“Pick something,” she said, waving her hand at all of her clothes. Even her jeans were on hangers. Even her tee-shirts. She used her hands to throw her hair up and I watched her take a hair-tie out of a drawer.
I couldn’t stop watching her. It was nice seeing her in her own space. She was comfortable here in this room. I tore my eyes away when she looked back at me. The clothes were neatly arranged. I browsed through, a little thrilled at wearing her clothes. I frowned.
“I dunno. I hate choices. You pick. You’re the one that has to look at me.” I bit my lip and looked to her for help. There were too many things in here for me to even begin to choose.
“Fine,” she said, pulling her hand around my back and tugging me toward her as she scanned the selection with her eyes and one hand. “How about this?” She asked, pulling another dress from the rail. She was evil. It was a skinny black cocktail dress, tight and dangerously short. It was more for a dinner date than whatever it was we had planned.
“You want me to wear this? In the day time…. Around your house. To go to my house eventually and see my dad?” I shook my head. “You are the devil and you should be punished.” I reached out and tickled her sides, delighting when she jumped away from me, dropping the dress.
“Watch it. I bet this was expensive,” I teased, picking it up and putting it back. “Now, what do you really want me to wear?”
She moved forward and placed her arms behind my neck, pulling me in and kissing me tenderly.
“I can’t think about clothes,” she said, swaying there with me in all the excess space. Her eyes searched me lovingly. She reveled in taking in my form. “Just pick something, please,” she urged. “So I can play for you and we can eat?”
“Fine,” I sighed. I grabbed the first pair of pants I saw and a nearby shirt. The pants were black and slim and the top was white with black around the collar. If we left the house I was going to need something in the form of a jacket. I wished I’d thought to grab mine from home.
I stepped away from her and put the pants and shirt on, turning to the shoes. “Hmmm. What size do you wear?” My shoes would look ridiculous with these clothes.
“I’m an 8,” she said.
It was a size bigger than me. I shrugged and grabbed a pair of black ankle boots. “I’ll manage.” I set them down and slipped my feet into them, wishing that I’d thought about a change of clothes when I was running away from the house.
I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around, walking her out of the closet and into the bedroom. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand where I’d plugged it into her charger. “I guess I should let him know I’m alive.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Olivia asked.
“No, it’s not a big deal. I always would rather have you around anyway. I’ll wait till we’re downstairs to call so you can cook or whatever while I’m talking to him.”
“How’d you know I wanted to cook for you?” She smiled over at me shyly. “Come on,” she said, holding her hand out so that I’d take it.
“Because we both know you have to feed me,” I said, using both of my hands to grab hers and follow her down the stairs. We went through the hall and into the kitchen. It was huge.
She pulled me into the room and I didn’t quite know where to stand.
There was an island bar I could sit at and then it looked like further away there was an attached room with a very large table for entertaining. My eyes were drawn to the window seat off to the right of the room, a smaller table sat there and it seemed the most practical space for informal everyday eating.
“Go,” Olivia said. “It’s fine, really.”
She urged me to be apart from her just a tad.
As I sat down behind the smaller coffee table that faced toward the kitchen from the windows I looked ahead at her and watched as she moved about well-practiced, pressing buttons to start up music from some device I couldn’t see, and then moving to the fridge to pull out strawberries, blueberries, peaches, cheese and whipped cream, and then to the cupboards to pull out some sort of syrup and a few different pans.
The last thing she did was open a long cupboard and fetch a clean looking apron out and tie it on to protect herself. It was cute and retro looking, it almost looked like a pin-up dress and it was clean. I wondered where she had gotten it.
“Do you like orange juice?” She asked, looking over at me.
I nodded slightly and stared down at my phone.
With cooking she was quick and I felt awkward.
There was a large bowl of oranges on the counter and I watched her pull the peels off one-by-one in front of some fancy machine.
After she’d thrown the oranges into the machine and pressed for it to do something, she pulled a large knife out of a drawer and began to chop a few perfect strawberries ontop of a wooden cutting board. For whatever reason she seemed very versed in the art of cooking. She may as well have been a commercial for health and life. I laughed to myself and wondered if there was really anything she wasn’t good at.
I watched as juice poured out of the machine into a large clear glass.
Olivia licked her thumb, wiped her hands off on a rag and picked the glass up to bring it over to me. I liked the way she moved after sex. She moved like every motion was somewhat intense and pleasurable when she allowed herself time to feel it. And when she moved toward me I found it very hard not to notice all that.
“Here,” she said. “We have ice if you want it colder or slushed.”
She leaned in to hand it to me, eyes drunk on sleep and satisfaction. I moved forward and brushed my hand onto hers as I took it.
“Thanks.” It went for more than the orange juice. She always tried to understand what I needed in any given moment. She moved away and back to the kitchen and I sipped the juice and then set it aside on the table.
I went into my missed calls and stared at the three I had from him. I couldn’t run away anymore right now. I needed to talk to him. I hit the call button and put the phone to my ear.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Where the hell are you,” he groused.
“Hello to you too, Dad. I’m fine and I’m safe. I’m with Olivia at her house. Everything’s good.”
“Come home, right now,” he demanded.
“Dad.” I couldn’t really think of what argument I could press with him. “I don’t want to come home if you’re just going to try and keep me from seeing her.” It wouldn’t happen. Even if he did try I would just leave with her from school.
He let out a heavy sigh. I could almost see him running a hand through his hair back and forth and shaking his head like he always did. “I’m not exactly okay with your choices, Avery. But I’m not going to lock you up if that’s what you think. If you think you’re in love with this girl then I can’t do anything to make you feel differently. I should know, I did meet your mother in high school.”
He stopped talking but I could hear him breathing. We both kept silent for awhile until I couldn’t stand it.
“I want to go see Mom,” I said.
“Visiting hours end at four so we can go before then.”
I didn’t want to go with him. I chewed the inside of my lip and tapped my foot, watching Olivia move around the kitchen. “I’d rather go alone or take Olivia.”
He didn’t say anything. I could feel tension building and I swallowed, wanting so badly to think of something that would make him realize why I needed it to be this way.
“Fine. Do whatever you want. Just be home by ten tonight.”
I let out a breath and nodded my head. “Okay, I can do that.” I could smell something sweet. My mouth started watering. I needed two things; food and more Olivia. “Dad, I gotta go but I’ll talk to you later. Can you text me the address where Mom is?”
“Yeah, okay. And Avery….”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Tell your mom I said hi and that I’ll see her on Monday.”
My lip trembled
a little. They used to be so in love and so close and Adam’s death just ripped them apart. They fought so often over everything after that. Most of all Mom’s inability to function and her need to drink. Now, he was asking me to give her a message from him like it was normal.
“I will. Okay, bye.”
“I love you,” he said.
I hung up right after he said it. To tell him that I loved him was impossible right now. I did on some level. He was my dad. We had so many good memories while I was growing up and some bad ones too but right now I could only focus on getting through this day.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and grabbed the juice, joining Olivia in the kitchen. She was standing over the stove, pushing things and watching two frying pans and one small sauce pan like some sort of stern scientist.
“What’s cookin?”
“Oh,” she said, jumping a little since I’d snuck up quietly. “Nothing complicated,” she laughed and scratched her head. “Just fruit crepes with some sausage on the side. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”
“Sounds good.” She’d cooked the fruit down to create some delicious looking hot syrupy topping, half liquid and half not. The crepes looked light and fluffy, she’d put some sort of fancy cheese inside.
The smell of the sausage filled me up. I had only had crepes once. They were good but that was at some dingy restaurant when I was traveling cross country with my parents.
“So, my dad told me that I should be home by ten tonight and he’s supposed to text me the address to where my mom is. Visiting hours end at four.”
“Hmm…” Olivia mused. “Are we happy or sad about the whole home at ten thing? Did he make you angry? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It went so much better than I expected.” I put my hands on the kitchen island and leaned forward, lifting myself off the floor a little. “I expected him to yell and tell me that he was going to come get me. He even gave me a message to give to my mom. It was kind of weird actually. He told me he wasn’t going to lock me up or try to keep me from you. So, that’s the part that really surprised me. He’s still not thrilled though.”
“Sounds like he’s been thinking about you,” she said. “Perhaps realizing what his absence has meant in your life. That’s a good thing,” she said, looking up at me with a smile after flipping a crepe and shutting that burner off altogether. When she saw my face though her smile faded a bit and she seemed sorry for her happiness or her words. “I know it can’t make up for anything,” she said, turning to walk over to the cupboards and pull two plates out to put the food on.
“Yeah, but you’re right.” I wanted to be adult about this and just try to meet him halfway but he needed to know what he did and how it affected me and Mom. “He left me to take care of her. By myself. I had to go from being the teenager to the adult, a parent of my parent. It was really messed up and I have to make him realize that. I just don’t know how to talk to him.”
“Oh sweetie,” Olivia said turning to face me and touch at my arm and my face. She came close but then stopped herself, pulling her hands back nervously. “I know that. I know,” she stopped herself again. “It was just good to get some good news,” she said, turning back to her empty plates and leading the food down onto them evenly to distract herself from us. As a finishing touch she smothered the crepes with whipped cream and my mouth definitely watered. “I know he can’t make up for…” Her voice trailed off sadly. She turned back to see me, almost breathless with her regret. “I know,” she said, locking eyes with me and finally settling.
Once she’d stared too long she let herself lightly scoff a bitter laugh and turn away to get rid of her apron and find us both some silverware.
I watched her a second. She picked the plates up and began to walk off toward some other place.
Curiously, I followed.
We walked out of the kitchen and back toward the main entrance of her house. Instead of going straight out the door Olivia went to the right into a new room I’d never been in before. It wasn’t too large or too small. What it was though was well decorated. It was almost like a small museum with expensive paintings on the wall, fine seating that looked brand new. Many instruments were strategically placed on stands or fancy hooks or really just mounted up delicately along the walls.
My eyes followed her right away to the large grand piano. It was sleek black, with its top propped up and all the strings inside pulled taught and exposed.
“Sit,” Olivia said, setting her plates down on the coffee table next to the place where she’d play. The black piano sat in the corner, as much as a thing like that can sit to the side without really seeming to take up most of the space. It was meant to be in front of the windows so that anyone could see her play from outside. I noticed that about it right way. The view out one set of windows, the ones directly behind her, was a small section of the front porch. And the side view was a path that led into the yard and was lined by vibrant expensive looking plants and chubby exotic palms.
Olivia scooted in to sit on the bench.
“What do you want me to play?” She asked, looking over at me. I could tell she was still a tiny bit nervous but definitely trying to cheer me up.
“Hmmmm,” I pondered the possibilities.
“Metamorphosis. Do you know that one?”
I cut a perfect bite of the crepe with my fork and felt it melt in my mouth upon first touch. The taste was insane.
“Which Metamorphosis?” She asked.
“Philip Glass.”
“Oh,” she smiled knowingly, as if I’d pleased her.
Carefully, and without a sound, she lifted her hands up to the keys and carefully placed them down.
I could see her preparing herself, mentally taking stock.
When she set her fingers down and actually began to push on the keys it was like magic. I could see her losing herself.
I stopped to watch. She was transformed completely. Playing made her come alive in a different way than I’d ever seen. She wasn’t worried about what to say or do. So often, she would just be silent and let things pass. Here, she wasn’t speaking but she wasn’t quiet either. She soared within the music. Her emotions showed outside. They were not contained by her body or her will.
When she played, her emotions freely roamed her face and flowed from her hands, making an action that produced beauty. She played on and on. I forgot where I was, who I was. There was only the sound. Notes floating past me, vibrations hitting my body and turning me into a part of the piece rather than something separate or a party to it.
When she got to the middle of the second piece, tears formed in her eyes. I could see them even from where I was. They pooled waiting for the right chord to strike and then they tumbled over, running down her face to hit her fingers as they flew over the keys. Each time her fingertips touched the keys they spread the tears across the surface. She cried freely and I knew not to go to her.
It was coming from her heart. It wasn’t hurting her, it was healing her. We were bound before this but seeing her play, hearing her sadness and pain... She spoke more in music than she did in words. This was her language. I was one of the few that got to hear it. It was possible to fall in love two-fold because I did in those minutes where she showed me who she was.
Chapter Ten
Olivia
In the kitchen it had been hard to know what to do. When Avery was thinking, I couldn’t read her. What she had said about her dad sounded like good news.
But I knew… I knew it couldn’t make up for a damn thing.
I brought the food into the music room.
I wasn’t supposed to eat in there. Even when my mom wanted me to entertain she only ever brought drinks into that room and then she’d pour them herself being extra careful and watching her guests with nerves as they drank freely, completely unaware of her fears about the instruments becoming destroyed. I don’t even know why she cared. She had money enough to replace the instruments and rest, being untouched, could hurt the instru
ments much more than anything else. Her thoughts confused me but they lived inside of me too and I knew of them so I had to hear them all when I was in her place.
I led Avery over to the coffee table so that she’d sit down.
The room was still, as always, and I wondered what she’d think of it?
To me it was so familiar. The paint, sharp and blue, on the walls, as blue as that feeling in my chest, the one that could never be matched, that one that’d been there since I was a very little girl alone here when I’d play.
Other children had friends. They would be outside laughing. They would go play.
I was here. I spent my days in this room. I wanted to be here. I wanted this.
Music was my friend, my only real friend. I trusted music. It couldn’t hurt me like other things.
Avery was probably wondering if I could play everything.
I caught a glimpse of her eyes sparkling off of the silver flutes and the flamenco guitars and even the harp that we had in the corner that was oversized and far prettier than it needed to be.
I could play them. I could play them all. But we were here because of this.
I walked over to the piano and sat down on the soft familiar bench, making sure my dress wasn’t going to get in my way. I was equally glad I’d decided to wait on getting shoes. I felt my toes touch the cold familiar pedals and I smiled to myself at the familiarity. It was a brief moment of peace.
The key guard was up this time.
That was strange but I tried not to remember last night.
I looked over to Avery who was sitting on the couch. She was trying her best to act natural. “What do you want me to play?” I asked. I only hoped I could cheer her up, the day she’d been having, that’s all I hoped and I hated myself when I couldn’t, even worse I hated myself when I made matters worse.
She thought for a song before settling on Metamorphosis.
“Which Metamorphosis?”
There were several. I couldn’t guess.
“Philip Glass,” she said.
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