, but I called it, “showing the world not everyone in the Cotter family is a stuck up asshat.”

I’m sure her face is still void of emotion, pulled skintight from the copious amount of Botox she injects, trying to make herself look younger and become the perfect trophy wife on my father’s arm. My mother never wastes an opportunity to remind me that she wanted Genevieve to be an only child. I was the accident—the accident that ruined her life. My mother resents me for it. She doesn’t need to say it aloud, though; her actions tell me everything I need to know. But I stopped taking offense a long ago and realized that my value goes far beyond my mother’s opinion of me.

I snap my laptop shut and head back to my room so I can decompress in the shower. I don’t want to think about my parents or Chicago, and I certainly don’t want to think about Matt, who is looking at me smugly from the confines of a picture frame. As I walk by, I rip down any photographic evidence of him, tossing the shreds into the wastebasket in the corner.

I don’t want to think about what the future has in store for me. I just want to enjoy my last few days of freedom in Madison with Rachel and not have to worry about any impending responsibility.

Retreating to the bathroom, I crank the water to scalding and slip inside, washing the grime and my worries away.

I SCREAM AS I’M STARTLED to my senses when the bathroom door flies open. Popping my head out from behind the shower curtain, I see Rachel bouncing around frantically. She never was one for social protocol. If only her energy could be bottled, we would surely have the world’s most effective antidepressant.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, Ivy Cotter … Phillips … whatever the hell you are calling yourself these days! Get your cute little ass out of the shower and hug me. Now!” Rachel commands in an enthusiastic fashion that only she can pull off. I manage to finish rinsing the conditioner out of my hair and turn the water off just before she tosses a towel over the curtain. She drags me out, near naked and envelopes me in a bear hug worthy of grizzlies. We are just one towel drop away from a ridiculous lesbian love scene— moments like these are what teenage boy fantasies are made of.

The steam from my shower has fogged over the mirror, where Rachel has written ‘Welcome Home!’ surrounded by stars. When I pry myself from her grasp, I wrap my bathrobe around me as Rachel jumps up on the counter and proceeds to tell me about everything I’ve missed over the past nine months.

God, how I’ve missed her incessant babbling.

When she finally comes up for air, the fog on the glass has dissipated and the air between us has chilled. My eyes meet Rachel’s in the mirror and she pauses with a deep breath and a look of worry in her eyes.

“So I guess I should tell you … Matt called me the other day. He wanted to know when you were getting back into town.”

Her words ricochet right off me and I continue to brush through my hair, unaffected. “That’s nice, I guess. I hope you told him I had no plans of returning.” And as far as he’s concerned, that’s the truth. I have no intention of seeing him again. Ever.

“Ivy…” She touches my arm, and I stop brushing my hair to look her in the eye. “Our friends back home have told me that ever since you left last year, he’s really changed. I know you don’t talk about what went down with you guys, but maybe you should consider hearing him out. Give him a chance.”

“Don’t you dare go defending him. And for the record, I’ve changed too. Like my tolerance for his bullshit? It’s nonexistent now. So what did you tell him?” I start brushing my hair again, each stroke getting increasingly more aggressive. I do not want to be discussing this with her right now. Talking about Matt will only sour my mood and spoil our reunion.

“You know I can’t lie.”

“Rachel!” I whine as I rip a knot out from my scalp, yelping in pain.

“He knows you got back in today. But don’t worry. Matt has a life of his own set up back home in Chicago, working for some big fancy ad agency downtown, so I don’t think he’ll be making the three hour trek up here just to surprise you, especially since we’re headed back to Chicago this weekend.”

“Good.”

I’m honestly not sure if I’d run away from him or run right into his bed, so it’s best for everyone if he keeps a safe distance from me.

I know why I started dating Matt, but I never really understood why I let it go on as long as it did. I was emotionally checked out after a month of dating and Matt seemed to like the
idea
of me far more than he actually liked being with me as an individual. I always had the sneaky suspicion that it was because of my parent’s money. Early on I’d learned not to complain and that it was good to keep him around for three reasons:

One
, he was great in bed. And by great I mean he gave me the ability to completely disconnect from all of life’s bullshit and see stars for days.

Two
, my parents adored him and as long as they believed that I was with him, they tended to stay off my back—a major plus for me, and if we’re being honest a necessity to my survival.

And
three
, he was insanely easy to cheat on.

By the time I’d finally ended it, I was repulsed by everything little he did, so I decided to cut my losses and fled to Italy. Don’t get me wrong, I miss the sex; I just don’t miss the person on the other end of the dick.

At all.

“So when do your folks roll into town for the main event?”

I can’t help but laugh. “They don’t.”

She looks at me slack-jawed. I fight the urge to reach out and close Rachel’s mouth. Really, this move shouldn’t surprise her.

“My mom emailed me earlier to let me know they aren’t coming up for graduation. Apparently Gen and her fiancé have some wedding crap they’ve roped the whole family into attending. Then she laid it on thick about me choosing to be here, at my graduation, and not back in Chicago with them. All of this in an email when I haven’t heard their voices in nearly nine months. She may as well have sent me a telegraph by way of pigeon.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No … that’s my family,” I say with a sigh. It’s sad but true. I have always played second fiddle to Genevieve. I’m just ready to be done with it all and get myself as far away from them as possible. Italy was a welcomed taste of independence, and I’m dreading being back under their roof for even a short amount of time while I figure out the job situation.

It’s unfair that I’ve had to deal with this nonsense for so long. You would think they’d be proud to have a daughter who actually has a spine and a fuck it all attitude, but instead I get to spend the rest of my life being cast away as the black sheep for refusing to fall into line. I come from a family with serious control issues. My parents try to control everything in sight, and I refuse to be controlled. It’s a nightmare for everyone.

“You know what I say, girl? When all else fails, eat your feelings. I’ll be right back,” Rachel says with an infectious smile that touches her eyes.

Right. It’s all fun and games until your pants don’t fit anymore.

Rachel disappears down the hall and I quickly toss on a pair of cozy sweatpants and my favorite Chicago Cubs T-shirt. When I sit down on the bed, I realize just how tired I am. All this traveling is starting to catch up. Rachel returns moments later with two spoons and a pint of Ben and Jerry—my two favorite men. Her grin is electric and I realize just how much I’ve missed her since August.

“I suppose it’s not all bad news though.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, offering me a spoon.

“Well, for starters, my parents won’t be here to dictate how I curl my hair for graduation,” I smirk. “Anyway, I really don’t want to think about them right now. Besides, I have something to tell you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“There’s a job interview in—”

“An interview!”

I nod and fight my grin, trying not to come off as overeager. Rachel hasn’t had any luck finding an internship for after graduation. She smacks my arm with the back of her hand.

“Ivy! That’s incredible! Tell me about it,” she begs, eyes wide as she takes an unhealthy-sized scoop of ice cream. It baffles me that she can eat such crap and still look like she just stepped off the runway.

“Well, I don’t
officially
have the interview yet. But Professor Whitman is recommending me to a friend of his for an Associate Curator position. In New York City.” Rachel screams and tackles me in another bear hug, overcome with excitement.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Settle down, Rachel. I don’t even have the interview scheduled.”

“But you will, and you’ll absolutely get it. I mean, have you met you?”

I laugh at her energy. Some things never change with Rachel and me. I am the Daria to her Quinn. She is the Prozac to my Valium. We are the perfect balance of sweetness and cynicism.

“This calls for a celebration!” She jumps up and drags me into her bedroom. “Screw jetlag, we’re going out tonight,” she announces prolifically.

“Oh, we are? And where exactly are we going?”

If I’m being entirely honest, I really wouldn’t mind crashing early tonight, but it would be nice to party with folks who actually speak the same language. Plus it’s graduation weekend, so it will be the last chance I have to see a lot of my old classmates.

“There’s a party at some house down by Lake Mendota. No idea who’s throwing it, but Cassie told me the whole gang will be there. Should be a good time.”

“Really? A house party?” I whine. I can’t believe she thinks this is a good way to kick off graduation festivities. We haven’t stepped foot inside a house party since spring semester freshman year when we scored our fake IDs.

“It should be fun,” she reassured. “Let’s stop by for a little bit and if we aren’t having fun, I promise we can leave and hit up The Great Dane.”

She knows just how to placate me. I love that pub and had spent most of my free time there two years ago. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”

Rachel leaves me with Ben and Jerry, shooting me a flirtatious wink before sashaying into her bathroom to get ready.

MY FAVORITE RED PEEP TOE heels hit the pavement with a dull click, and a splash of water coats my toes as I step into a puddle, the aftermath of an early evening storm.

The house is quaint and perched upon a slight hill, staking prominence over its neighbors. The striking cobalt door and country white trim read contemporary, which is odd for a lake house. It’s a crisp late spring night, the scent of alcohol and possibility lingering in the air. Above us, the moon is painted in the sky, casting a soft glow across the front yard and lighting our way to the door. Rachel and I lock elbows and surrender to the pull of the house party, the bass line vibrating and electrifying the air, luring us inside.

Tonight, I feel good. Invincible, even. I don’t have to think about my family or stress out about what I’m doing after graduation. Tonight I am just going with the flow. And if I’m lucky, I won’t be going home alone. Now that I’m back in my element, my inner bad girl is just dying to come out and play.

It’s just before eleven; late enough for our entrance to go unnoticed, but early enough to avoid being the only sober ones on site. There are easily sixty people crammed inside, mostly huddling in the kitchen with the kegs and makeshift bar. Through the window, dozens more litter the backyard, and I can see people all the way down to the lake. Admittedly, I’m a bit surprised the cops have yet to break up the party.

A blond-haired god obstructs my view as he squeezes in front of me, heading toward the alcohol. He looks as if he walked right off the page of a menswear catalog and into my life. Muscular, sophisticated and mysterious, he is easily one of the most attractive men I have ever seen.

“Hellooo there,” I muse under my breath in a singsong whisper. He casts a confident smile over his shoulder and his green eyes pierce right through me. This man is officially locked in my crosshairs and doesn’t stand a chance for survival. “I wouldn’t mind tasting him later this evening,” I quip at Rachel.

Him.
I could easily turn into the girl I used to be for one night with him.

“You are so bad, Ivy. You haven’t even been home for twenty-four hours and you’re already on the verge of pouncing on some unsuspecting guy.” Apparently subtle gawking still isn’t my strong suit.