Idle Bloom

by Jewel E. Ann

  “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.”

  “How are you doing, Oli?”

  “Me? I’m fine, why?” The confusion in his voice is disheartening. “I mean, sometimes it’s frustrating waiting for Caroline to make a noticeable improvement. Her parents say they see it, even her doctors say she’s doing better, but I don’t see it. I just wonder how long it’s going to take.”

  “How long what’s going to take?”

  “For her to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  I hear the frustration in his sigh. “To understand the ramifications of what she did and that she needs to let me go!”

  My body goes rigid. His icy voice holds so much bitterness and unleashed anger.

  “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to—”

  “Oliver, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. The whole reason I’m here is to protect you from all of this shit. That’s why I never mention it.”

  “But if you want to talk about it—”

  “No! I don’t want or need to talk about it. I just … I just need you. I need you to tell me about your day and Rosenberg, and the wedding plans that are driving you crazy. That’s the life I want and if I can’t have it right now, I at least want to imagine it, if only for a little while every night on the phone with you.”

  I wipe the tears he can’t see. He doesn’t want my pity. I get that. I’ve been there. But Oliver is stuck. He’s in this dark hole and he can’t find his way out. And it doesn’t matter how many helping hands reach down to pull him back into the light, because he can’t see them either. So I do all I can. I give him a glimpse of the life he’s chasing.

  “I don’t think my English instructor’s first language is English. I mean, really? Shouldn’t that be some sort of requirement? Rosenberg has taken a real liking to your old running shoes. How crazy is that? Aren’t dogs supposed to have a heightened sense of smell?”

  Oli laughs and if there weren’t thousands of miles between us I’d swear he’s laughing through his own tears.

  “Alex is the typical Bridezilla, only to be trumped by her mom’s wedding OCD behavior. Which, by the way, if you’re an etiquette snob then you might as well know now that your invitation is being sent to your house here.”

  I pause. He doesn’t respond.

  “You’ll be at the wedding, right?”

  “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss seeing you dressed to the nines for anything.”

  “Well, Mr. Konrad, the feeling is mutual. You flew off with all your sexy suits. I have yet to see you wearing one. I’m wondering if it will replace my leather work boots fantasy.”

  “Fantasy? You can’t call it a fantasy if you’ve lived it. And as I recall, I made that fantasy a reality.” His voice drops a notch to fuck-me-against-the-truck sexy, and I have to squeeze my legs together.

  “Yes, you certainly did. Goodnight, Oli. Love you.”

  “But we were just getting started.”

  “Exactly. If I don’t go now, I’ll never get this chapter read.”

  “Cold shower it is. Goodnight.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Phone Sex

  Oliver

  I’m in Hell and I can’t tell anyone. So if I don’t make it out I hope Vivian knows that this was how far I was willing to go for her. My time with Caroline is accomplishing nothing, except feeding my hatred for her. How can she be so self-absorbed? Her refusal to make real progress is just for the attention. She probably knows I’m leaving as soon as she’s stable again, which means I’m not the incentive to get better that her parents think I am.

  The job is the only thing that’s saving me right now. But even it’s starting to wear on me. Too many people know about my past. It didn’t make national news, but it was a big deal around here. I have clients with their own problems, who think their four-hundred dollar an hour time spent with me should be used to console their wounded attorney. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Brice and Mitchell are giving me all the female clients just to see
if I break.

  Today, the day most people pause and give thanks, I’m with Caroline, Doug, and Lily. Nothing beats Thanksgiving during visiting hours at a mental hospital. Caroline looks quite pleased that I’m here and in turn, so do Doug and Lily.

  “How are Mom and Dad?” Caroline asks.

  I look at Doug and Lily then back at her. She must be digressing, delusional again, because she can’t recognize her own parents.

  She stares at me. “Oliver, your parents, I asked how they’re doing.”

  My fingers dig into the arm of the chair as my jaw clenches. I’m used to people baiting me. I’ve experienced it with my job. Hell, I’ve counseled clients on how to stay calm on the witness stand during cross-examination, but all that knowledge and self-control is lost. I can’t find it in the very moment I need it most.

  “Mom and Dad?” I grit through my teeth.

  “Oliver—” Doug stands.

  I hold up my hand to stop him.

  “When you gave them a grandchild, my mom said you could call them that.”

  “Oliver,” Lily pleads in desperation.

  I ignore her.

  “But I’m pretty damn sure that you lost that privilege when you suffocated their granddaughter with a fucking pillow!”

  My chest heaves with contempt as I stand over her. Caroline brings her knees to her chest and cries, breaking the silence I caused among the other patients and visitors. The more she cries the less I hear. The blood pulsing in my ears is deafening.

  I’m being ushered out by some guy in white scrubs, but I’m not resisting. In fact, by the time we reach the main floor I’m sprinting out of the building. The automatic doors open as I approach and the cool fall breeze greets me. My lungs draw in air with marathon exhaustion as I hunch over with my hands on my knees.

  I hate her so much.

  *

  This was a mistake of epic proportions. I should be in Boston sitting around the dinner table with my family … with Vivian. Instead, I’m weaving through traffic in a race to Doug and Lily’s in a fucking rental car. Why didn’t I drive my car out here? Oh that’s right, because I wasn’t supposed to be here this long!

  Staying with them is no longer an option. I have to get the hell out of here. I pack my bags and drive to an extended-stay hotel. What I really want is to purchase a one-way ticket back to Boston and say goodbye to Portland forever. I need nothing more than to crawl in bed with Vivian and let the rest of the world fall into oblivion. However, what I’m going to do is stay just long enough to make sure Brice and Mitchell can handle the clients I’ve taken over for Valerie that will require longer services.

  “Hey, happy Thanksgiving!” Just the sound of her voice alone takes the edge off.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you too. I really needed to hear your voice.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  I fall back on the hotel bed and close my eyes. “It is now.”

  “I figured you’d still be at the hospital.”

  “She wasn’t having a good day, so I left early.” I’m a cowardly ass for lying. I don’t know how I’m going to go back home and tell Vivian that all this time away from her has been for nothing.

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping for your sake she’d have a better day.”

  “Are your parents there?”

  “Yes, our moms are in the kitchen making magic. I just stuck the pies in the oven.”

  “You made the pies?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe. Yes, I made pumpkin and pecan.”

  “Are they baking or reheating?”

  “Baking, you idiot. Your mom helped me make the perfect crusts and my mom supervised the filling stage. So as long as the timer on the oven doesn’t fail, I will have bragging pictures to send to both you and Alex.”

  “I’m impressed and so bummed that I’m not there.”

  “Me too. We all miss you and can’t wait to see you.”

  It hurts to breathe. God, I miss her. Our first Thanksgiving together is our first Thanksgiving apart.

  “Miss you too. Is Chance behaving? Is he fully dressed?”

  She laughs. “He’s on his very best behavior because he brought a guest.”

  “What? On Thanksgiving?”

  “Ronnie.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, way. You know he hired her via email. Well, that’s because her family lives in Ohio. She’s going back home for Christmas but decided to stay in Boston for Thanksgiving so Chance invited her.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “Let me just say it would take more than an electric carving knife to cut through the sexual tension.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. I’m kind of horny just from being around them.”

  “Fuck! Vivian! Is anyone listening to you?”

  I have to adjust myself because the idea of her being horny makes me hard as steel.

  She giggles. “No, I snuck off to the guest bedroom for some privacy and because the TV was too loud.”

  “Sooo … you’re alone?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “And horny?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  I’m a fucking disaster. My mind is all over the place. I just lied to the one person I swore I’d never lie to again, but in spite of it all, I’m still a guy and I need this.

  “Lock the door.”

  “Already did.”

  “God, I love you.”

  “I’m wearing a light pink lace push up bra and matching thong.”

  Sweet, sweet Jesus. I didn’t even have to ask what she’s wearing. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this anxious, and the crap part is I’m not actually seeing her. Dammit!

  “What are you wearing over that?”

  “Nothing, babe. I removed my sweater and jeans while we were talking about the pies.”

  Oh fuck me, this is not happening. I unfasten my jeans and slide them down enough to free myself.

  “Oli … I’m so wet for you.”

  I pump myself several times. She’s not even giving me a chance to say anything. All I can do is close my eyes and imagine her naked body astride mine, slamming down onto me with relentless need, taking control just like she’s already doing.

  “Lick your lips, Oli. Can you taste me? Oh God. I can see you, babe. I can see your head buried between my legs. How do I taste?”

  “Sweet, you always taste so sweet. Where are your hands?”

  Her breath is slow and heavy in my ear. “My breasts. I’m squeezing and oh … oh God … pinching my nipple. I love it when you pinch and drag your teeth over my nipples.” I hear her moan. “It’s like … it’s like a bullet of pleasure to my sex.”

  I pump my dick harder and a little faster, circling my thumb over the head several times. “You make me so hard, I want to bury myself in your warm, wet pussy.”

  “Oli … oh God!”

  “Can you feel me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your legs spread wide for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your fingers wet?”

  “S-so wet.” She pants.

  “Slide a finger in for me.”

  “Oh … yes.”

  “Now pull it out and circle your clit.”

  “Ung … yeesss …”

  I clench the sheet with my other hand.

  “Make yourself come. Do it now.”

  “I-I … I’m c-coming! Oh dear God!”

  I thrust up into my hand and stroke myself letting my release squirt onto my shirt. “Oh, shit … holy hell …” I pant as my heart catapults from my chest. My head falls back as my breathing slows.

  “Vivian? Are you in there, sweetie?”

  Fuck, nothing like my mother’s voice to yank me back into reality.

  “Uh … yes. I’m in here.”

  “Are you alright, sweetie? I thought I heard you yell something.”

  “Um … no. I was uh … laughing. I’m talking to Oliver.”

  “Oh,
well open the door. I want to talk to him.”

  If this woman loves me she will not open that door—

  “Oh my, are you feeling okay? You look like you’re burning up. You even have perspiration on your brow.”

  Kill me now. My parents are both Harvard-trained doctors. It’s not going to take my mom long to diagnose Vivian with an acute case of phone sex fever.

  “Oli, your mom wants to talk to you.”

  “Am I on speaker?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Have a wonderful dinner, send me pictures of your pies, and know that I have not come this hard in months. Love you.”

  She giggles. “Love you too, Oli.”

  “Oliver?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Are you coming home for Christmas, honey?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m trying to wrap things up here, and I don’t want to miss Alex and Sean’s wedding so I can’t make any promises yet.”

  “What do you mean ‘wrap things up?’”

  “I mean making sure Brice and Mitchell can finish up anything that I can’t before I leave to come home.”

  “And Caroline?”

  “She’s fine.” Another lie and to my mother. I’d say I’m fast-tracking my way to Hell today, but since I’m already there what does it really matter?

  “Fine? Really?”

  “You should know better than anyone that she’ll never be the same again, but her doctors think she’s improving so my job here is done.”

  “And you?”

  I sigh. “What does it matter what I think? The doctors are the experts.”

  “Oliver, I’m not asking what you think. I’m asking how you’re doing. Have you made any progress?”

  “I’m not the one in the mental hospital.”

  “Oliver …”

  “Yes, I’m fine, great, fabulous. I’ll be home by the wedding so life couldn’t be better.”

  “Have you gone to Melanie’s grave?”

  “Yes.” Lie.

  “And?”

  “And she’s still dead.”

  “Oliver!”

  I fist my hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t need this from you.”

  “I love you, Oliver. I want my son back. He’s found an amazing girl and I’d like to see him get his happily-ever-after. So don’t waste your time out there. Do what you need to do so you can come home.”