Waking Olivia (19 page)

I
fucked up
.

I know that I fucked up.

I just don’t know what else I could have done.

I wanted to tell her the truth. Yes, I want all the same things, and I want them only with her. I want a thousand boring nights in, sitting on a ratty sofa listening to her malign newscasters and make fun of their guests. That I want to spend my entire life keeping her safe, even if means sleeping on the couch outside her room to do it. That I’ve never wanted anything in my entire life the way I want her, and the idea of giving her up makes giving up climbing pale by contrast.

What good would it have done, though? I’m not going to wait a year and a half just to watch her move on to bigger things. And I’m sure as shit not going to try and convince her to destroy her future and stay here with me, in a small town where none of the things she wants can happen.

But I still fucked up.

With every minute that passes this morning, I can feel her growing more remote. She didn’t speak on the car ride and she barely spoke on the bus.

I see her pacing before the meet, the way she always does, but today she wants nothing from me. She’s the Olivia I first met, closely guarding her secrets, struggling beneath an unbearable weight, and certain that no one can help her carry it.

I have a bad feeling about today. She didn’t eat, she looks exhausted, and there’s just something missing … Possibly something
I
took away.

When the race starts, she goes out like a cannonball at a dead sprint. It’s speed you pull out at the end of the race, not at the beginning.

“What the hell is she doing?” groans Peter.

I’m wondering the same thing. It could be strategy, but Olivia’s strategy is normally the opposite, reining herself in until she knows the end is near. She typically stays neck-and-neck with the top two girls, lets them set the pace, and then pulls from that miraculous well of strength she always seems to have when no one else does. She’s not doing that today, and I already know exactly how this will unfold: when the top runners catch up with her, and they will because she can’t maintain her current pace, she’ll panic, begin the mental self-flagellation she’s so prone to, and then she will give up.

By the third mile, it all begins to unfold as I predicted and I watch, absolutely helpless to stop it. “Damn it,” says Peter. “She just lost us regionals.”

“She didn’t lose it,” I reply testily. “The team lost it. She’s the only one who got us close to it in the first place.”

She comes in 4
^th
, still the first out of the team but several places too low to do us any good. When she comes through, I clap a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Olivia. You did your best.”

She nods but there is defeat etched into the curve of her mouth and shoulders as she walks away. Nicole and Erin both throw an arm around her shoulder as we walk to the bus, but Olivia doesn’t react. It’s not even as if she’s sad, it’s as if she’s empty. She never wanted to care about the team, and I think right now she wishes that were still true.

I say goodbye to her once we reach campus. School gets out Tuesday for break, and it all feels so incomplete. It seems like we should have more time.

She steps off the bus and I watch her until she fades from view, wishing there were anything I could have said to make her stay.

T
he farm is a pretty depressing
place to be for the next few days. It reminds me of the time after my father died, how we’d sit down for dinner and the sight of his empty chair seemed to diminish us all a little. My mother doesn’t say it, but I suspect she blames me. I see it in her eyes, in the way her mouth tightens a little every time I say Olivia’s name. The only person alive who appears happy about the whole thing is Jessica.

“No offense,” she says as we drive to dinner on Tuesday night, “but it’ll be nice to have a little family time without her there.”

Family time?
God, there are so many responses that come to mind. I just barely keep them to myself.

“And it’s time she found a family of her own,” she continues. “She can’t be leaning on you guys as her only source of support.”

“How exactly is she supposed to find a family, Jess?” I ask, my voice precise and angry. “Post an ad on Craigslist?”

“Will,” she says, “don’t get snippy with me. You know what I mean.”

“No, actually I have no fucking idea what you mean.”

“You always defend her,” she accuses. “Ever since she got here, you’ve done nothing but make excuses for her, and she’s totally taking advantage.”

Jessica has a big family, and parents who dote on her. Her car and the fancy apartment she couldn’t possibly afford on her salary are all benefits of having parents who can’t deny her anything. It makes every word out of her mouth that much more appalling. “Taking advantage of
what
exactly, Jessica? My family’s yacht and mansion?”

“Will,” she says with a tremulous note in her voice, “this is a really hard week for me, okay? Please stop making it worse.”

“Hard in what way?” I growl, irritated before I even know what she’s going to say.

“This is the week we lost my grandfather,” she says, pressing her index finger to the corner of her eye as if to stem the tears. “I miss my family and I’m thinking about my grandfather and now you’re mad at me and it’s hard, okay?”

We are almost into town and I should let this go, just make it through the evening, but I can’t.

“When?”

“When what?” she sniffles.

“When did your grandfather die?”

“A few years ago.”

“How many, Jess?”

“I don’t know. High school.”

“What year of high school?”

“I don’t know!” she exclaims in exasperation. “I was maybe a sophomore. How could it possibly matter?”

“You expect me to feel sorry for you because your grandfather died at least
nine
years ago, but you think Olivia should find her own family?”

“It’s hard for me to be away from them over the holidays and it’s like you don’t even
care
.” This is classic Jessica. Lose the point and just throw out a new accusation. “I stayed here for
you
, remember?”

“I told you to go visit them,” I groan. Her parents moved to Denver over the summer, but she insisted on staying here for the holiday, even after I all but begged her to go.

“It’s okay,” she says tearfully. “You’ll come to Denver with me at Christmas and it’ll all even out.”

That’s when I turn the car around.

I wanted to believe that my father knew better. I tried to see the best in her, and I was wrong. We both were.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m taking you home.”

“You don’t need to do that.” She smiles, wiping away another invisible tear and then putting most of her faux-sadness aside. “I’m okay, just a little sad about not seeing my family. Let’s go out. I’ll be fine.”

I take a deep breath, aiming for neutrality rather than scorn. “I’m sorry, Jess, but this isn’t going to work out.”

“Will, it’s fine. I just needed a little cry—”

“No, I’m not talking about tonight. I’m talking about us.
We
are not going to work out.”

Even with my eyes on the road, I can feel the way she recoils.

“You’re breaking up with me?” she gasps.

“This just isn’t working anymore, Jessica. I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll see that too.”

“But we’ve been together for a whole year! We aren’t even having problems!”

“We’ve been having plenty of problems,” I reply. “We just haven’t discussed them.”

“Is this about sex? Because
you’re
the one who keeps turning me down. I tried talking to you about it—”

“It’s not about sex.”

“Then what? You can’t just break up with me and not even have a reason!” she cries, almost unintelligible at this point. “Everyone thought you were about to propose and you want to take a break instead?”

“I was never planning to propose. I must have told you a thousand times I didn’t want to settle down. And I don’t want to take a break,” I correct her. “I want to break up.”

I pull up in front of her apartment complex. “Then why?” she demands. “I’m not getting out of this car until you’ve given me a reason.”

“We have nothing in common, Jessica,” I say gently. “If you think about it, you’ll know I’m right. You don’t run, you don’t climb, you don’t even like sports. And I don’t do the things you do.” In truth, I’m not sure what exactly she does away from me aside from work and shop.

“Right,” she hisses. “I don’t like those things, but your precious
Olivia
does, doesn’t she?”

“She has nothing to do with it.”

“She has everything to do with it!” Jessica screams. “Everything! We were fine until she showed up and it’s been a steady downhill ever since! I
knew
you were cheating when you stopped sleeping with me.”

“I’ve never slept with Olivia and I think you know that.”

“Bullshit, Will! You think I’m stupid? You think I really believe you and that girl are spending all this time together and sleeping under the same roof, but you’ve never hooked up with her?”

I meet her eye. “Yes, I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth.”

“You’re going to get caught!” she cries. “You’re going to get caught and lose your job and then your mom will lose the farm. Is that what you want?”

“I’m not sleeping with her!” I shout. “For the last time, there is nothing going on. Now please get out of my car.”

“Fine,” she says, climbing out, “but just for the record, you don’t need to have slept with her. It’s enough that you’ve been staying together at your mom’s.”

And then she leans her head back in and
smiles
. “When word gets about that, you’re royally fucked.”

“
Y
ou’re home early
,” says my mother.

“Yeah,” I sigh, flopping down on the couch and closing my eyes.

“Where’s Jessica?”

“We broke up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

I laugh. “No, you’re not. You never liked her. You can admit it.”

“Jessica had her good qualities,” she counters, but even she laughs a little at how insincere she sounds. “So what led to this?”

“She started in on Olivia again and I kind of lost it.”

We sit in silence for a moment and I reach for the remote. “So where did Olivia go exactly?” my mother asks.

I don’t want to think about Olivia right now. I don’t want to think about how enraged I got the moment Jessica spoke against her, or how empty this week will be without her. I turn on the TV, flipping aimlessly through the sports channels.

“To Erin’s,” I reply.

“Where does Erin live?” my mom asks.

“Why?” I ask, a little sourly. “You planning a rescue mission?”

“No,” my mother snaps. “I’m just curious.”

I try to remember where Erin calls home. Most of the girls are from Colorado, but for some reason, it seems like she was not. Her parents flew in for that meet they attended. They wouldn’t have flown in if they were in-state. And they’d had a layover in Chicago.

New Jersey.

Shit.

I hear my mother saying something, but I’m already out the door.

I
lost
.

It’s been nearly three days since the meet and that’s pretty much the only phrase I’ve uttered the entire time. I let them all down, but Will most of all. For him to have gotten us into regionals during only his second year of coaching –
that
would have meant something, and I took it away from him. I took it away from Nicole, who’s graduating this year. And what’s worse is I allowed it to happen. This wasn’t me after a long run. This was me fresh, ready. If I’d given it any thought whatsoever, I’d have known I was going out too fast. But I was anxious and angry and bitter and a little too eager to leave those feelings behind me.

I
did this.

A lot of the girls have called or texted to make sure I’m okay, which just makes me feel worse. How can they be so nice to me when I just ruined this for all of them?

I’ve run almost 30 miles since this weekend’s meet and it hasn’t gotten rid of this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Guilt. I hurt everyone, destroyed everything: the girls on the team, our chance of going to regionals, and canceling on Dorothy at the last minute just because I was upset at Will.

I look at how badly I’ve messed up in the last few years: attacking Mark, losing my scholarship, and everything that happened this weekend.

My great-aunt once said that I was the reason my grandmother got sick. I hated her for saying it, I still hate her for saying it, but right now even that seems like the truth.

I
’m so used
to my isolation that I nearly jump out of my skin when someone starts banging on my door Tuesday night.

“You lied,” Will says, storming into my apartment. “You fucking lied to me. You’re not going home with Erin.”

I put my hands on my hips and attempt to look bored. “Fine, I lied, you caught me,” I reply blandly. “So what?”

“So why did you do it? You lied to
all
of us!” He walks an angry path through my apartment, back and forth, building up steam.

“It was a lie,” I say coldly. “I lie all the time. I think we’ve already established that.”

“Why would you treat me that way? Treat my mother that way?”

“I’m not a charity case, Will. Your family doesn’t have to take me in for every holiday. Consider yourselves off the hook.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demands. “We
wanted
you to come.”

“Bullshit,” I hiss. “You
personally
couldn’t have made it clearer that you wanted to be away from me. And I’m guessing that losing the meet on Sunday only makes that more true. So yeah, I lied. Sue me.”

His jaw opens and he stares at me. “God, I want to shake you sometimes.”

“Go for it.” I shrug. “I’ve lived through worse.”

“Pack your stuff. You’re coming home with me.”

“No, I’m
not
. The Olivia Finnegan Charity Project you want to open has come to an end.”

“Pull your head out of your ass, Olivia! For some inexplicable reason, my mother adores you.” He raises his hands in the air, helpless with frustration, and slams his palms down hard on the counter. “She’s at home right now, lamenting the fact that you won’t be there, and it turns out you’re lying to her in order to avoid it!”

“Of course I lied.
That’s what I do
. All of you should’ve known not to count on me.”

“Is that what this is about? Because you
lost
?”

I swallow. “No.” My throat feels like it’s closing in. “But I’m not a part of your family and that was pretty much the end of the cross-country season, so I guess our work together is done.” Just saying the words aloud makes me feel adrift in my own grief. I won’t be seeing Dorothy again, or the farm or the horses. It’s over.

“Olivia, my mother seems to think you’re the daughter she never had. So like it or not, you
are
part of a family. Believe me, I’d have chosen someone a little more even-tempered and less quick to lie or throw a punch, but sometimes you don’t get a choice. We want you there, all of us. You filled a hole we didn’t even know we had and now you’re gone and it’s all any of us can see.”

I want to scream, or lash out, but something inexplicable occurs instead. I feel like I’m about to cry. I hate that he’s mad, I hate that Dorothy is upset, I hate that I lied and that I’ve been here alone wanting to be with them. I hate that I missed them all. My eyes are filling and my lip is trembling. It’s humiliating, and it enrages me that he and his mother have made this happen. That thing inside my chest twists, too hard this time.

Suddenly he looks like he’s been hit. “Are you
crying
?” he asks.

“No,” I rasp, even as I feel tears rolling down my face. I turn away from him and head toward the bathroom. “Go home.”

He grabs my arm and swings me back, into him, looking astonished and saddened and hopeful all at the same time. “You
are
crying.” His arms go around me, tucking me into him, my head just under his chin. “Livvy, I’m so sorry.”

I try to push him off and he holds on tighter. “It’s okay to cry once in a while.” My shoulders shake and I say nothing, but I no longer fight. The small explosion has triggered an earthquake, and it scares me. It seems as if there is no end to it, no bottom.

So I cry. I cry so ridiculously long and hard that it seems unbelievable to me and still the tears don’t stop. He maneuvers me to the couch and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.

“I can’t stop,” I laugh and cry at the same time.

His hand runs over my hair. “I know,” he says. “It’s okay.”

I cry until I’m exhausted, until the weight of fatigue steals over me. I cry until there’s nothing left, and then I fall asleep.

I
wake entangled with him
, the two of us curled into each other on our sides in a space not even meant for one, my head on his shoulder, his arm draped over my waist, one of my legs pinned between his. He is sound asleep. If I were a better person I’d wake him, or at least go to my bed and let him have the whole couch. But I’m not a better person, so I snuggle in and go back to sleep.

The next time I wake the room is light. I’ve turned over so my back is to his front and I can feel something insistent pressing against my ass even through my jeans and his.

I laugh. “I guess you’re awake, perv.”

He groans. “That doesn’t make me a perv. Every time I tried to move, you pushed your ass against me again.”

I wiggle and I
feel
him groan as I much as I hear it. “Don’t notice you trying to move now.”

“If you’d get off of me I would,” he snaps. “You’re a very hard person to be nice to sometimes.”

I laugh and sit up, and so does he, bending over to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?” he asks without looking up.

“For giving you shit just now. And for lying.”

“You know it’d break my mom’s heart if she found out.”

“You’re not going to tell her, are you?” I plead.

“No,” he says. “Because you’re going to come home with me and tell her your plans changed. So, as I said about eight hours ago, go pack your shit.”