The Book of Ivy

by Amy Engel

“I think,” Bishop says, “that we can love our families without trusting everything they tell us. Without championing everything they stand for.”

“Just now. You called me Bishop. You’ve never said it before.” He pauses. “I like the way it sounds.”

“Because I’m in love with you, Ivy,”

But I’ve learned the hard way, we can’t choose who we love. Love chooses us. Love doesn’t care about what’s convenient or easy or planned. Love has its own agenda and all we can do is get out of its way.

Life is one sick joke after another,

it hardly seems fair that it should hurt so much to finally get exactly what I’ve been wishing for.