Page 50 of Clint & Ivy

CLINT

Ivy’s meltdown feltmore real than when she was trying to get me into bed earlier. I kept sensing she was forcing herself to live out her old dreams rather than processing what the fuck happened to her over the last week. Though I hated to see her cry, I knew a breakdown or two was part of the deal.

After Lula, Dillon, Elijah, and Jenan arrived, Ivy stopped hiding on the couch. She wanted to be part of the group, yet she mostly shuffled behind Shay and Bebe in the kitchen.

“She’s nuts,” Ford told me as we stood in the family room and watched the women fuss with the dishes. “Certifiably wacked.”

“She has good reasons to be upset.”

“Don’t get your lady drawers in a bunch, son. I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep your travel-sized girlfriend around. I only want you to recognize how it takes a very special kind of man to handle a woman with bats in the belfry.”

Knowing where this conversation was headed, I muttered, “Shay isn’t nuts.”

“She was when we met,” Ford said, gesturing at my mom. “Completely bonkers. But I handled her, and she’s almost normal now. One day, that could be you and your tiny cuckoo.”

“Is this your way of saying you approve?”

“I wasn’t sure what kind of woman would keep your interest. I thought it might be a nerd like Lula. I prayed it wouldn’t be a nasty bitch like one of those broads from the ‘Bad Girls Club’ shows that Elle watches. Well, occasional catfights might be entertaining. But long term, I didn’t want a dangerous psycho raising my grandkids.”

“And your thoughts on Ivy are?”

“She’s right about how to season food. I’ve decided she can stay.”

Grinning at his bullshit, I admired Ivy with my mom. Shay was a sucker for underdogs, but she also had a good sense for shifty people. During the first few years with her employment agency, she tried to help many women who turned out to be liars, cheats, or flat-out dangerous. After a while, Shay could tell a woman’s type as soon as they walked through her front door.

Right now, she and Bebe were regaling Ivy with stories of their many burned meals.

“I ruined Thanksgiving once,” Shay stated proudly.

Without missing a beat, Bebe declared, “I ruined a romantic dinner for Pax.”

“Big deal,” Shay replied immediately, having heard this story a dozen times. “Thanksgiving is once a year, and I botched it hard.”

“I remember the meal, and it was truly awful. But my steaks were so overcooked, we couldn’t even cut into them.”

Shay shook her head. “You could still eat the side dishes. I ruined those, too.”

Ivy glanced at me and grinned at how they were arguing over who sucked most as cooks. She finally understood why overpraising Shay’s cooking wouldn’t work. My mom was rather proud of her mediocre kitchen skills.

“Why aren’t you helping your mother?” Ford asked Elle, who was resting stretched out on the couch next to where Sutter read his tablet.

“I’m doing my Kegels.”

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