“I’m sorry. I didn’t even see him come in. Why can’t your kids be noisy like mine?”
“Trust me, they make noise. They’ve both been a little crazy since Paul moved out.”
“They’ll adjust. That’s what kids do.”
I rearrange the fruit in the bowl at the center of the table. “They want him to come back. They ask me all the time when he’s coming back home.”
“And you? Do you want him to come back too?”
I focus on an apple and shrug. “I don’t know . . . maybe. I miss him.”
“Ivy. No.” She pulls my hand away from the apple. “Stop touching the fruit and listen to me. I know you miss him and this whole thing sucks. You’re the sweetest, most devoted person I’ve ever met. Don’t you dare let him come back after doing this to you. You have to focus on you now. You’ve never done that.” Her wedding ring digs into my fingers as she squeezes my hand. “You always put him first, and the kids first. Hell, you even put me first. You have to put you first now. You have to be Ivy without Paul, and I know that’s scary, but you have to find out who you are. Do the things you’ve always wanted to do. Color your hair, get your nails done, buy some funky clothes, get a puppy, get a tattoo. Get all the things you’ve always wanted but he didn’t like. Go out and let yourself meet new men. Let the real Ivy out. ”
“You don’t think I’m real?”
“Of course you are, but how many things have you not done because he didn’t like it, like not coloring your hair because he thought it was a waste of money? I want you to let the real you out now that you don’t have to worry about him censoring you.”
I smile weakly at her. “I’ve always wanted to color my hair that pretty red color, or ombre, or whatever it’s called. And I’ve wanted a tattoo forever. And a puppy . . . I always thought the kids should grow up with a dog.”
She grabs her purse and starts rifling through it, piling things onto the table as she rummages. “Go to the salon next week and get your hair and nails done. And . . . I have the perfect tattoo artist for you. I won this gift certificate, actually, for a tattoo with him. He’s a friend of a friend. His work is amazing. He mostly works on musicians and models and people like that, and I am now giving you my gift certificate.” She hands me a postcard with a gift card design on it. “I want you to do this. For you.”
I bite my lip as I stare at the card. “I don’t know, Lindsay. A tattoo . . . at my age?”
“For the love of fuck, you’re thirty-six, not a hundred. Everyone has a tattoo.”
“Who’s getting a tattoo?” Macy walks into the room and heads straight for the fridge, a beautiful blur of long light brown hair and big blue innocent eyes.
“I’m trying to tell your mom she’s not too old for a tattoo,” Lindsay replies while stuffing her belongings back into her purse.
Macy stares at me with her mouth open. “Mom! You’re getting a tattoo? That’s so cool. Can I get one too?”
“Not until you’re eighteen.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Whatever. Can I go with you and watch?”
“I’ll think about it. Do me a favor and go check your brother. Make sure he’s okay with his homework.”
“Don’t bring her with you,” Lindsay says when Macy leaves the room. “You need to do some things as you and not as Mom.”