Page 8 of Beautifully Messy
Her amber eyes, the color of whiskey, flare to life. Like the drink itself, her gaze always loosens my tongue.
“In D.C., we’re so busy it’s easy to ignore the... disconnect. But here…” I pause, grasping for the right words. “Here, the country air clears away the fog, and I see everything clearly.”
She looks at me in that way she has, reading between the lines of what I don’t say. Her voice comes out soft, the tone you’d use not to frighten an animal. “Are you happy?”
The word no rises in my throat, immediate and unrelenting.
The truth I've spent a decade avoiding. Ten years of looking in the mirror, trying to convince myself that I’m fine. Ten years of watching Tom and Jules. Margaret and Gary. Seeing real intimacy, a connection that isn’t easily explained, and it’s a problem I didn’t even realize I had until I saw it so plainly.
Something I told myself my life was better without.
A cold shudder rolls through my body. I’m thirty-six years old and sometimes as lonely as I was as a ten-year-old. But I can’t answer her question because if I say it out loud, I’d have to do something about it.
Instead, I say, “You know our relationship is different from yours and Tom’s.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I might be an OB, but it doesn’t take a therapist’s license to see that.”
I laugh dryly, tipping my head toward the stars. Once, I used to make wishes on them, believing the universe would save me. Now I know better. I watch, waiting for the next one to burn out.
A blast of cold air whips through the deck, cutting against any exposed skin. I gasp and move my chair closer to the flames. A storm is brewing.
“Fuck, that was cold.” Jules wraps her blanket tighter. “Do you want to keep talking about this, or should I distract you with some gossip about the hot guy Ivy’s bringing?”
“The latter, please.” I swallow down my unease for another day.
“He’s seriously hot. I’m talking Greek-god-meets-Roman-sculpture hot. And that’s before he even speaks.”
She collapses back in her chair, panting dramatically, fanning herself. Her strawberry-blonde hair glows against the firelight, the red catching flame.
“I do love looking at gorgeous men. Is this just another fling? She hasn’t been serious about someone before.”
“We met last month when I visited. Mason was there too. Didn’t he mention it?” Jules asks as if this shouldn't be news. She shakes her head in disbelief. “James, her guy, he’s an accomplished architect, very smart, around our age. And honestly?” She tilts her head, thoughtful. “He struck me as someone who enjoysa challenge. You should have seen him playing pool. Tom and Mason never stood a chance. I didn’t get him and Ivy as a couple, but I guess it works.”
The mention of pool brings me back to the only time in my life I knew happiness, those carefree years in Europe. While being sent away hurt, it also gave me freedom. I could travel, explore, and truly be myself without fear of disappointing anyone. The only time I get a glimmer of that feeling now is when I’m running or on the ice.
Bell’s eager bark alerts us to the new arrivals.
Ivy bursts in, radiant. She wears a charcoal pencil skirt and cream cashmere sweater, a far cry from her usual fairy-girl aesthetic. Her hair is straightened and pinned into a sleek updo, as if she’s auditioning for the role of perfect wife.
Behind her is a man. Ball cap pulled low, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. He greets the others inside before following Ivy to the deck.
“Jules! Syd! It’s been forever!” Ivy cries, pulling us into hugs.
He lingers a step behind, and when I finally face him, the first thing that hits me is his height. He’s so damn tall. The kind of tall that makes you recalibrate the space around you. He removes his cap and runs a hand through dark hair. A tendril falls over his eyes.
“I’m James,” he says, extending a hand.
“Sydney,” I reply. The moment our hands touch, it’s the same taut stillness I feel in the seconds before a starting gun. There’s no movement, no sound, only a buzz beneath my skin that says: pay attention.
Three
Whatthehellwasthat?
I drop his hand, pulling mine to my chest and stumble into a chair. Mason and Tom join, easing into seats, and chatter fills the stark air.
“Ives, what’s up with the clothes? Are you heading to the boardroom?” Jules enters interrogation mode.
“At some point, I had to get serious and think about the future.” Ivy sits a little taller.
