My last text to her was meant to get her off her ass to respond to me. It was short and to the point.
Contact me or I'm getting on the next plane to Portland.
Bitter disappointment bubbles from within as I see the text isn't from her, but rather Stevie. He's become my sounding board...the only one who really knows how I feel about Olivia, but he's as clueless as I am when it comes to the inner workings of Olivia's brain. She's refused his calls, but did send him a text that just said she needed some time alone and she'd contact him soon.
Per Alex, she sent the same message to Sutton.
For me...I get nothing from her. Fuck, that pisses me off.
While Stevie isn't who I wanted to hear from, his text brings me a small measure of peace. When I realized my efforts to get through to Olivia via her cellphone weren't working, I decided to circumvent that and reach out to the one person that I know is firmly in my corner.
His text was simple. Call me. I have an idea.
For the first time in days, I actually smile. It's a devious smile, because I'm not done with Olivia yet. She may be avoiding me, but I'm going to figure a way to get to her...to make her at least talk to me. And apparently I'm going to use Stevie to help.
The sound of players stomping into the locker room filters in and I stuff my phone back into my bag.
"Samuelson...my office...now!" Pretore barks at me. I know I'm in deep shit, but I can't seem to muster up enough energy to care about it. My thoughts are consumed by Olivia, and until I can figure out what the fuck is going through her head, nothing else really fucking matters.
--
I blew Alex off after the game. We didn't win, so there was no celebratory party at Houlihan's, but rather Alex invited me out to a more obscure bar where we could have a beer and "talk." I didn't feel like talking to him, so I took a rain check and he gave me a worried look. I ignored him and now I'm home.
Kicking my shoes off, I flop down on my couch and dial Stevie. He answers on the second ring.
"Stupid penalty, girlfriend," he chides me. I can't help but smirk, because Stevie has become a reluctant hockey fan. Or, rather, he's become a Garrett Samuelson fan, because Olivia made him come over to her apartment to watch all my away games.
And...ouch...just thinking of Olivia, sitting at home with Stevie and cheering me on while I was away, causes pain to throb in the center of my chest. I wonder if she watched the game tonight, but it's doubtful. She told me that Maryana doesn't own a TV.
"Yeah, I know, but I don't give a shit. What's your idea?"
"Okay, here's what I was thinking," Stevie says in a hushed whisper.
"Are you with someone?" I cut in.
"What? No, why?" he asks with surprise.
"You're whispering. Why are you whispering?"
"I don't know," Stevie says with exasperation. "I'm getting ready to go all covert, so it felt like a whisper was in order."
"Fuck, you're weird," I grumble into the phone, and Stevie gives a girly chuckle.
"Okay, clearly she's ignoring me, you, and Sutton. I have no clue why she's ignoring you, but it's obvious she's ignoring me and Sutton because we've made it plain to her that we're on your side."
"You have?" I ask with surprise.
"Of course, sweetheart," Stevie simpers. "We've been double-teaming her with voice mails and texts, telling her to get off her ass and call you."
A warm feeling of gratitude overwhelms me because I had no idea that they were being vocal with Olivia. I just figured Stevie was listening to me spill my pain, and I hadn't really discussed any of this with Sutton because she wasn't exactly on my side when all this started. But knowing that she's on my side now makes me want to wrap her up in a big bear hug.
"So, what's the big idea?" I ask, bringing us back to the real issue.
"We're getting Maryana involved. We need someone on the inside," Stevie says in a hushed whisper again, and I know he's gone all Mission: Impossible on me.
"Someone on the inside?" I ask with amusement. "We're not breaking into Fort Knox."
"Yes, we are," Stevie argues. "Or at least close to it. For whatever reason, Olivia is locked up tight."
That sure was true enough. She's managed to cut off the three closest friends to her without any explanation.
"What can her mom possibly do?"
"She can talk some fucking sense into her," Stevie says with resolve, and I know he's serious, because he rarely curses. "You need to call her...right now. I just talked to her a bit ago and she's really worried about Olivia."
"Why?" I ask with a sudden blast of icy fear. "Is she feeling okay?"
"She's fine...physically, but...well, just call Maryana. She wants to talk to you."
Stevie gives me Maryana's number, but I don't dial her right away. Instead, I change out of my dress clothes, opting for a pair of workout shorts and a ratty T-shirt. Grabbing a bottle of beer from my fridge, I head out to the back patio. It's one of my favorite places to relax, especially at night, when the pool lights are on and the subtle accent lighting around the perimeter softly twinkles, illuminating the various plants in the garden beds.
Flopping down on a chaise longue, I kick my feet up and take a hefty swallow of the beer. Deep breath in, back out again, and I dial Maryana.
"Hello," she answers in that singsong voice of hers that reminds me of rainbows and unicorns.
"Maryana...it's Garrett," I say, my thumb absently running over the condensation on the beer bottle.
"Garrett...sweetheart. I'm so glad you called. Did you talk to Stevie?"
"Yeah...just now. He said you're worried about Olivia."
"I am, and I'm worried about you too. Worried about the both of you. What's going on?"
I sigh deeply and set the beer bottle on the concrete. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I look up at the star-filled night. "I have no clue. Everything was fine...perfect, actually. I assumed she was going out for a visit with you, and that she'd be back soon. Now she won't answer my calls or texts."
"She won't talk to me either. I've asked her about you and she won't tell me anything. She won't talk to Stevie or Sutton. This isn't like her."
"Has she said when she's coming back here?"
Maryana is silent for a moment, then says, "I don't think she's going back until her next treatment."
"Fuck," I breathe out in frustration, then immediately say, "Sorry. But that's two and a half weeks away."
"I know," Maryana sympathizes. "Is there any way you can fly out here? She'll be forced to talk to you."
I rub the bridge of my nose because a dull ache starts behind my eyes. "I can't. We don't have any games on the West Coast for a few months, and even if I did, the schedule is packed too tight. I wouldn't have any time."
At this moment, and for the first time in my life, I hate my job. Hate the way this career binds me and takes away a tiny freedom that could put me on a plane and have me standing before Olivia to find out what the hell is going on.
Maryana is silent, and I realize with a sinking feeling that she's not going to be able to help me any more than Stevie or Sutton can. It seems Olivia may be lost to me until she comes back for her treatment, and I'm worried that more time apart without any communication is going to continue to drive a wedge between us.
And I'm pretty sure that is Olivia's plan.
"Oh, screw it," I hear Maryana huff into the phone.
"What?" I ask.
"Just hold on...I'm in my bedroom."
Maryana is silent, but I can hear the sound of a door opening, padding footsteps, then another door opening.
"It's for you." I hear Maryana's voice dimly, and I realize the phone isn't near her face anymore. I have a mental image of her handing the phone to Olivia, and I know this is exactly what's happened when I hear Olivia's voice say, "Who is it?"
Just those tiny three words--not the three words I'd kill to hear, but just three words in her beautiful voice--cause my heart to pound loudly within my chest.
> "It's Garrett," I hear Maryana say, and there's a hard edge to her voice. I didn't think Maryana could do "hard," but apparently she can when she feels motivated.
"I don't want to talk to him," Olivia says desperately.
"Tough shit," Maryana says. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but you stay locked up in your room all day and night; won't talk to me, Stevie, Sutton, or Garrett; and we're all worried sick about you. Now you get your ass up and you talk to this man. You owe him an explanation at the very least. It's the mature thing to do."
Silence, and I imagine Maryana and Olivia are engaged in a staring war. Then I hear some shuffling sounds, a loud intake of breath, and then Olivia says "Hey" into the phone.
"Hey," I say back, and for someone who has been desperately trying to get Olivia to talk to me for the past three and half days, I'm suddenly at a loss for words myself.
Clearing my throat, I start with my biggest concern. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes," she says softly. "I'm doing fine."
"Why haven't you returned my calls or texts?" I ask, and I can't help the tinge of anger in my voice.
She doesn't answer me, and the silence is deafening. My anger surges, builds hot, and fans into fury. "For fuck's sake, Olivia. What the hell is going on with you? Everything seemed perfect, then you just drop off the radar."
"I know," she says in a quavering voice.
"What is it?" I prompt her, thankful she at least is talking. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she gushes into the phone. "No, of course not. You do everything right. I just...I just..."
Her voice trails off, leaving me hanging in frustration.
"You just what?" I ask, keeping my voice level...my tone patient.
For Christ's sake, just tell me, I scream on the inside.
Olivia takes a deep breath and lets it out on a soft whisper of sadness. "I overheard you talking to Stevie."
My brain starts spinning...trying to remember every conversation I've had with Stevie and if something was said that would piss her off. I come up empty.
"Overheard what?" I prompt.
"That day we saw Dr. Yoffman...I came back from doing the deliveries and you and Stevie were talking at Fleurish."
"Okay," I drawl, because I don't think we talked about anything that would make her angry.
"I heard you tell him how devastated you'd be if I died. How awful it was for you to watch Zack and what he's going through."
"That's right," I acknowledge, because again, I'm not sure why this would cause her to withdraw from me. I would be devastated, but surely that's not national news to her.
"I can't be responsible for that," Olivia says, her voice sounding brittle, yet the weight of her words slams into me hard.
"Responsible?" I ask, dumbfounded. "What do you mean by that?"
Again, silence, but I know Olivia is gathering her thoughts, so I patiently wait for her. When she finally speaks, there is such finality to her tone my stomach bottoms out. "I'm a bad risk for you, Garrett. There is too much unknown, and you deserve to have someone in your life who is whole. Someone you can be assured will be by your side forever. It was selfish of me to even get involved with you, and by refusing to cut you loose...getting in deeper with you...that just made me even more selfish."
"I don't understand," I croak, because fuck if any of this makes sense.
"It's really simple," she says. "I love you, Garrett. So much. But I figure the pain of a breakup is going to be far easier for you to overcome than the pain of potentially watching me die one day. Trust me, it's better this way."
Chapter 28
Olivia
My nerves are shredded and my heart is battered. I've been home for three days now and I don't really know which way is up. I guess it depends on the time of day.
I want to see Garrett.
I don't want to see Garrett.
I need him.
I don't want to need him.
I love him.
I'm so selfish.
I'm miserable and lonely.
I wonder if Garrett is miserable and lonely.
These thoughts, and many more, keep rambling through my head. Making it impossible to sleep. Concentrate. Be happy.
It's been almost two weeks since I last saw Garrett...at the airport when he hugged and kissed me goodbye. Telling me that he loved me, and I could only tell him I'd miss him.
Because I was breaking things off with him.
For his benefit, of course.
Keep telling yourself that, Olivia, my conscience sneers at me. Maybe one day it will make you feel better to believe that.
These past few weeks have been a roller coaster of emotion for me. My bitter plan to cut Garrett out of my life worked...sort of. I thought the phone conversation we had went as well as could be expected. Even though my heart felt like shattered glass, I held my resolve and broke things cleanly. Garrett tried vainly to get me to reconsider and he raged at me for a while, but nothing he said weakened me.
Hurt me, yes. But I didn't falter.
I expected when the call was disconnected that Garrett was out of my life for good. The only thing left to do was try to heal our wounds and move forward with our lives...separately and unselfishly.
But he apparently had other plans.
Every day I got an email from him. He never mentioned our "breakup" and never once tried to talk me into giving us another chance. He was strangely quiet on that, but was quite chatty about everything else. His emails were long-winded, filled with newsy information and chatty gossip.
Garrett filled me in on what happened at his practices, and gave me replays of the games. He told me about hanging out with Alex and Sutton, and that on his off days whenever he was back in Raleigh, he'd taken to hanging out with Stevie, although he drew the line at going to one of Stevie's drag shows. He told me about visiting Zack, and that he seemed to be coming out of his grief a bit and his wrist was healing nicely. Garrett told me everything about his life so I wouldn't miss a single thing I had left behind.
Lines and lines of information, all designed to keep me firmly rooted in his life. He signed off on each email with four words...I love you, Garrett.
He never asked me to write him back. He didn't ask me to call.
At first, the emails hurt. I tried for all of ten seconds to ignore the first one, but then my heart demanded to be soothed. So I read it, and it was like pulling a Band-Aid off a scaly scab, ripping it open and causing more blood to weep.
Reading what Garrett wrote me...being privy to his life and thoughts. Knowing that at the end of each email, he still loved me. It soothed and tortured me at the same time.
I never wrote him back, but I didn't discourage his communications either. And as it got closer to the time for me to return home for my treatments, my mind started wondering what it would be like to see Garrett. I knew I couldn't, because it would take only one look, one touch, and I'd sink right back into him. I would throw out all of my steel and backbone, because I was still telling myself I was doing the right thing, and I'd let him back into my fucked-up life. I would give in to my own selfish wants and needs.
I decided to return home to Raleigh after staying ten days with my mother. While I very much enjoyed my time with her, I had a yearning to get back to the things that comforted me. My apartment, my job at Fleurish, Stevie and Sutton...Garrett.
No, not Garrett, I remind myself with bitterness.
On the day I flew out of Portland to return home to Raleigh, I eagerly booted up my laptop to read Garrett's email, which I knew would be waiting for me. He always wrote to me late at night, and I started each morning off with his written words.
I sipped at my coffee as I pulled up my email, eagerly searching for his name.
And there was nothing.
For the first time in a week, he hadn't written to me.
I checked my spam box, but it was empty.
Loneliness and disappointment surged through me, slapping me w
ith the reality that I had come to rely on those emails. That even though I wasn't giving anything in return to Garrett, he was still bolstering me by letting me know that I was still in his thoughts.
The mere fact I didn't have an email waiting for me revealed one very cold truth.
He wasn't thinking about me last night. And I'm betting that had everything to do with the fact that I never responded to him. He was without hope, because I gave him no hope. He had simply given up on me.
I got on the plane with a heavy heart and a confused mind. I had cut things off with Garrett, so why should this bother me? I should rejoice in the fact he was doing exactly what I wanted him to do...he was moving on.
But I couldn't rejoice. I was sad and heartsick and completely perplexed over all these irrational thoughts running rampant through my mind.
Maybe, I remember thinking...just maybe something had come up and he couldn't email me. Maybe it was a one-time-only thing and he would email me the following night. I let that thought lift my spirits slightly on the flight back home, and went to bed early that night, comfy in my own apartment, eager for the next day to dawn.
But there was no email the next morning.
Or the morning after that.
Or even the morning after that.
Pushing my body, I go through the motions of getting ready for my first day back at work. I've missed the soothing motions of making an arrangement, the subtle floral smells, and the way a creation comes to life before my eyes. I missed Stevie a great deal, but I'm a little hesitant to see him. He hasn't said much to me about breaking things off with Garrett, but what little quips he's dropped...he's clearly not happy with me. I also know they've been hanging out together, not only from Garrett's emails, but because one night I had called Stevie to talk and he brushed me off big-time. Told me Garrett had gotten him a ticket to the game that night and he was on his way out the door. He never called me back after, and I was stung by the way he seemed to be embracing Garrett over me.
When I arrive at work, Stevie meets me at the front door, his arms open wide and a light sheen of moisture in his eyes. As I step into his embrace, he coos at me, "Oh, baby...I've missed you so much. You can't leave me again for that long."
And just like that, my bruised ego over his connection to Garrett eases up.