Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,33
takes a deep breath. “If it makes you uncomfortable, me being here, us working together—”
Is he being chivalrous and offering to quit? “No,” I interrupt. “This job is important to you. It’ll be fine. No worries. Besides, Granddad would never let you quit without a damned good reason. He can’t shut up about how great you are. It’s sort of obnoxious, honestly.”
“Really?” Connor looks delighted.
“Really.”
“That means a lot. This is such an incredible opportunity for me. Seeing where one of my favorite poets lived, reading all about her life—I can’t believe you grew up here.”
He turns in a slow circle, examining Dorothea’s old blue Smith-Corona typewriter, perched on the desk behind him; the bookcase full of her signed first editions and foreign editions; the portrait of her above the fireplace. “I know you said poetry isn’t your thing, so maybe it’s no big deal to you, but my mom’s a payroll manager. My dad’s an accountant. They met in business school. They don’t get poetry. It’s, like, frivolous to them. And my sister’s just like them. A total math genius. I’m the anomaly.”
“I know how it feels not to fit in,” I say with a crooked, bittersweet smile.
What I don’t say is that at least Connor has a normal family. Two parents still married to each other. A sibling he got to grow up with.
No one is expecting him to be extraordinary.
Except…I think he expects it of himself. I watch as he leans down, tripping his fingers lightly over those spines again, and he is so goddamn gorgeous I want to cry. He knows what he wants and he’s going to make it happen. Part of me is crazy jealous of that. And the other part of me is crazy attracted to it—that passion, that ambition. It makes me want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
Even though that ambition is what’s standing in the way of him wanting me back.
Chapter
Nine
“And then I called my mother a slut,” I explain.
“Ivy! Don’t use that word,” Claire says, reaching around to tighten the knot on her black halter top. “It shames women for their sexual agency and reduces them to nothing but—”
“We know,” Abby interrupts impatiently. She and I finished our Tuesday morning shift at the library an hour ago. She helped with preschool story time, and I shelved a whole cart full of books. Now we’re at Abby’s house, surrounded by paintings of Thomas Kinkade’s cozy cottages, family portraits taken down by the water, washable slipcovers, muddy soccer cleats, and dog hair from their ancient cocker spaniel, Sunshine. I love Abby’s house.
“I want to hear more about what happened with Alex. Have you talked to him since the party?” Abby is sprawled in the middle of the living room floor, petting Sunshine.
“Forget Alex.” Claire is curled up on the green-flowered couch. “He was such a dick to her the other night.”
“Because he’s in love with her!” Abby defends.
“That doesn’t make it okay.” Claire grabs a handful of pretzel sticks from the bag on the coffee table. “Has he apologized to you, Ivy?”
“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. Usually Alex pops in and out of the kitchen while Luisa’s cooking or comes over to go for a swim after he gets off work at the garden center. Or we pass each other coming and going in the driveway or while he’s mowing the lawn. He must be avoiding me.
“Three days without talking is a long time for you two,” Abby says.
She’s right. It’s not like us.
Only I’m not sure what us means anymore. If he can’t be my boyfriend, does Alex still want to be my friend? The thought of losing him makes me want to cry. Usually he and Luisa come over for Sunday supper, but with Erica and the girls here, everything’s different now. This Sunday, Luisa made a roast chicken with potatoes and squash and zucchini and then went back to the carriage house. Supper was brief and awkward, with Granddad and Gracie doing most of the talking while Erica drank half a bottle of white wine and Isobel picked at her vegetables.
What if things never go back to normal?
“Tell us more about your conversation with Connor,” Claire says. “Why did you let him off the hook like that? It’s okay to go after what you want. You don’t have to play hard to get.”
Abby scrunches her freckled forehead. “Maybe she doesn’t want Connor.”
“No, I do. But it’s probably for the best.”
I grab my glass of iced tea as