Page 81 of Pumped

Both Mom and Alyssa say that this is normal, that kids around Ivy’s age go through bursts of being difficult and shit, but then it goes away. It’s like they’re transitioning from being akidkid, to like being an independent person who wants to do things their own way. I don’t know. The whole thing sounds fucked up to me. I just want our old Ivy back.

When the last guy leaves the studio, I start tidying up, putting away my mic, grabbing my phone from the dock on the sound system. I’ve got an hour to kill before my next class, so I head to the staff break room for a snack.

Donnie and Christian are sitting at the table and nod hello as I grab a bottle of water and a granola bar and plop down on the couch.

I’ve just bitten into the granola bar when my phone rings. It’s Owen and my stomach sinks. He’s at home with Ivy today and he doesn’t usually call unless it’s an emergency. I quickly swipe to answer.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Uncle Ev!” Ivy’s sob is so loud that I have to pull my phone away from my ear.

“Ivy? What’s wrong? What happened?” I shoot to my feet and race for the door. Is Owen hurt? Is that why Ivy’s calling me from his phone?

“I don’t wanna go swimming!”

I stop in my tracks, halfway across the room. She doesn’t want to go swimming? “What?”

“Uncle O’s making me go swimming and I don’t wanna!” Then thumps that sound like she’s stomping her feet on the floor.

“Wha— Uh— I don’t understand.” Was Owen planning on taking her swimming today? But Ivy loves swimming. Is this another one of her completely irrational temper tantrums?

Ivy’s beyond speaking now. All she can do is make crying sounds like she’s a wounded animal. I cringe. I hate it when Ivy cries and a part of me wants to rush home and comfort her. But another part, slightly guilty and selfish, wants to hang up and let Owen deal with the chaos for today. I dealt with her yesterday when Owen had a shift at the animal hospital, now it’s his turn.

I turn around and drop back onto the couch. Both Donnie and Christian are watching me with concerned expressions, but I just roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Ivy? Ivy-bear?” I try to cut in in between her hysterics. “Where’s Uncle Owen? Is he there? Can I talk to him, please?”

She just wails even louder.

I drop my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “Iiivyyy… I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. Remember what your therapist said, you have to use your words.”

There’s a snicker on the other side of the room and when I lift my head, I find Donnie and Christian trying desperately not to laugh. I give them the middle finger, but that just makes them laugh harder.

Ha. Ha. So funny. Neither ofthemhas kids they have to raise. Of all the damn people at Mars, how the hell didIturn into the first and only parent of the group?

“Ivy?!” Owen’s voice filters in, barely audible over Ivy’s cries. “What are you— Is that my phone? Who are you talking to?”

There’s a fumbling sound before Owen comes on. “Hello? Everest?”

“Yes, hi, what’s going on?”

Owen sighs so heavily I can feel the weight of it through the phone line. “Hell if I know,” he mutters. The sound of Ivy’s crying fades as Owen walks away. “I told her we’re signing her up for swimming lessons, like she wanted when we were at my parents’ house. And then she just went berserk.” There’s a pause before Owen speaks again, more softly this time. “I don’t know what to do, Ev.”

The defeat in his voice breaks my heart. Owen always knows what to do. He prides himself in always having a game plan, always knowing the next steps. And even if he didn’t, he would never admit that to anyone—least of all me.

But that was the old Owen and this is the new one. He trusts me. He actually, really trusts me. It’s… humbling. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s confidant before. I mean, the guys tell me shit all the time, but not stuff that’s like, serious.

“Do you want me to come home early?”

There’s another pause as Owen considers the offer. “When are you done?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Owen sounds so small, so vulnerable. His voice shakes a bit, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Technically, I have one more class. It ends at four, so probably four-forty-five? But I can try to find someone to cover for me? If you want me home now?”

Owen doesn’t answer right away. The only sound coming across the line is his ragged breathing. I can hear him debating with himself—stay strong, push through, don’t give in or accept that he doesn’t always have to do everything himself, that asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness.

I take pity on him and make an executive decision so he doesn’t have to say what he wants out loud. “I’m coming home. I?—”

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