“We didn’t order take out,” he says.
“I’m here to see Calliope, my sister,” I inform him.
“Cal?” he asks and studies me. “You kind of look like her, but uptight.”
“Is she here?”
“No, she moved out a week ago,” he states.
“Who are you?”
“Ron,” he answers. “I’m subleasing this place.”
Subleasing the place? I’m blown away by those three words. She’s not allowed to do that. Did he even sign a contract? Because I don’t remember signing one where I agreed to let this man live in this apartment. I take a deep breath and ask calmly, “Did she leave you a forwarding address?”
He shakes his head. “No. You should talk to your sister, not me.”
I hate to agree with him, but there’s nothing I can say to him that’ll make this right. Other than kicking him out of the place because technically he is living here without my consent.
“Thank you, I appreciate your time,” I say and leave.
On my way to the car, I dial Callie’s number. She sends me to voicemail, so I try again, again, and again until she finally answers, “What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“Far away from you,” she states.
Why do you always have to answer like a petulant fifteen-year-old? I want to protest, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I take it you made the decision to move out of the state. Did it occur to you to tell us about it?”
“As I said the last time we spoke, I’m done with your meddling,” she comments. “In fact, I’m done with you. Lose my number.”
“Well then, when will you be sending me the money I loaned you to buy your car and the deposit to rent the apartment where this Ron character lives?” I question. “Furthermore, this apartment is under my name too, and I didn’t sign any agreement to sublease the place to him. My name is on that leasing contract.”
“If I were Persy, you would’ve helped me move. Instead, you’re demanding money that I don’t have,” she argues. “It’s a verbal contract which should be binding. He is good for it. Don’t worry about what can happen to your precious name.”
I sigh. “That argument is so old it doesn’t have the same effect. Calliope, our parents are going to be heartbroken and worried if you don’t tell them where you are. At least give them a courtesy call.”
“They are the reason I’m running away from this family. Have you realized that they aren’t normal? They embarrass us. While growing up, I could never bring friends to the house because I never knew what they would do,” she explains. “Please, don’t tell me you aren’t ashamed of them. How many times have you brought a boyfriend to the house? None, because you know it’s horrifying to introduce them to Octavio and Edna Brassard. And then, there’s Persephone. She’s a famous sexologist.”
Our parents are unique. Yes, they can be a handful and we have to control their narrative sometimes. However, I’ll take those two above many other parents who are abusive, neglectful, or plain. Persy is an influencer, a therapist, and yes, she markets herself as a sexologist. There’s nothing wrong with her career. I’d be concerned if she was a criminal.
“We never had normal,” she continues, and I laugh. “Stop laughing at me!”
I clear my throat and say, “I laugh because you’re not making sense. You sound like a petulant child having a tantrum because you’re not getting your way.”
“You never take me seriously, Nyx. You think you are the smartest one of us. Just because you have a fancy office, a nice house, and a luxury car, you think that you are better than us. You are not!”
“Callie, stop while you’re ahead,” I warn her.
“You’re upset because I’m telling you the truth. And the truth always hurts. You’re pathetic, Nyx. Your life is fucking sad. Just boring and plain like you.”
She’s not wrong about being boring or having a life. I’m nothing like Persy or her. One thing I hate about my baby sister is that when she strikes, she hits where it hurts the most.
“Listen, Callie, we love you even when you’re rude to us because you are our little sister. I stopped liking you a long time ago. You became this entitled woman that I can’t stand, and you know what…I’m done being the one trying to keep this family together,” I say. “Not only that, I’m done with you. If you want to play martyr and tell the world that you escaped your crazy family, that’s up to you. Just don’t come back groveling for money.”
I hang up and fire up a text to Persy.
Nyx: What are you up to?
Persy: I’m hanging out with Ford. Need me?
Nyx: No, I wanted to gossip about your hot grumpy neighbor. I guess we’ll have to do it another time.
Persy: Liar. What’s happening?
I smile because she knows me too well.
Nyx: Nothing important, I swear. Talk to you soon.
Persy: Love you, Nyx.
Nyx: Love you, Pers.
As much as I would love to tell her what is happening with Callie, I don’t do it. One of these days, I’ll give her the Spark Notes. I just wish I had someone in my life who was there for me when I feel like the weight on my shoulders is too heavy to carry. Maybe I just have to dump it in some abandoned alley and be done with everyone.
I drive back to my house where I place my leftovers in the refrigerator and put on my pajamas. Instead of turning on the television to find some numbing tv show to watch, I pull out my tablet from my messenger bag and start working on my next case.
Callie isn’t wrong. I don’t have a life. Boring... I don’t think I’m boring. I just don’t have time to let my hair loose and just live for pleasure. I should add that to my to-do list. Maybe at the bottom of it. One day I’ll get to it.
Continue Reading Didn’t Expect You
Olivia
We don’t meet people by accident. Every relationship we have has a cause.
Mom always says people come into our lives to teach us a lesson, to learn from us, or to love. Love isn’t necessarily romantic love, though.
It’s love of your friends, coworkers, and, well, yes, lovers.
Some people stay for a season. Others might remain for a lifetime. Nurturing relationships can be daunting when people come and go in your life like a revolving door.
But see, the nature of life is constant change.
It’s ironic when we, as humans, are social by nature. We seek company, comfort, and security from each other. We all want to be loved and to have a sense of permanency.
To be loved by our parents, our families, our friends, but the one love we all seek is the romantic, head over heels, I can’t live without my soulmate kind of love.
Are soulmates real? Some swear by them. Others are still alone, searching the four corners of the world for something that might be a fantasy. Do I believe in them? I do, but I’m certainly not looking for anyone. I’m way too young to even think about a serious relationship. At some point, I hope to have what Dad does and be less like Mom.
Mom doesn’t believe in love or soulmates. She’s practical—or maybe cynical.
She says you love; you release them when your time is over, and you move on to the next person. Dad swears there’s one person for you. Of course he does. He’s been with his husband since I was seven. I love Dan as a second father, but my parents’ divorce and their relationship kind of ruined my life.
I sound selfish, but I’m not. Their custody agreement has been daunting for me.
After the divorce, Mom moved back to Canada, where she’s from. Since it was the middle of the school year, I stayed with Dad and Dan. The next school year, I moved with Mom. That should’ve been the end of it. Olivia stays with her mother. She sees her father every other holiday and lives bitterly ever after.
Things are never that easy when it comes to my life. Since then, I have moved between countries every other year. I’m not kidding here. They decided it’d be best for me to be with them one full year at a time.
/> If a psychologist got a hold of me, they’d have a field day. I’m sure they could write a paper or even a book called Child from an Amicable Nonsense Divorce. If my parents had had a typical divorce and custody agreement, I wouldn’t be stranded in JFK, begging Dad to pay for a hotel room.
“You made your choice, Olivia Evelyn. You should’ve been here yesterday.”
Ouch, he’s throwing the middle name.
“My last final was earlier today. I couldn’t just skip it because my dad thought it’d be best if I made it home by Sunday,” I remind him, keeping my voice under control. He is infuriating. I’m not in charge of my school’s schedule.
“Well, I don’t understand why you flew to New York instead of Toronto.”
To save three hundred dollars, I don’t answer. I used the money to buy him and Dan their Christmas presents. And I bought a cute pair of boots I found on sale.
“I like to be thrifty, Dad,” I defend myself. “Going through New York seemed like a good idea.”
“What did you say last summer?” he pauses, “Right, you’re an adult. I should respect your decisions. Well, as an adult, figure out what you’re going to do.”
“You want me to loiter around the airport like that Tom Hanks movie? Let me remind you that this is real life. The stores and restaurants aren’t even open. Do you want me to starve?”
Okay, I’m laying it thick on the drama, but he’s being unreasonable.
“Liv, I love you, but this was your decision, not mine. You’re going to have to figure out what to do for the next day.”
“Couple of days,” I correct him. “They didn’t find any seats for me until Wednesday.”
“There aren’t any rooms available in any hotel. Even the suites are booked,” I hear Dan’s voice. “Can we do anything else?”
“I told you we weren’t paying for a room, Danny boy,” Dad says.
“We can’t leave her stranded,” Dan, who is the voice of reason between the two, argues.
“Well, you just said it. There aren’t any rooms available.”
“Fine, I’ll die of hypothermia,” I claim. It’s time to pull the ultimate weapon: Guilt trip. “Just remember this is on you. I want to make sure you write on my grave, ‘Olivia Evelyn Sierra. Loving daughter. Wannabe astronaut. She never grew up to save the world. She died of hypothermia because she wanted to be an adult.’”
I hear a snort close by. When I turn, a guy is staring at me, amused at something I said, or just laughing at me because I might have something on my face. Who knows at this rate? It’s been a long Monday. My only hope is that I didn’t flunk my test or I’m doomed.
“Leave the dramatics to your mother,” Dad states.
I move my focus from tall, hot, dark, and yummy to my conversation. Guys like him are not part of my menu. I haven’t graduated from happy meals yet. Ugh, I need to stop speaking in Holly’s lingo. I sound like her and her latest trend. She compares men with food. According to her, fooling around is a happy meal. Eating an entrée is going all the way with a guy.
“Liv, it’s too close to Christmas, and there aren’t any rooms available in the area. I could search in New Jersey, but I doubt you’ll find a cab to take you there,” Dan says.
“Hey, Dan,” I greet him. “How upset is Dad?”
“The usual. He’ll cool down by the time you’re home, sweetheart,” he assures me. “I’ll transfer some money to your debit card. If I find a hotel room, I’ll call you. Stay at the airport.”
“Thank you, Dan,” I say, chastising myself because I forgot my phone charger in the car.
“Call if you need me. Please, don’t be reckless.”
“I’m a daredevil,” I joke.
“You’re not,” he states. “But sometimes you don’t think about the consequences—like your father.”
When Mom says I’m a lot like my father, I’m not sure if she does it to insult me, complain about my personality, or remind me he’s despicable. He’s not. After so many years, I’ve learned to differentiate between her spiteful remarks and reality. When Dan says it, it’s just a statement. He doesn’t say it to hurt me. I also know he adores Dad. So, even if I do stuff that he doesn’t approve of, I amuse him and he loves me.
“Love you, Dan,” I say before hanging up.
“Love you too, Livy girl.”
I wish I could call Mom and ask her to bail me out of this one. She won’t.
My parents are upset because I changed their schedule. They prefer not to split holidays, summers, or birthdays. Unfortunately for them, I’m an adult. Their custody agreement doesn’t apply anymore. Fortunately for me, I can go wherever I want.
My phone rings, and it’s Holly, my best friend.
“Hi.”
“Hey, girl,” she squeals. I move the phone away from my ear.
“You seem to be excited.”
“My bestie is almost home.”
Holly and I have been friends since we were in preschool. Her family lived right across the street from us. When my parents divorced, Dad and Dan made sure I stayed in touch with Holly and a few other friends from the neighborhood. Out of all my friends, Holly is the one with whom I connect with the most.
“Or she won’t be there until Wednesday.” I sigh and tell her everything that’s happened to me. The flat tire on my way to Halifax airport, the storm, and my father not paying for my hotel room.
“You want me to check if there are any hotels?”
“I only have two hundred dollars.” I don’t know how much money Dan is going to add to my account, but I’d rather not misuse it. What if I have a real emergency? “The only hotel I could afford is one of those where they give you a brick for a pillow and a bat to kill the roaches.”
Again, the guy close by laughs. I itch to reach for my camera and snap a picture of him.
He’s dreamily handsome. He’s tall with dark, sexy, unruly hair. His dark scruffy jaw makes him look older, but his big dark melted chocolate eyes tell a different story. He’s young. The guy is probably in college. He has a boyish smile and a dimple in his left cheek.
A shiver runs up and down my spine when his eyes sweep my body from head to toe and winks at me.
Melting.
He’s so hot.
“Do I amuse you?”
He smirks and winks. “You’re entertaining.”
“Who is that?”
“Some guy who is listening to my conversation,” I respond.
“Is he hot?”
“You have no idea.”
“Take a picture of him,” Holly requests.
“At the moment, I’m busy trying to figure out how not to die of hypothermia, hunger, or being kidnapped by a yeti.”
“That’s part of the Himalayan folklore,” the hot guy butts into my conversation. “If he even existed, he wouldn’t catch a plane just to come and attack you.”
I glare at him. “Thank you, Wikipedia, for your useful information.”
“Just trying to save you from your wild imagination.” He pretends to tip an imaginary hat.
Holly laughs. “He sounds pretty hot and funny.”
“If you’re into that kind of thing,” I pretend to be unamused, but if I weren’t in the middle of an existential crisis, I’d be all over the guy.
He’s a hot, funny college guy. We don’t have many of those in Kemptown, Nova Scotia. Okay, now I’m exaggerating. There are hot college guys, but they don’t notice me.
“So, when do I see you?” Holly asks.
“Wednesday,” I confirm. “Maybe you can pick me up because Dad isn’t happy with me.”
“The man adores you. I’m sure he already forgave you.”
“Or not.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I don’t have much battery. You might not hear from me until I land,” I say and hang up.
The hot guy is still looking at me. “Why are you here?” I ask him. Although, I wanted to start with something like, “Are you a serial killer of sorts?”
He smirks. “Obviously, I like to visit airports to watch people when I’m bored.”
“I bet it is better than cable.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. “A lot better than The Amazing Race,” he concludes.
“I love that show,” I claim excitedly. “Can you imagine traveling from country to country to those places only the locals know about and finding clues?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that great.”
“Were you a contestant?”
“No. I traveled with my parents around the world,” he states.
I look around. “Where are your parents?”
“They live in Colorado,” he answers. “I was on my way to visit them, but…”
“Stranded, huh?”
“Indeed. I heard you don’t have any place to go.”
“Eavesdropping much?” I arch an eyebrow and give him a judging glare.
“Let’s just say you don’t know the meaning of inside voice,” he explains. “So, did they kick you out of the dorm?”
I frown. “They didn’t kick me—Oh,” I pause and clear my throat instead of laugh. “I go to school in Canada. Instead of flying through Toronto, I came to New York. Not the brightest decision, I just won’t admit it. How about you?”
“Listen, I know this is a weird offer, but if one of my sisters was in your position, I hope someone would offer them a place where they can stay. Would you like to come to my apartment?”
“Ha!” I stare at my phone that’s almost out of battery. “Is this the part where the gullible foreigner says yes, and you lock me in some weird warehouse?”
He laughs. “Then your epitaph will read, ‘Olivia Evelyn. Died by the hands of the airport killer.’”
“You forgot to add, ‘Loving daughter. Wannabe astronaut. She died a virgin by the hands of’”—I look at him—“‘The Hottie Killer.’ After they apprehend you, the headlines will read something like: He lured his victims with acts of kindness. They’ll catch you when you try to kill your fourteenth victim.”
“Why is that?” He crosses his arms, and one hand goes to his chin. He scratches it and says, “I’m smart enough to know how to lure you, how to dispose of the bodies, and look like a good guy. Where did I go wrong?”
Until Next Time Page 21