by Xavier Neal
“Oh really?” She folds her caramel covered hands into her lap. “What do you call watching my name flash on the screen and then not returning my messages? Because where I come from we call that avoiding.”
The thing I love most about my best friend is also the thing I hate about her. She’s overbearing. Always. Whether she’s being loving or being hateful, she does it with everything she has. Passionate would be the kinder, less likely to get me slapped if she could hear what I was thinking, term.
“Now, is that anyway to thank me for taking you out for your birthday?”
“You didn’t take me out. The company did.”
“I was the one who voluntarily picked you up from that day and made sure you got home safely.”
Forced me. She threatened to physically pick me up and put me in her car if I didn’t let her drive me to guarantee a night of free drinking.
“They paid for it.”
“And I made sure they got their money’s worth.”
“By getting me shit faced... I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk in my life.”
“Can honestly say I am not surprised.”
I key in my password. “Don’t say it like I’m a light weight.”
“Ollie, you had like three margaritas.”
“Top shelf!”
She brushes off my addition with the wave of her brightly polished hand. “Were you really so hung over on Friday that you just ‘had to work’ from home?”
The slight jealousy I am allowed flexibility while she is not makes me smirk. “Still pissy that Bart wants his testers only working under his roof?”
“Who the fuck wants to steal any of these games that bad?”
More companies than she’d think. We’ve dealt with espionage moments three times in the six years I’ve been here and the saddest thing is we’re not even a huge company. Bart and Buddy, whose real name is actually Bernard, have been friends since they were in diapers and dreaming of having their own gaming company since they played Mario Brothers for the first time. Both had been offered positions at some of the well-established businesses, but neither wanted to betray themselves or one another. They started B&B, doing all the work they could before hiring out. I was one of the first employees. It didn’t matter it wasn’t going to be a high paying job. What mattered was I had complete creative control to do my favorite thing. I got license to let my imagination run wild. Their games have always had a basic cult like following, but lately have been grabbing bigger and bigger audiences, catching the eyes of the well-known companies who are offering large lump sums to buy them.
Camilla removes my wireless keyboard out of reach.
“Hey!”
She lowers her eyebrows at me, the pierced one shinning in the sunlight pouring in through the cracked blinds. “You were avoiding me, Ollie. Why?”
I lean back into my chair.
“What happened? Did Douche Daryl give you shit for going out on your birthday?”
“You do know that’s not his actual name, right?”
Though after what he did it damn sure might as well be.
“It is to me,” she gives me a playful smile. “Did he even remember or did he lie? You know, something he thinks he’s good at, but really isn’t. Did he pretend he had a huge surprise all lined up that he had to cancel because you ruined it?”
“He broke up with me.”
“What!” Her shriek pulls the eyes of the people right outside of my corner office. “What the fuck do you mean he broke up with you?!”
“When I got home, all of his shit was gone. He left a note-”
“A fucking note?!”
“And a pig.”
“A fucking pig!?” The words she shouts stop whatever rant she was about to start. “Wait, did you say a pig?”
“Yeah. Princess Pinky. She’s a cute little piglet. Probably the best thing he’s ever given me.” Sad it is one of the only things. “Even if it wasn’t really his to give.”
Camilla’s expression ceaselessly cycles through rage, irritation, and bewilderment.
Daryl was far from a winner. I had my suspicions given how we met when I kindly offered to pay for his coffee when he couldn’t find his wallet, but I knew for sure on our second date when he went on a tangent about men always being the ones to pay for dinner in the beginning of relationships. I had no qualms about paying, but the tirade felt more like he just wasn’t in the mood to spend more money. Almost like I wasn’t worth it…yet I went out with him again because he asked. Because men never ask me out. Because men, outside of the work place, flee from me like I’m flea infested. I knew I was only in a relationship with Daryl because I thought it was the best I could do. But I was wrong. Even though I know Ford and I won’t get to go down that path, he has this way of reminding me I’m not the giant L I have come to believe I am.
Finally, she prepares to reply when there’s a knock on my door.
The two of us turn to see Elliot, the lead programmer, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “Hate to interrupt.”
“Then why do you do it?”
His jaw bobs around in a desperate attempt to answer.
Camilla grumps, “What do you want?”
“The level has been updated. It’s ready for another testing round.”
She groans and tosses back her thick black curly hair she keeps colored to match whatever color is on her fingers and toes. She keeps herself poised for dramatic effect.
Elliot helplessly lets himself drink in her thick frame she’s showcasing in a pair of high waist, ripped acid wash jeans, an off the shoulder black top with a floral print, and a pair of white wedges. An adorable longing floods his eyes.
He’s had a crush on her from the minute he was hired. Too bad he doesn’t have the guts to say anything and that she barely pays enough attention to him to notice.
Camilla lowers her face back down to his. She gives her black glasses an adjustment and states, “I swear, if I get to my computer and that bug where the heads shrink down to nothing rather than explode outward is not fixed, your head is going to roll.”
He nods, pushes up his own glasses, and backs out of the room not saying another word.
Once he’s out of my sight, I quietly question, “You do know you scare him, right?”
Camilla crosses her legs. “Then I suggest he reads my safety guide before pretending he wants to take this ride.”
Okay. So maybe she has noticed.
“Back on topic-”
“Shouldn’t you-”
“Get to the bottom of the reason why my best friend didn’t answer my call when she was clearly in need of me?” Her tone slinks me down in my seat. “What the hell, Ollie? Why didn’t you tell me on Friday! Why didn’t you answer my calls so I could come over with pints of ice cream, classic Brad Pitt movies, and my long list of why this is what’s best for you?”
Innocently, I answer, “I didn’t wanna be a bother.”
“Oh my God, Ollie, that’s the time to be a bother!” She announces with her hand motions as backup. “That’s what best friends are for! To be there for one another. Good times and definitely for the fuck him times.”
Guilt seals my mouth shut.
Like I told Ford. I am not good at needing other people.
After a defeated sigh, she commands, “At least tell me you didn’t spend the entire weekend alone crying buckets and doodling his name on your notebooks.”
“You do know I’m twenty-nine-”
“Thirty.”
I wince at the correction. “Right. You do know I’m thirty and not thirteen?”
“Ollie, I’ve seen you draw Mickey Mouse on the back of a 500 dollar credit card receipt at a five star restaurant.”
Her acknowledgement of my quirky ways silences me again.
Is that why Daryl cheated on me? He couldn’t deal with me? Does it make me immature, the need to draw?
Before the line of questioning can get away from me, Camilla continues to interrogate, “S
o? What did you do?”
“Well, I burned some of the things he left behind on the grill.”
“Nice.”
“And then spent the rest of the weekend bonding with Princess Pinky and her father.”
“How many goddamn pigs did that asshole leave you with?!”
Laughter leaves me as I shake my head. “No. No. Not her biological rather, but Daryl’s new girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend who had no clue he was being dumped this weekend either. Apparently, Princess Pinky was a gift he gave to her that she then let Daryl bestow upon me as some sort of backdoor fuck you.”
There’s a long pause before she lets the corners of her lips tip up. “So, this pig daddy is the reason you didn’t call, you don’t look sad, and are probably the happiest I’ve seen you outside of working for the past….years?”
A flash of heat fills my cheeks. “I am not…this is no…I’m…” The words roll around in my mouth unsure the correct order to come out. With a swift clearing of my throat, I state, “I’m fine, Camilla. Breaking up with Daryl really wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like he loved me or anything.”
“His. Mistake.”
Ford’s. Gain. Shit! No! No! That’s not where my head should be going. That’s not…right… It can’t be right. It can’t happen. Sure, I fell asleep in his arms and somehow stayed their all night long, resulting in the best sleep I’ve had in months, but that doesn’t mean being together is a good idea. Or going down the path to be together is something we should consider. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m not his type. Aside from the geek chic I am rocking, he clearly needs a woman who is willing to be just as family oriented as he is. Not sure that’s me. I’ve never been to a family reunion. I don’t have cousins. My extent of being in large groups of people who are related ends with my childhood Christmases, which only count because we always spent it with one set of grandparents. Ford probably wants someone who has a huge family or at the very least wants one. I’m barely qualified to take care of a farm animal.
My cell phone buzzes loudly in my bag grabbing my attention.
I push away the disheartening thoughts, lean over, toss my notebook on my desk, and pull out the device.
Camilla leans over to read the text with me.
Ford: What do you want me to grab for dinner tonight? Steaks?
“You’re having dinner together?” Camilla squeaks and slaps my arm. “You didn’t think you should tell me that!”
It was his idea….He suggested it last night after complimenting how adorable ‘his girls’ were. The fit of hyperventilating I was sent into over the term was humiliating. Thank God he couldn’t see it.
“Did you spend the entire weekend together?”
“Just Friday and Saturday. He had to visit his family on Sunday.”
“Or otherwise he would’ve been there. At your place. With you.”
“And Princess Pinky!”
“That has to be the most adorable name for a pig,” she mumbles to herself.
Instead of feeding the discussion she wants to have, I offer, “Wanna see some pictures of her?”
Camilla nods, and I bring up the gallery. My finger starts swiping to show off the precious pictures of my new baby.
It isn’t long before a picture of Ford and Princess Pinky together appears. “Holy shit! Is that him?”
Unconsciously, I grin, “Yeah…”
“Do they make them in my size?”
Her small jab at her own curvier than normal features causes me to roll my eyes. “He’s actually the smallest of the five.”
“Five!” She shouts, jaw hitting the ground. “There’s five of them?”
“That was my reaction too!”
“Is his mother a medical marvel?” I snicker, which is when she pleads, “Tell me the others are just as hot as he is.”
“I don’t know. I assume so.”
“Don’t ever assume,” Camilla scolds. “He might be the hot one while the rest look like Elmer Fudd.”
Her description gets me laughing again.
“I mean it, Ollie.” The tone in her voice drops to a serious one. “Don’t ever assume anything. Including that he’s not interested in you the same way you are clearly interested in him.”
I let go of my impulse to argue. Is there any real possibility she’s right? After all, he didn’t have to do dinner with me if he just wanted to see Princess Pinky. He didn’t have to spend the weekend at my apartment, taking an interest in what I do, and letting me reciprocate. He could’ve bailed. He could’ve just agreed to an every other weekend thing. He could’ve threatened to just take me to small claims court if Princess Pinky was all that truly mattered, but he didn’t. Not once did I feel all our time together was really about her. Maybe, just maybe, I should be opened minded about the two of us moving from co-parenting to something more.
I slide my hands into my suit jacket pockets just as Ollie strolls out the front entrance door of her apartment. Princess Pinky squeals loudly at my presence and it doesn’t take any time for Ollie to realize why she’s suddenly so excited.
“Hey!” Her voice sings with such joy my chest noticeably swells.
Why shouldn’t it? No one is ever as happy to see me as they are.
“Hey,” I cheerfully state back at the same time they reach the bottom step.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, steering the hog to the right. “I thought you had plans.”
“I do. Just…wanted to come by and see the two of you beforehand.”
The expression of excitement she attempts to hide strokes my ego harder.
Didn’t realize how good it felt to actually be wanted again until her. Not sure if Carol Ann just got so comfortable around me she let herself forget to show it or if the truth was she never loved me enough to at least fake it.
“You know I hate not seeing the two of you for more than a couple of days.”
Ollie hums, pushes some hair out of her face, and quietly confesses, “The feelings mutual.”
My heart thrums a little harder than expected.
In the past three weeks, there has only been one stretch of time we went more than two days without seeing each other. It was awful. It was unexpectedly awful. At first, I thought I was over exaggerating, but then the day just spiraled out of control leaving me an inconsolable asshole. The next morning, I stopped by Ollie’s with doughnuts and coffee to mentally prepare myself for the next hurricane of shit I was anticipating, yet it never came. I went into the office feeling like I could conquer the world. I had this huge grin on my face the entire morning, but it wasn’t until Blake asked if I had slipped whiskey into my coffee, I gave any consideration to why it was there. Maybe it’s insane a woman I’ve practically just met has such a strong, positive effect on me or maybe it’s more insane that I wasted years with a woman who never did.
The two of us continue our stroll, relieved to no longer catch as many scoffs and sneers for exercising a farm animal in the middle of downtown.
“I think she’s cold,” Ollie sighs.
My attention pulls away from her to Princess Pinky who is happily strutting along. “She’s fine.”
“She’s shivering.”
“She’s wiggling.”
“She’s cold,” Ollie continues to argue. “I’m telling you she’s freezing. I should’ve put a jacket on her.”
Which she has. It’s pink. It sparkles. And it belongs nowhere near a fucking hog.
A gust of the cool night air catches us. Ollie instantly shivers, and I instinctively begin to peel off my work jacket. “She’s fine, but you’re not.” My hands drape the article of clothing over her shoulders. “Why didn’t you grab yours?”
“I wasn’t expecting the temperature to drop in the thirty minutes since I’ve been outside.” Her hand adjusts my jacket to cover a bit more of her shoulder. “You didn’t have to give me yours, Farm Boy.”
With a short shrug, I say, “It’s not a big deal.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to d
isagree yet promptly shuts it. For a few minutes more we continue our walk around the block in silence. The fact we can comfortably be in one another’s presence without feeling pressured to fill the gaps makes me smile.
As we make our way across the street, Ollie asks, “How’d that meeting go today? Did you get the contract? Did the bar agree to start carrying your beer?”