Page 26 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather pushed. “You promised him something, didn’t you?”
More silence. And then—another sharp inhale. “Heather, you’re being ridiculous.”
Heather’s chest burned. “Say it.”
Ivy exploded: “FINE! …Yeah! —I promised him something—So what!”
Heather’s pulse pounded.
Ivy let out an exasperated breath.
“It wasn’t even a big deal, Heather! I told him if he took you out, I’d—” She stopped and let the silence hang between them, then her voice dropped low. Defensive. Biting. “—You know what? Screw this! —I’m done. You wanna be mad at me? Fine… But don’t pretend like Iforcedhim to like you. He could’ve said no. But guess what? He didn’t.”
Heather’s vision blurred. Ivywasn’t even sorry.
“You know the worst part?” she asked.
Ivy huffed. “Oh, let me guess—I’m a terrible friend.”
Heather exhaled, her voice calm now. “I actually believed you cared about me.”
That shut Ivy up.
Heather let the words settle; let Ivyfeelthem.
Then she exhaled. “For years, I thought I needed you—” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. “Turns out—you needed me… You needed to feel better than me.”
And then there was silence. Absolute silence.
Heather swallowed, her throat tight.
“Good luck, Ivy. You’re going to need it.”
And then Heather hung up.
Heather tossed her phone onto the couch and stood there in shock with her fists clenched at her sides. Her chest rose and fell with ragged, uneven breaths.
The silence in her apartment pressed against her, thick and suffocating. She could hear the faint bustle of the city outside, distant and unbothered.
Meanwhile, her entire world had just cracked open.
Her whole body was shaking with anger, with hurt, with the sheer force of holding herself back for years.
Ivy?…Ivy!…She had spent years thinking Ivy was the one who truly knew her, the one who had chosen her and stood beside her when no one else had.
Had it all been a fucking lie?
Heather let out a shaky breath, dragging her hands through her curls, gripping at the spiraled strands like she could physically hold herself together. Her throat felt too tight. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the tears from burning their way down her face. It wasn’t just Ivy. It wasn’t just Sam. It was… all of it.
…It was her father.
Heather let out a sharp breath, pressing her palms into her eyes and thought:
You’re supposed to grieve your dad when he dies.You’re supposed to feel loss—not this sick, tangled mess ofanger and resentment and relief and guilt.
She didn’t miss him. Not really.
She missed the version of him that never existed.
