Page 88 of Pumped

“But— but— what if someone takes you too?”

Owen and I look at each other, and as much as I want to promise that will never happen, we both know it could. It would be irresponsible to make a promise that we might not be able to keep, that’s outside our control.

“We— I—” Owen’s mouth gaps open as he struggles with the thing we’re both thinking but neither of us wants to say out loud.

“We’re going to do our very best to stay with you,” I jump in. “We’ll do everything in our power to make sure you’re never ever alone.”

Ivy’s sobs slow to hiccups and sniffles. Gradually, she lifts her head from Owen’s tear-soaked shirt. Her face is a disaster, red and puffy and wet. But in her eyes is an awareness and maturity that no child her age should have. It’s the realization that we’re all mortal, that bad things happen to good people, and sometimes there’s nothing we can do about any of it.

I hate that look in her eyes. I hate that this is a lesson she’s had to learn at her age. I hate that we’re not able to shelter her from this reality for at least a few more years.

I brush back her tangled hair and swipe my thumb across her ruddy cheeks. “We love you, Ivy-bear. More than anything inthe world. You’re the most important person in our lives. I know we’re not your mommy and daddy, but?—”

How do I explain this to her? That neither of us wants to replace Eden and Jeremy. That we would doanythingto bring them back if we could. That we’re going to keep doing our best, even if our best will never live up to the real thing.

That this issohard. We’re trying, but we’re all going to fail and make mistakes. Families are messy sometimes, but that doesn’t mean any of us will give up. We’re all in this, together, forever.

“But we love you more than anything in the world,” Owen finishes the sentence I couldn’t.

Ivy watches Owen for a few seconds, as if she’s weighing the truth of his words. Then she turns her measuring gaze to me and I try to pour every ounce of love I feel for her into my expression.

“I love you too,” she whispers back to us, innocent and utterly precious.

“We’re a family,” I say. “We’re gonna stick together, ’kay?”

She nods. The movement is small, but it feels huge, like we’ve reached another milestone and graduated to the next level.

Owen tucks Ivy’s head under his chin again and I slouch down to rest my head on his shoulder. We sit like that for long minutes, no one speaking, no one moving. The three of us soaking in each other’s presence, reconnecting after the trauma of the afternoon.

At some point, I pull out my phone to order pizza, adding extra pineapples because Ivy likes them and Owen hates them.

They’ve both fallen asleep, holding onto each other like they never want to let go. They’re so peaceful, so serene. And as I watch them, I send a silent message up to Eden and Jeremy, wherever they might be.

We’ve got her. You don’t need to worry. Between me and Owen, we’ll make sure she grows up to make you proud.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

OWEN

We take our time putting Ivy to bed. There’s no reason to rush, no need to bundle her off. Instead, we linger, reading her second and third bedtime stories. We lie in bed with her, Everest and I on our sides, facing each other, with Ivy sandwiched between us. We hold her until she falls asleep.

Even then, we don’t get up. We stay in bed, gazing into each other’s eyes. Everest’s browns are darker than normal, filled with fatigue and sadness. It’s been a long day. An emotional rollercoaster of a day. And I can’t decide if I want to stay with Ivy all night, just to reassure her that we’re not going anywhere, or if I want to seek solace in Everest’s arms.

Eventually, the cramped size of the bed is too much, and we slowly, reluctantly, tuck Ivy in, Zuzi by her side.

Everest and I go upstairs to our room, and the second the door clicks shut behind us, I crumple like a marionette whose strings have been snipped. All the adrenaline of the day, the steely resolve I had to maintain in order to find Ivy, the dependable, unwavering strength I had to project, it all falls apart in the safety of Everest’s presence.

Strong arms wrap around me, keeping me upright when I would have collapsed to the floor. Everest guides me to the bed and sits us down on the edge. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to comfort me or soothe me. He just holds me, rocking me back and forth as wretched, horrid sounds emanate from deep inside me. My head is tucked under his chin while his fingers card through my hair. His other hand rubs up and down my arm.

Tears that I thought had already run dry spring to my eyes and pour down my cheeks. I don’t even know what I’m crying over anymore. We found Ivy, safe and sound. We uncovered the cause of her moodiness, and we did what we could to reassure her that we love her, that we’re never going to leave her, that she’s the most important thing in our lives. The day started crappy, got untenably worse, but it ended well. We’re okay. We’ll be okay.

So why am I crying like my heart’s being torn out of my chest?

I cling to Everest, to a strength and steadiness that I’d been ignorant of for so long. But he is strong, the way a reed bends in the wind but doesn’t break. He’s steady like a songbird who will always bring joy.

I lean into him, needing him to prop me up, physically and emotionally, needing him to soothe the wrenching feeling inside. I want to crawl inside him and curl up into a tiny little ball. I want him to protect me from every negative, painful, difficult thing.

---