“I just didn’t want you—”
“Oli?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. It was the most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. If it’s even possible, I think I love you more now than I did this morning.”
“I miss you. It’s taking everything I have to not march over to the ticket counter and buy a ticket back home to you and just say to hell with the rest of this.”
“You’re going to make me cry again so just stop.”
“Sorry.”
“So, I never asked. Where are you staying while you’re there?”
He sighs. “Since I have no idea how long I’ll be here, I’m staying with Caroline’s parents for now.”
“Oh … is that … I mean, a good idea? Can you handle being around them all the time?”
“They both work, so it will only be in the evenings and weekends.”
A twinge of something hits me. Jealously would be ridiculous; it’s not exactly that. It feels a little like insecurity. Maybe it’s just uncertainty. I’m uncertain of how I feel about Oliver immersing himself in his past. And at this moment, just for tonight, I don’t want to talk about it.
“Rosenberg’s claimed your side of the bed already.”
“Is that so? Well, that fur ball hadn’t better get too comfortable. I’m not sharing you with anyone when I get home.”
“That is … if you can tear me away from my love affair with higher education.”
Oliver chuckles. “You’re such a geek. A sexy geek, but geek nonetheless.”
“You’re just jealous that I’ve always loved school, unlike some kids who get so nervous they wet their pants on the school bus.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Low blow. I see my mom has been running her mouth. For the record, I was six, over-hydrated, and the bus driver hit a huge pothole.”
I let out my giggles. “What about your first day of Karate? Your mom said the kid next to you slipped on the puddle you made and knocked out his front tooth when his face met the stack of boards behind you.”
“That’s it! You’re banned from seeing my mom ever again.”
“Too late. She’s already put me on the Saturday night dinner VIP list.”
“That’s … just … great.” His voice is muffled and I can envision him rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “My luggage is here, and it’s later there so you’d better get some rest before your big day.”
“You’re right, babe. We can finish discussing your urinary incontinence issues later.”
“No. That subject is closed. Locked. Never to be discussed again.”
I laugh some more. “I like hearing about young Oliver. It takes the sting out of missing you so desperately.”
“If you miss me, call me. We can even video chat, but for God’s sake … don’t talk to my mom about me.”
“Oli?”
“Yes?”
“I love you and thank you for today.”
“You’re welcome. I love you too. Play nice tomorrow.”
I grin. “I will.”
I can’t sleep. Rosenberg’s snoring, I miss Oli, and I’m worried my alarm won’t work which would make me late for my first day of classes. After a long shower, drying my unruly hair, and putting on my new, holy-crap-these-are-expensive True Religion jeans and a sleeveless Guess T-shirt, I dab on a little makeup and whip up some brain food. Oli would be proud. I have two eggs on whole grain toast and fresh squeezed orange juice.
I love my new bag filled with all my favorite things: razor-sharp pencils, spiral notebooks, crisp folders, and a new iPad mini from Jackie and Hugh. A kiss to Rosenberg, a deep breath, and I open the door to my new adventure.
“Say cheese, Flower!” Alex, still in her bathrobe, is at the bottom of the front steps taking picture after picture.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting pictures of my girl on her first day of college.”
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
“Puh-lease. Only freshman nerd girls schedule eight o’clock classes.”
I stick out my tongue. “Whatever.”
“Do you have apples for your professors?”
I keep walking and flip her the bird.
“Love you too, Flower. Oh! And don’t touch John Harvard’s shoe, or any other part for that matter.”
“Yeah, yeah … I know what happens at night.”
Tourists love to have their picture taken next to the John Harvard statue. His left shoe is worn and shiny from so many people touching and rubbing it for good luck. Students walking by cringe and laugh because they know what happens at night: Students, often times drunk, piss all over it. Kai and Sean have done it … more than once, and my guess is Alex has too.
As I walk to campus via the shady tree-framed streets and cobblestone paths, I feel the shift happening in the direction it needs to go. School takes my mind off Oli, well … more like easing the pain of missing him. I’m certain for as long as I live Oli will always be on my mind.
I receive four texts from Oli today:
How’s it going, smarty pants?
What are you wearing? Hope it’s sexy. Feel free to lie to me if it’s not.
Maybe avoid the John Harvard statue.
I think we should have sex in the stacks when I get home.
Okay, so apparently another tradition or rite of passage besides defacing John Harvard is having sex in the stacks at Harvard’s Widener Library. Yeah, I don’t see Miss Perfect Attendance/Student Body President joining that elite group of students. But now I’m wondering if Oli is part of that group.
Me: Almost home, missed Rosenberg … and you, of course. No to sex in the stacks. Might piss on John Harvard. I mean … does any human really deserve to be idolized to the point of having a statue made of them?
Oliver: Won’t even address you missing the mutt more than me. I will change your mind about sex in the stacks. And if you’re going to piss on John, take the mutt with you. He’ll show you how it’s done. BTW, as your attorney, I really should not condone such behavior.
Me: My ATTORNEY? Being in Portland has already helped you. Shall I shine your shoes and press your shirts for your return? No need to take Rosenberg. I have a Go Girl. It’s a firm NO for the stacks, no mind changing.
Oliver: No comment. Go Girl? And there will be something firm for you in the stacks when I get home, but it won’t be a NO.
Me: Home.
Oliver: …
I’m not sure what his ellipsis means. I unlock the door and start to say Rosenberg’s name when my breath catches in my lungs and my words are stolen. The whole lower level is filled with bouquets of white and “crimson” roses. And before I can even move, I hear the click of a camera.
“Alex!” She grins and takes more pictures of me.
“Did you—”
“No, no … I’m just capturing the moment. It’s all Oliver.”
Setting my bag down, I pull one of the roses from a vase and smell it.
Click. Click. Click.
“How did you get in here?”
“I have a key and I keep it under our entry planter with ours. Oliver suggested it. I understand why I needed the key, but his suggestion to keep it under our planter is weird.”
I grin. Alex hasn’t heard that story yet.
My phone vibrates. It’s Oliver and he’s sent me a picture with a message.