“Okay,” I say.
“I didn’t even want to drink. I can’t wait to tell Dr. Chen. I think she’s going to be proud of me. I’m fine. I’m totally fine.”
“That’s good,” I say.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Fern.” She looks me in the eyes and I see the night sky reflected. For a moment I think the city lights are stars. “You make me better.”
* * *
• • •
“Stay with me,” she says, pouring her third shot.
We are sitting on her bed. She says she is having a nightcap to help her fall asleep. She says everybody does this, no problem.
She lies down and closes her eyes. In a few moments, her lips part and I can hear the faint sound of her breath. I lean in close and breathe with her, smell the sweet and sour coming from inside. I should have reminded her to brush her teeth. It is my job to help her remember these kinds of things.
I take off her shoes and unzip her dress so she’ll be more comfortable. I put the blanket over her and lie next to her on top of the blanket, careful not to touch her. We breathe in and out.
* * *
• • •
Inhale. Exhale.
* * *
• • •
Ivy, you made me. My job is to love you.
17
Once upon a time, Ivy Avila was a little girl who just wanted to be loved.
Isn’t that how all stories start?
And then her mom found a way to make her lovable. As if her simple existence wasn’t enough.
And then she quit school and worked and worked and forgot how to be a child. She gave everything she had and everything she didn’t know she had.
Or was it taken?
Did she throw herself to the wolves, or was she thrown?
Is a child even strong enough to do that kind of throwing? Is it a child’s job to make themselves lovable?
And we did love her. We do. Or whatever it is you call the feelings we have for the faces made two-dimensional by our screens, the lives made two-dimensional. We love her talent. We love her voice. We love her body and her beauty. We devour what we have been thrown.
And what about Ivy? What is left for her? Is she still hungry?
* * *
• • •
Lily was not proud of my going out last night. She’s not impressed by Ivy’s celebrity. She’s not impressed by my new job. She’s never understood what I see in Ash. She’s not impressed by anything I do or anything I love.
But Ivy thinks I’m special. Tami even called me special. Maybe it’s my turn to be special.
Lily doesn’t have to know about Ivy’s party tonight.
* * *
• • •
I don’t understand this strategy. Is this how Ivy plans to win Ash back—by befriending his girlfriend? Her logic is upside down.
But Tami is acting like she already knows her, like they go way back. This is probably one of Tami’s games, one of her ways of acting like she’s the one in control. Even though this is Ivy’s house, Tami’s walking around like this is her turf too.
Ivy is giving them the tour, even though they’ve both already been here. The house, the grounds, the magical people. I follow, silently, like a chaperone, a referee, the neutral party.
But am I? Neutral?
Tami has her arm through Ash’s. She is not letting go. She wants everyone to know Ash belongs to her. He could be any of these actors, these socialites, these rock stars. They are beautiful together.
This party is different from the last. It is hot even after the sun sets, and smoke from forest fires in the north is making the air hazy, burning eyes, closing throats. But people act like they’re still invincible, despite their new dry coughs.
Ivy’s mom is on a trip. She is not here, behind the scenes, running things. This party is all Ivy.
The night is darker. The magic of the last party has rotted away, and these are the dregs, like a civilization on the decline. People are drunker, grasping at shadows. There are men far too old to be at a teenager’s party. They lurk in the shadows. Everything is shadows. But still, it is impressive.
And Ivy leads Tami and Ash around like everything is radiant. She shows them the pool, the gardens, the private dock. She introduces them to the most famous guests—an entire K-Pop band is here—and then looks back to check their reactions, to gauge how much she’s impressed them.
As we walk, Ivy expands. Every time a head turns to look at her, she collects some new shiny thing, and it attaches to her, it gives her weight. She is a magnet. She is made out of her collections.
She is made out of her secret with Ash, swaggering with the audacity of parading him around as someone else’s love when she is confident his heart is hers. He is the prized centerpiece of her collection, being polished and shined, waiting for the perfect moment to be revealed.
She is the shine of chrome and glass and mirrors. She is the diamonds and gold of so much jewelry. She is the electric blue of someone’s eyes, the gloss of a girl’s lipstick, the shine of a leather jacket. She is Ash’s eyes, watching her, wanting her.
“These people are all your friends?” Tami says. I can tell she’s trying to sound nonchalant, but she is not as good an actress as Ivy.
“Not really. I don’t know. They’re just people I know.”
“Oh, there’s Celia Lamotte,” Tami says, trying to sound unimpressed and doing a bad job of it, as she waves at a B-list actress across the patio. The girl doesn’t even bother to smile when she sees Tami looking at her expectantly, but as soon as she sees who we’re with, her face lights up.
I never thought it’d be possible for me to feel sorry for Tami Butler.
Ash puts his arm around her and pulls her close, but he’s looking at Ivy when he does it.
Something shifts in Tami. “So this is what you do?” she says, her voice low and hard. “Throw parties?”
Ivy opens her mouth. A few of the shiny things she’s collected fall out.
As we walk, everything shrivels and turns gray in Tami’s wake. That is the power she has.
Ivy walks us through the small museum of herself, and Ash acts like it’s new to him, while Tami acts like she couldn’t care less, like her insides aren’t being torn open with jealousy. Maybe Tami is part of an A-Corp dynasty, but Ivy made this all by herself.
“Ash, did I tell you I bought another rental property in Bellevue?” Tami says. “I’ve already tripled the money my grandfather left me when he died.”