I swallow past the suffocating feeling in my throat. When Vivian opens her heart and shares such raw vulnerability, it’s like a vice around my chest. She has no idea how fierce my need to protect her is. The unbearable part for me is when I feel like the biggest danger to her is me and my past.
I go for a mood lightener. “Yeah, well I’ve never tried to imagine you before me. Probably because I still wake up every morning and question whether I dreamed you. And when I realize you’re my real, it’s like winning the lottery every damn day of my life.”
She giggles. “Lottery? Pfft … whatever. You must mean scratch tickets.”
“Nope. I’m talking the sole winner of the Mega Millions … every day.”
She ghosts the pads of her fingers over the thin patch of hair on my chest. “Oli?”
“Hmm?”
“Remember when you came to The Green Pot and needed some more plants that day we were really busy?”
“Yes.”
“Remember how long the line was and I let you budge and got you what you needed without having to wait?”
“Yes.”
“Remember I told you that you’d owe me a favor?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I remember.”
She looks up at me with an inward gaze. I can feel her heavy thoughts like a barrier between us.
“Go back to Portland.”
I shake my head before her last word. “I said I’m staying.”
“You need to go back.”
“Vivian, no, I don’t want to go back. Caroline doesn’t need me, her parents just think she does. But the truth is they’re as delusional as she is.”
“Oliver, you need to go back for you.”
“What does that even mean? Have you been talking to my mom?”
“You owe me.”
I clench my hair then rub my hands over my face, releasing a sarcastic laugh. “I owe you? Really? You’re trying to trade cutting in line for sending me back to Hell? No, I won’t. Yesterday morning, yes, I was going. Even last night at my parents’ house I planned on going. But I saw the pain in your eyes, Vivian. Hell, it’s dark in here and I still can see the goddamn pain in your eyes! I’m not going. Period.”
She rolls on top of me, our faces a breath apart. “Oli, don’t you see? The pain you see in my eyes is for you not because of you. Get on the plane tomorrow, but not for Caroline, or her parents, and not for your job, but for you, Oli. And if you can’t do that…” she blinks and her tears fall to my cheek “…then do it for me.”
I don’t want to go. When I said I was staying it was for me as much as her. But when a man loves a woman the way this man loves this woman, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. To the front of the battle line, the end of the earth, to my last breath … That’s how far I will go for her.
“For you, my love, only you.”
Chapter Thirty
Yep
Vivian
Another Monday, another school day, another day to miss Oliver. It’s been six weeks since he boarded the plane to Portland, six weeks since we made love until the sun peeked over the horizon, six weeks since he soothed me to sleep in his arms, and six weeks since he left me asleep in our bed and walked out the door without a goodbye.
After he agreed to go back, for me, I had two more requests. One, that he’d make love to me until we both fell into a post-coital coma, and two, that he’d leave without a goodbye. Missing him is like a dull pain; when I’m studying or sleeping, I don’t notice it so much. But the goodbye … it’s a slow, cruel torture.
We talk and text every day, even if it’s just a quick I love you. Oliver has been working for the firm during the day and visiting Caroline in the late afternoons into early evening. Her progress is slow but noticeable. They’ve changed her medications and she and Oliver have been able to have random conversations about the food she’s served or a show that’s on the television at the hospital. Neither have talked about Melanie or the events that led to that tragic day.
I still go to Oliver’s parents’ every Saturday night, and sometimes my parents drive out to join us. While Hugh is out rowing on Sunday mornings, Jackie comes over for coffee. This is when we have our heart-to-hearts about Oliver. She assumes Caroline is talking through Melanie’s death with the doctor in her private sessions and discussing her ongoing struggle with depression in group sessions. Oliver still refuses to see anyone or even talk to Jackie about any of it. I fear he’ll start to slip away from me and everyone else who loves him if he doesn’t.
“My mom wants to get these wedding invitations mailed out, but you haven’t given me Oliver’s address in Portland.”
“Just send it to his house. I’ll relay the details.” I set down my menu. Alex and I discovered we both have a break between classes on Mondays that hits right around lunch time. I’d planned on using it for study time at the library, but she insisted we use it for wedding planning over burgers and fries … okay, salad for her. Although at this point there’s not much left to plan.
“My mom thinks that’s poor etiquette, since he’s basically living in Portland.”
“Well he’s still making the mortgage payment here and I hope to God he still considers this home.” I slap her hand. “Why do you order a salad and then steal half of my fries. Just get the freakin’ fries.”
“Can’t. I have to fit into my wedding gown.”
“Sooo … my fries are void of calories?”
“Yep. They only have the power to make the person who ordered them fat.” She pauses mid-chew with half the fry still sticking out of her mouth. “Shit! Look at you, Flower. You’re a junk food addict with a bony ass. Everything in the universe has to find balance. So if these fries aren’t making you fat then…” she spits out the fry “…dammit! I’m not going to fit into my dress and it’s going to be all your fault!”
“My fault?”
“Yes, you’re a terrible influence on me. Would it kill you to get a salad once in a while? Skinny people die too, you know?”
“I eat salad.”
“When?” She stabs a piece of lettuce like she’s spear fishing.
“Almost every day.” I laugh. “When you don’t finish yours because you eat too many of my fries.”
She wrinkles her nose and squints at me. I giggle and take a huge bite of my hamburger, ketchup and grease dribble onto my plate.
She grabs her phone and snaps a picture.
“What the heck?” I protest through a mouthful of sandwich.
“All you celebs forget the paparazzi is just waiting to capture your embarrassing moments.”
“Are you seriously still sending pictures to Oliver?”
She smirks. “I am now.”
As I trench my way through all the required reading for this week, I get a text from Oliver. I was expecting a call or even better, some Skype-X.
Oliver: Having dinner with Brice & Mitchell. Talk to you tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be up, call me when you’re done.
Oliver: It’ll be late your time. Tomorrow. Night, my love.
And there I go … deflating like a leaky balloon. It’s one night, I know that. However, lately our phone conversations have been cut short, usually by Caroline’s parents or one of Oliver’s clients. Our messages have been less consistent, and Skype-X hasn’t happened for several weeks. Next week is Thanksgiving and Oliver has yet to purchase a plane ticket.