Chapter twenty-something
Thanks for tuning in as I post chapters of my new novel When Ivy Met Adam: A second chance, forced proximity, sexy, queer love-triangle romance. Bear with me as I re-number chapters! This is actually Chapter 26 by the new numbering system. But it is the scene immediately following Chapter 23 as posted here! 🤓
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Prologue (old) Prologue (new) Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapters 8&9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 (old) Chapter 15 (new) Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapters 22&23
Chapter 26 - Adam
After talking about work and the weather and her move away—also known as not what we NEED to discuss—we’ve left the coffee shop. I’d like to get her to come home with me. Get to the heart of this matter. (And get naked, let’s be crystal clear, I’m no saint.) But I fear that is not what comes next. She needs to put herself first and not be pushed into this relationship without my acknowledging the past. I get it. The truth is I hurt her badly. But the other truth is I simply had no choice.
“I could not love you until I loved myself.”
“You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth, Adam. You love me, you’ve always loved me, but you couldn’t love me. Which is it? Did you ever love me?”
“Listen. I’ve been trying to figure this out in therapy since before you and I met for the first time. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to help you understand, I swear. But for this moment, please hear me when I say this.” My eyes are like pins boring into hers. I am laser-focused on trying to impart my next words to her. “You did not know me in college. I never let you in.”
She looks like I’ve punched her in the gut. A flash of an earlier conversation reminds me that I recently told her that she knew my heart. Fuck. She’s right. I am talking out of both sides of my mouth.
She says, “I let you in. And you abused the privilege. You knew me better than anyone, but then you walked away.” As though her words were the green light, she starts to walk away.
“Ivy, please don't go,” I plead, grasping for her hand. But she pulls away from me. I stop myself from begging and realize I’m starting to get angry. “I want you to admit it. Admit that you’re quitting because we are in love and it got complicated because you still fear your queerness and you fell in love with a trans man.”
She looks livid. But she says, “Maybe you’re right.” A long pause fills the air between with bitterness. “No matter how hard I try, when I look at you, I see Ali’s eyes. I see her.”
I say nothing. I can’t say anything. She just deadnamed me. But it’s really worse than that, isn’t it? She cannot love me—the real me, all of me—because she loves who I was?
“You asked me once: Did Alejandra love you? Hell yes, she did. But, I—the man before you, the man you admit knows you best—I cannot find my way forward without you.” Said in anger, I realize this is the truth.
“When you left the first time, I was so lost,” she says. “I had to crawl my way out. I’m still not fully over it, but I’m trying. That kind of work, getting over the shock and the hurt and the heartache, it’s punishing. And it’s solitary.” That word falls between us with a tangible thunk. We just stare at each other, at the truth bomb that just went off.
Eventually, she says, “Adam, please understand. It’s not easy letting you go.” And she walks out.
