I have zero leverage to be angry with him or even to have a pity party for myself. Oliver is in Portland because I told him to go. I imagined him sorting through his issues with Caroline and her family, or visiting Melanie’s grave. The naive but hopeful part of me dared to imagine him getting some help for himself too. But what I didn’t envision was dinner with the partners, lunch with clients, and less and less communication with me.
Me: Love you <3
Wait.
Wait some more.
Needy.
Nervous.
Going crazy!
I read two more chapters then check my phone. Nothing. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Nothing. Then just as I crawl in bed with Rosenberg and my English assignment, my phone vibrates.
Oliver: Yep!
Yep? YEP! His response to I love you is yep?
I’m angry … really angry. Swiping my finger across my phone screen, I contemplate calling Alex, but I know she’s at Sean’s tonight. Then I consider calling Jackie. She told me to call her any time about anything. But what would I say? Hey, sorry to wake you, but Oliver said “yep.”
Yeah, she might start charging me if that’s the type of craziness I start calling her about.
This morning calls for extra coffee. I really need to treat sleep like it’s of vital importance to my body. Maybe I can catch up over the holidays. Yeah right, dealing with Bridezilla and a bachelorette party. Sounds like I’ll be getting lots of sleep.
I take Rosenberg out once more before I head off to class. Grabbing my bag, I notice I missed a text from Oliver this morning.
Oliver: Good morning. Watching the sunrise and thinking of you.
Ugh! I ignore his message until I can decipher if my mood is forgiving and cheerful or begrudging and spiteful. As I head out the door, messenger bag slung over my shoulder and my insulated cup of coffee in the side pocket, I decide to be somewhere in the middle.
Me: Okay
My unstoppable smirk shows my inward satisfaction.
Oliver: Are you in class?
Me: Nope
Oliver: Are you okay?
And here comes payback …
Me: Yep
My phone rings.
“Hi.” I answer in the most diplomatic voice I can muster.
“Have I done something wrong?”
I answer without answering. My hesitation says it all.
“Am I supposed to know what I did?”
I look ahead. My building is approximately fifty yards away, so I can either lie and play the immature relationship game—hang up and be pissed all day … still immature—or lay it all out in plain sight.
“I was disappointed when we didn’t get to talk last night, which I can live with. But then you said yep.”
“Yep?”
“Yep.”
“You said yep to me this morning.”
I sigh. “Because you said it to me last night. I was making a point.”
“When did I say yep to you last night? And what point were you trying to make?” I feel the exasperation in his voice.
“I said I love you and you texted yep. My point is that nobody likes to be told yep!”
“It’s just an informal word for yes!”
“Well it was the wrong response, Oliver! I love you is a statement, not a fucking question!” I cringe the moment I realize people are staring at me. I’m really not the girl who throws around f-bombs in public. Veering onto the grass, I hide behind a large tree trunk.
“Vivian I … I’m sorry. I was in the middle of dinner last night and trying to text you while fielding questions from Brice and Mitchell. I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop.” I blow out a long breath. “It’s not your fault. I overreacted. I’ve been a little stressed lately and I just …” I’m dying to say the words I feel, I miss you, but I don’t. “I’m sorry. I have to get to class.”
“Vivian?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
I smirk and roll my eyes, feeling embarrassed, ridiculous, and in spite of my scholarly surroundings, a bit stupid.
“Yep.”
Oliver releases the most genuine and spontaneous laugh that erases all the tension from the past five minutes.
At five thirty there’s a knock at the door. It’s a delivery guy from my favorite Indian restaurant, compliments of Oliver. An hour later there’s another knock on the door: a flower delivery guy. I set them on the counter and read the card.
I read that fifteen roses means “I’m truly sorry, please forgive me.” So I sent you eighteen because three means “I love you.”
~ Oliver
After the initial ah-I’m-the-luckiest-girl-ever moment fades, I chastise myself for my childish, insecure, teenaged girl behavior. He has to wonder if he’s trading one completely unstable woman for another. I pray to God he hasn’t told anyone about our argument and his guilty need to apologize. I can just imagine that conversation.
“Hey, Oliver, why the grand gesture?”
“I texted Vivian the word ‘yep.’”
If that doesn’t say psycho alert, then I don’t know what does.
I know he’s probably with Caroline, but I can’t resist shooting off a quick text.
Me: I’m not worthy.
I’m surprised by his immediate response.
Oliver: Tell me about it. I just got the photo. You have some serious explaining to do!
My breath catches as my mind reels with confusion.
Me: What photo?
Oliver: We’ll talk later.
His left-field comment makes it impossible for me to think about anything else. Photo … what photo? I’ve been out to the bar a few more times with Chelsea, Felicia, and Tess, and we all took goofy pictures with our phones, but I was never with another guy or doing anything that should upset Oli.
Time drags on while I reread the same page in my book over and over. Finally, like a stay of execution, my phone vibrates. Oli sent me a photo … the photo. Then it rings.
“Oh my gosh! You shit, I thought you were mad.”
“I am mad.”
I put him on speaker and stare at the photo that Alex took of me at lunch yesterday—the one that makes me look like a rabid animal attacking a hamburger. It was so good, but even I have to cringe looking at the ketchup-laden grease dripping from it.
“You do realize my dad’s a cardiologist, right? If this got out it would be such an embarrassment to our family.”
I laugh and even though he can’t see me, my face flushes.
“I think it was a turkey burger.”
“Vivian.”
“At least that’s what I ordered, but come to think of it, the waiter may have mixed up my order and I didn’t have time to wait for him to correct it—”
“Love, you can’t lie worth shit.”
I laugh.
“You asked me about Thanksgiving a while back. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to come home. I’m really sorry.”
He just stole the smile he put on my face ten seconds ago.
“Why not?”
“Doug and Lily think my absence on the holiday would be bad for Caroline, and the workload I’ve taken on is more than I expected.”