"What's wrong with popping by to see my boyfriend in the morning?" she asks.
"We've discussed this," I tell her. "I don't like mixing my private life and my professional life."
"That's a little hard to believe, given how much time Olivia is spending at your mom's house," she retorts.
God, I wish she'd never met Olivia. She's been off the rails ever since last week. "I don't have a choice," I sigh.
"There's always a choice," she replies.
On Wednesday, Olivia arrives with dead legs and small cuts on her forearms. "You're staying with my mom tonight," I tell her.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. You're stressing out and I can't afford for you to get injured or fatigued right before the meet."
"I won't run."
"You know you can't make that promise," I reply. "I thought you liked staying with my mom?"
Something crosses her face, and for a minute she makes me think of the small girl she must have once been, vulnerable. "I'm not a charity case."
"No one ever said you were."
"I appreciate what you and your mom have done," she says, "but I don't need help."
"If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for the rest of the team," I tell her. I hate that I'm adding to the pressure she feels, but I hate even more the idea of her running through that neighborhood in the dark, and I don't have it in me to spend night after night sleeping on her doorstep. "You've got us in line to win our first title. Think of what that would mean to everyone else."
She finally agrees, looking so tired and overwhelmed that I wish I'd never brought it up. Sleeping on her steps is a far better alternative than the look on her face.
46
Olivia
Dorothy seems happy to see me that night, but what Jessica said remains foremost in my mind.
"You should just stay out here until the meet," Dorothy says over dinner. "Get some rest and some good food?"
That's nice of you," I say tentatively, "but I've got plans."
"What kind of plans?"
I shrug, wishing I could avoid this conversation. "I've sort of got a date." It was stupid and impulsive, but it pissed me off so much when Jessica showed up on the track this week that I finally told Evan I'd go out with him, something I know I'm going to regret.
Will's head shoots up. "A date?" he demands. "With who?"
"You don't know him," I sigh. "He's on the swim team. His name is Evan."
"Evan? You mean Evan Rainier? He's the captain of the team. Why the fuck wouldn't I know who he is?"
"Will," his mother scolds.
"Sorry," he mutters, but his jaw remains tight.
///
"What's your problem?" I ask. "Is he a serial killer or something?"
"No, I just … What exactly do you mean when you say that it's ‘sort of' a date?"
I sigh. "Because I'm not interested in dating anyone. I told him that, but he asked me just to give it a shot."
"Awww," gushes Dorothy. "He sounds like a really nice guy, Olivia."
"He is," I reply. Evan is very nice. The problem is I seem to have a preference for not-so-nice, which sits right in front of me at this very moment, his shoulders rigid.
"Too nice?" Will asks, recalling our previous conversation. He wants to know if I'm going to sleep with Evan, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him guilt me into saying I won't.
"No, he's definitely not too nice."
He stands, letting his fork land on his plate a little harder than it should. "So you don't even like this guy and you're going to sleep with him?"
Dorothy gasps in shock and begins to scold him, but I'm already off and running.
"Why the hell shouldn't I, Will? You sleep with Jessica and you don't like her! Why shouldn't I do the same?"
He looks like he's been slapped. "Jessica is my girlfriend. Of course I like her."
"Bullshit. I am calling bullshit on that in the biggest way. Every time you see her car here, your face falls. Every time she speaks, you wince. Not only do you not like her, I think a part of you actively dislikes her. I actually enjoy Evan's company. He's fun to hang out with, he's fun to talk to. Can you honestly say either of those things about Jessica? And before you answer, you should take a look at how much time you spend avoiding her and ask yourself why."
The kitchen is uncomfortably silent when my speech is over, and I think we're all a little shocked by it. Will turns and walks out of the house. Dorothy looks stunned more than angry, but I'm not sure. I just drove her son out of the house, after all.
"I'm sorry."
She looks at me, her face drawn. For the first time since I've known her, she actually looks her age. "Don't be," she says, "I think he needed to hear it."
But if that's actually true, I'm not sure why she looks so unhappy about it.
Will still isn't home when I go to bed, which makes me think I've really taken things too far. He's always been so worried about me running in the woods and now he's not? Have I pushed him so far that he's given up?
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, waiting for the sound of the front door to open. I know I'm going to run tonight, and for the first time in my life, it's not about a meet or my brother or something that happened a long time ago.
It's about a boy.
.
47
Will
I'm driving away from the farm as fast as I can go, as if I can somehow separate myself from what she just said. I can't, because she was right. Every damn word out of her mouth was right.
It's not simply that I don't like Jessica. The truth is that I dread Jessica. I dread seeing her in my office, in my apartment or hers, or at the farm. There's nothing wrong with her. There's also nothing that makes me crave her, miss her, think about her when she's not with me. All these nights I've spent sleeping on my mother's couch were spent thinking about a girl, but that girl wasn't Jessica.
I'm mad at Olivia for pointing it out, and I'm mad at myself for not seeing it sooner. I turn the car around and go home, to sit on my mother's front porch with my head in my hands, realizing exactly how pathetic the truth is. I was never interested in Jessica. She was just another futile effort to please my father, an effort I made far too late.
I took over the farm like he wanted. I dated the girl he chose for me. I've spent two years paying penance as if these actions will let him know that I'm so fucking sorry for the way I acted and the shit I said to him, and for the fact that I let him carry so much on his shoulders without ever once offering to help. But paying penance feels like it's sucking the life out of me, and it's never going to bring him back.
I've only just stood up when the door flies open. I leap forward, cursing myself for not going inside sooner, and barely grab Olivia before she gets down the steps. She screams and flails and finally gives in to me, collapsing against my chest with a weak, final cry.
I carry her to her room. It's funny that I grew up here, but in a short period of time it has become Olivia's room. It will always be her room, even when she's no longer here.
///
I lay her down on the bed, but she's still restless. Fuck it. The truth is I want to stay. I like falling asleep with her. I think about that almost as often as I think about seeing her naked, which seems to take up most of my day despite my best efforts to avoid it.
I get her into bed and wait to make sure she's okay. I start to slide my arm out from under her, to pull away, except she rolls toward me instead. And then, with her eyes still closed and fast asleep, she raises her head and kisses me.
I've imagined how it would feel to kiss her a thousand times, I can't look at her mouth once without thinking about it. But this is better. Her soft lips, her body arching toward mine. For a moment, I'm drowning in sensation without thought. Nothing exists but her tongue and her exhale, her perfect skin and the way she yields as if her body was made for my hands.
My groan breaks the silence and the spell, forces my brain to begin working again, and I open my eyes to see just how far I've taken things: she's on her back and I'm nearly on top of her, my hands at her waist, fingers beginning to slide beneath her tank. Fuck. She's still sound asleep and I'm on the verge of … I don't know what. I don't want to know.
I scramble away and go sit on the couch, feeling sick with guilt, but not so guilty that I don't want to go right back in there and do it all again.
I've dreamed about what just happened. You're supposed to be grateful when you get the things you dream about, but I'm not. Because now that I've had a small taste of how it would be with her, I'm going to go through my entire life also knowing what I gave up.