So I do. Not everything, not the details of what I did or why, but enough. That we used to be close. That I hurt her badly. That I'm trying to fix it and failing.
"Have you tried actually talking to her?" Marcus asks. "Like, honest conversation? Not whatever hostile thing you two have going?"
"She won't listen."
"Have you tried?"
"Every time I try to explain, I freeze. Can't find the words. End up saying something cruel instead."
"Why?"
"Because—" I stop. Think about it. "Because if I'm honest and she still hates me, that's worse than her hating me for being an asshole. At least the asshole version isn't really me."
"That's the most fucked up logic I've ever heard."
"I'm aware." I agree with him more than I can say.
"So try something different. Be vulnerable. Tell her the truth. What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could hate me more."
"Or she could understand. Give you a chance to fix it." Marcus leans forward. "Look, I don't know what you did, but whatever it is, carrying this guilt is destroying you. Either make it right or let it go, but you can't keep doing this halfway thing."
He's right. I know he's right.
But the thought of actually telling Ivy the truth, about my parents' threat, about the impossible choice, about the three years of regret, terrifies me more than her hatred.
Because if I tell her everything and she still can't forgive me. Then I'll know for certain that I destroyed the one thing that mattered most.
And I'm not ready for that certainty.
Not yet.
Saturday night, I'm in my dorm doing homework when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number:Hey, it's Chelsea. Changed your mind about the party? Would love to see you there.
I stare at the text for a long moment.
I could go. Could show up at the party and flirt with Chelsea and pretend to be a normal college student having a normal college experience.
Prove to Ivy that I'm moving on.
Prove to myself that I can care about someone who isn't her, but I know it would be a lie.
So instead, I text back,Thanks for the invite, but I'm going to pass. Have fun though.
Her response is quick,Your loss. But seriously, if you ever want to hang out, let me know.
I don't respond to that. Instead, I open my laptop and pull up the document of unsent letters to Ivy.
Start writing a new one.
Ivy,
I saw you in the library today. You were sitting in your usual spot, third floor corner, completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. Your hair kept falling in your face and you kept pushing it back, annoyed. Same gesture you've had since middle school.
Someone asked if I wanted to go to a party. A girl. Pretty, nice, interested. I said no.