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“Good to hear,” I mumble, though my mind is whirling. I want to call Cillian to check on him, but I don’t have his number anymore. I manage to remember I’m on a call with my parents and reengage without missing too many beats. “And how are you, Dad?”
There’s a pause. My mom glances at my dad and back at me. “Actually, Ivy, your dad is experiencing a bit of a health scare himself. They found some polyps during his colon screening.”
“What? Is he okay? Are you okay?” Blood whooshes to my ears.
“They were cancerous but we caught it early.” Dad leans in. “It’s a minor operation. I’ll be down for about a week. There’s no need to worry.”
My voice shakes. “No need to worry? I’m coming home. I want to bethere with you.”
“No, Ivy,” he insists. “Please stay and finish your classes. I’ll be fine. Don’t disrupt your schedule.”
I try to process what I want to do. “Are you sure?”
“We’re sure.” My mom takes his hand. “It’s minor surgery. Really. The reason we called is I’m postponing my next visit by a few weeks to help your dad through recovery.”
I nod vigorously. “Of course. It makes perfect sense.”
After we hang up, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Life is fragile. One minute everything seems fine, and the next, it’s all hanging by a thread.
At first, moving to Florence helped me escape the isolation I’d felt in Seattle. It took my mind off my broken heart. Lately, though, it feels like I’m just as alone here as I ever was at home.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my friends and love focusing on my art, but everything—my dad’s health, my future, and even my unresolved feelings for Cillian—bears down on me.
I’ll be twenty-one next year. I need to figure out what my path is and what, if any, role I want to play in my family’s legacy.
I’m grateful for my time here—it helped me figure out who I am. It’s given me the opportunity to live a regular life. Buy groceries. Cook and clean for myself. Do what I want when I want to do it.
And, let’s be honest, it allowed me to avoid running into Cillian after he rejected me.
I’m stronger now, though. Maybe it’s time to think about what comes next. Maybe Ishouldgo home and help my dad with the business and let him take a step back.
Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.
twenty-six
Cillian
Six Months Later
Today’s a big milestonefor me.
I’m celebrating it with my family.
As I walk up the familiar steps to my parents’ house, the scent of blooming spring flowers fills the air. Tonight is my one-year sobriety anniversary. I’ve never been prouder of any accomplishment. It’s funny, I feel the weight of the past year lift slightly as I approach the front door.
“Cillian, there you are!” Ma is waiting for me the second I step inside. Her eyes are filledwith pride.
I kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late, I ran into traffic. You look beautiful and it smells great in here.”
“Ach—you silver-tongued devil. Come on in, everyone’s sitting down already.” She swats my arm.
The house is filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking dishes. The aroma of roast beef and buttery mashed potatoes wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble. I follow her into the dining room, where my da and my brothers are already eating.
“There he is!” Da’s booming voice fills the room. He stands up and claps. “Proud of you, son. One year is no small feat.”
“Thanks, Da..” I take my seat.
How is it possible it’s been an entire year since that dark night when I accepted help? The day I decided to stop hiding. Including my entire family in my recovery has been healing for all of us. Above all, I don’t ever want to slip. Knowing the people who love me will hold me accountable has been motivating. I wouldn’t be here without them.
