Someday Maybe

by Ophelia London

  “I wanted to come. We needed to be in the same room to see what was really between us.”

  “Yeah.” I stared at the white dividing lines on the highway.

  “And there’s nothing?”

  “Not enough and not now.” I flipped my hand over so I could squeeze his. It was a gesture, nothing more, and I slid it out from his after a few seconds.

  For the last two months, Nick had been my way out, or rather, my way back to living life again, maybe even finding love. He was fun and easy, and I really liked talking to him on the phone, emailing him, IM-ing during the workday. Plus, he was gorgeous and into me and he smelled really good and…

  “I have issues,” I said.

  “We all do. I get it, Rachel. You’ve been hurt. You’re not the first.”

  “I was the one who did the hurting,” I said. “I think I’m still doing it, to the same person. While I’m trying to figure out why or how to stop, it’s probably not a good idea for me to be with anyone. And it’s kind of a long time coming.” Almost seven years.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A few days after I’d dropped off Nick at the airport, I called Sarah and Giovanna to meet for lunch and some serious girl time.

  “Nick’s hot. You’re cray-cray.” Gio flipped her glossy black hair then dug into her salad. “If I was in your shoes, he’d be on his knees.”

  I smiled at my beautiful friend. Sometimes it was hard not to tie her down and give her a Mohawk. “Thanks for the support.”

  “I think what Gio means”—Sarah passed me the pepper—“is we’re a little surprised. I thought you liked him. Was there no chemistry?”

  “Plenty of that.” I licked the back of my spoon. I’d ordered nothing but soup because my stomach felt queasy and my jaw ached like I’d been clenching it for hours. Maybe I had a cavity or an oncoming sinus infection. “I did like him. It’s complicated. I’m complicated.”

  Gio snorted. “Since when?”

  “Shit, guys. I miss Meghan. At least she humors me.”

  “Sorry, cheri.” Gio put a hand over mine, her accent coming out. “Tell us all about your many complications, Rachel Daughtry.”

  I needed lunch with my girls to take my mind off Nick, but also to take my mind off the dream I’d had last night—the creepiest one yet. Though it cut off before anything tragic happened, it was weird. I’d never come so close to dying in a dream before or…or knowing that I was about to die.

  Halfway through lunch, I dropped the next bomb. “I’m considering moving back to Texas.” I’d planned the statement to sound both casual and exciting. Mostly though, I just needed to say it out loud, see how it felt released into the atmosphere. “The Dallas Morning News is hiring. I’ve been in touch with my old boss and…”

  Sarah dropped her fork. Giovanna looked like her chair was on fire.

  “I’m thinking about it.” My voice held much less conviction now.

  “Well, stop.” Sarah slammed her palm on the table. “You can’t leave, too.”

  “Rachel.” Gio looked beautifully miserable. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

  “I said I’m considering, keeping my options open. Options are good. Choices are good. Life without choices and chances is smothering, right?” When I got nothing but blank stares, I stopped. “Forget I brought it up.”

  I grabbed my drink, the ache in my jaw giving me a headache. I got a few more skeptical glares across the table at lunch, but nothing more was said on the subject until I was dropping Sarah at her dorm.

  “I know why you want to leave.”

  “It’s not about leaving, per se.” I set the car in park. “But a change might be nice, something unplanned.”

  “You don’t do unplanned.”

  “Oh.” I blinked at her. “Maybe I need to start.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said, biting her thumbnail. “This just seems so spur-of-the-moment…moving, taking some new job. Is that what you really want to do?”

  I looked away from her and stared at the gauges on my dashboard. “Just because I don’t have a complete plan set in stone right this second doesn’t mean I’m not working on it. What I’m doing now, or what I’m thinking of doing, will put me in a position to have more choices later.” I ran a finger over the cruise control button. “And I’m sorry, I don’t really want to move, either, but sometimes stepping into the unknown is necessary. Sometimes you need to take risks—smart risks. That’s the only way to grow.”

  Sarah scoffed and folded her arms. “You sound exactly like Ollie.”

  I stared at her, slack jawed, my latest inhale stalled mid-breath.

  Oh. Crap.

  Was this the same as what Oliver was doing?

  No. No, no, no.

  Well, I guess I didn’t know exactly what he was doing. I’d never given him a real chance to explain why he was making these choices and taking risks that seemed unnecessary. Unnecessary to me. He told me he was being smart about it, and I hadn’t believed him. Hadn’t even bothered to hear him.

  I closed my eyes and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. It was burning, pounding.

  No, no, no. It couldn’t be the same.

  Currently, my job at NRG Interactive was more stable than ever, yet I’d considered leaving that for something new, taking a risk. But it was a calculated risk, not a spontaneous move because I was bored or felt like blowing my life savings and ruining my life.

  Was Oliver preparing himself the same way?

  And what about those stories I’d submitted to Vogue and Best and Redbook? What was my plan if something came of that? Did I need one right this instant?

  Of course not. But now I could see the value in taking a chance on the unknown, preparing for that by being responsible and wise in the meantime.

  My skin crawled as I remembered what I’d said to Oliver about that very thing. Accused him of being reckless and thoughtless, screwing up his life. I’d projected my fear onto him. Just like when we were nineteen.

  I flinched when Sarah moved to take off her seat belt, feeling shaky and unfocused. I was the one who’d screwed up, not him.

  “I know it’s Sunday and you have a million things to do,” she said, “but will you come inside for a minute?”

  I swallowed, wanting nothing more than to be alone to finish my disgraceful self-analysis. But it was obvious Sarah wanted to talk. “Sure,” I said, and followed her inside. Her dorm room was chilly and smelled like honeysuckle candles. It was a different layout than mine had been. Good. The very last thing I needed was any more blasts from the past.

  “Would you like some tea? I always drink chamomile after a meal.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Tea sounded soothing to my churning stomach, but the formalness between us felt odd. I folded my arms tightly, feeling like I’d stepped into a trap by coming inside.

  “Sugar?” She held two blue ceramic mugs with hand-painted daisies.

  “Sure.”

  She sat on the loveseat across from me, cupping her mug with both hands, but not drinking or speaking, hardly moving.

  “Mmm, it’s good.” I took a few sips. “Maybe this will help me sleep tonight. I’m still having those dreams about—”

  “Do you remember”—she cut me off, maybe not realizing I was speaking—“when I told you about… Umm, I feel stupid. This is hard.”

  “Sarah, what’s on your mind?”

  “Yesterday, I was at Ollie’s apartment doing my laundry. He knows I’m kind of seeing this one guy—it’s no big deal, but he got all bossy and brotherly and warned me not to lose focus on school.”

  How ironically familiar.

  Sarah stared down into her mug, rotating it between her hands. “He told me some things about his freshman year. That was the summer I was fourteen.” She lifted her chin and peered at me. “I told you about that, how my family got into goal setting and stuff around that same time.”

  Talk about a blast from the past. I rubbed my nose and nodded.

  “Bu
t I didn’t tell you about before that, what Ollie was like right when he came home from USF. He was quiet and angry, depressed—not at all like he used to be. I think my parents wanted to send him to counseling.”

  I set down my mug. Pain lashed at the back of my throat when I tried to speak. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, they didn’t have to. Ollie changed on his own. Once he decided to live at home and transfer to State, it was like the first of his black clouds lifted. It wasn’t just USF he didn’t want to face, there was a girl there.”

  “Sarah—”

  “I’m naturally curious, Rachel. Later that day, when Ollie left for the gym, I found the box under his bed that has his yearbooks, the one from freshman year.”

  I picked up my mug only to put it back down. I tried not to look at Sarah but couldn’t look away.

  “All the pictures of you are circled.” She took a slow sip of her tea. “He must have bought it before your breakup. You wrote in it. Two pages.”

  “I know.” I cringed when I heard my voice break.

  “You wrote in it.” Accusation was in her tone now. “You wrote in Oliver’s yearbook, Rachel, like you were in love with him.”

  “Yes.” I laced my fingers together and squeezed hard, trying to hold everything together, my emotions, especially. “I should’ve told you.”

  “Yeah, you should have,” she snapped. “I’m really mad at you, Rachel. Well, I mean, I was, I wanted to be.” Her voice turned calm, then her tough façade dissolved completely and her eyes twinkled. “You and Ollie.” She leaned back and grinned. “I bet you were the hottest couple on campus.”

  I blinked, still teetering on the brink of tears. “What?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can totally see it. You were freaking perfect for each other, still are. You were apart for all those years then thrown back together. Meghan would call that fate.” Her eyes lit up. “Let’s call her, get her take.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  But she was already pressing buttons on her cell. The phone was on speaker when it rang.

  “Sarah,” I hissed in panic. “Meghan doesn’t know about us.”

  She stared at me and set the phone on the middle of the coffee table. “What?”

  “I never told her anything—”

  Meghan’s crackly voice chirped, “Hello?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I held my breath and stared at Sarah, begging her silently not to spill my secret. Meghan was with Ryan now, and I knew I’d ‘fess up about Oliver at some point, but on speakerphone in front of his little sister was not the optimal time.

  “Meghan, hey. It’s Sarah.” She nodded at me.

  “And Rachel!” I tried to sound bright and chipper.

  “Hey, peeps. What’s up?”

  “Umm.” Sarah and I shrugged back and forth at each other. “Umm. Rach was going to tell you about…about…”

  “About a dream I had last night.” I sank to the floor and slid the phone closer to me.

  “Cool,” Meghan said. “Tell me.”

  “I dreamed that my teeth were falling out.” I held a hand up to my jaw, still sore from clenching my teeth or whatever.

  “Dude. That’s harsh.”

  “So? What does it mean? I’ve lived for months without your dream analysis, and my mouth has been aching all day.” I rocked my jaw, gingerly. “What’s your take?”

  “I always heard hair falling out is fear, and teeth falling out is insecurity.”

  Sarah frowned and touched her hair.

  “Oh.” I felt another painful twinge in my jaw. “What am I insecure about?”

  “Beats me, Rach. Maybe Nick?”

  I laughed. “That’s stupidity, not insecurity.”

  “What else are you dreaming? Still about the rusty cup and that castle?”

  I shuddered at the memory. “Stop joking—you died in that dream once, Megs.”

  “Died?” Sarah slid to the floor across from me. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  I nodded at the phone between us. “The next day is when she fell in the fountain.”

  “Rachel.” Sarah gasped.

  “Calm down, you guys,” Meghan soothed. “Rach, you’re obviously caught in a psycho-cosmic, heightened-sensory moon phase. Maybe you have the touch.”

  “I don’t have the touch. It’s just my subconscious freaking out, right? You’ve said it a million times.”

  “Don’t blow off the subconscious. Part of subconscious is conscious—waking reality. Your dreams come from somewhere, something already experienced, or hoped to be experienced. The subconscious isn’t all that creative.”

  “She’s right,” Sarah added sagely.

  “Seriously. I’d pay extra close attention if I were you. Your subconscious thinks something is about to happen and it’s bursting to tell you.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me…” I was only half joking.

  “Inform me immediately if you have any dreams about me or Ryan. I will need complete details. Start keeping a journal.”

  “Yeah, okay.” But my mind slid to the dream I’d had earlier in the week.

  I always, always heard you can never die in your own dream; that whatever situation the dreamer is in, they will wake before the certain death-blow is executed. So then, what does it mean if you dream you are going to die? If the dream is so vivid, so meticulously detailed, that—even if you hadn’t seen it three nights in a row—you could storyboard every scene perfectly?

  And what if you knew exactly when it was going to take place? Your death. Down to the minute.

  Meghan was the only person I could’ve talked to without sounding crazy. But even I thought death premonitions were outlandish. So I focused back on my teeth-falling-out dream. If it meant insecurity, I could live with that. I reached for the little bowl of almonds on the coffee table and set it on my lap, but my hand froze halfway to my mouth when there was a knock on Sarah’s door and Oliver walked in.

  He wore jeans and a nicely fitting sky-blue button-up, and had his chestnut hair grown in even more in the four days since I’d seen him?

  Hmm. So, this was the guy brave enough to face life without a plan, to take risks and leaps of faith. I knew where he was coming from now, that rush that comes when thinking about the huge, scary, exciting possibilities of the future. He was brave because he had planned, he’d probably been planning how to start his own company for years, probably ever since his father had taken that same leap.

  This was the guy brave enough to look at a painting that confused me, and see optimism, hope, the path to a better life. The dude manly enough to live in a pink house like a boss. He was a loving brother, a good friend, and a hard worker. He’d grown into a better man than I could’ve imagined, even when I’d been in love with the boy.

  And dang, he was hot.

  And single. So was I.

  “Oh.” I sat up straight.

  “Oh.” Oliver glanced back and forth at us, maybe wondering why we were on the floor. He set down a shopping bag. “I was just dropping off—”

  “Is that Rad?”

  Oliver peered down at the phone on the coffee table. “Meghan?”

  “Heeey!”

  “Uh, hi.” He stood over the phone, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “How’s it going?”

  “Great.” I heard Meghan’s smile. “Just catching up with my girls. Rach was telling us about a dream she had last night.”

  Oliver looked at me, one eyebrow lifted. “I’d like to hear about that, too.”

  I felt like this was the time to flash him a smile and do a sexy hair flip or something, but I didn’t appreciate how it looked like he was about to laugh. Okay, I didn’t believe in all of Meghan’s mumbo-jumbo, but at least I was open to the idea.

  “Nope. We’re all done discussing that.” I stared at the wall straight ahead and tossed an almond at my open mouth. I missed and it bounced on the coffee table. I tried again. Bull’s-eye. “And I was just about to—ow! Ohhh, son o
f a—”

  “Rachel.” Oliver was beside me.

  “Rach?” Meghan, this time. “Hello? What’s happening?”

  “She’s holding her cheek,” Sarah reported.

  “Insecure, my ass,” I muttered around the pain shooting up my face, encircling my entire head. “I just broke a tooth.”

  “No way.” Meghan sounded a little too happy. “Rach, do you realize what this means? Your teeth are falling out!”

  “I’m aware, Megs.” When I tried to stand, Oliver had me by the arm to help.

  “No, I mean your dream came true—in the very literal sense. Do you know how lucky you are? Okay, tell me about the castle one again. What did the tin cup look like? I want every detail.”

  “A little busy now,” I mumbled. It hurt worse when I talked or even moved. “Where are my car keys and phone? I have to call my dentist. Ow—crap. I have no idea if he’s open on the weekends.”

  “Mine is,” Oliver said. “It’s only a few miles. I’ll take you.”

  There wasn’t much choice. Before leaving, he grabbed a bag of peas from Sarah’s freezer and instructed me to hold it where it hurt. His arm was around me as we walked down the stairs and across the street to his car. I tried not to breathe in the smell of his shirt or acknowledge the feel of his hard muscles against me, how perfectly I still fit inside the crock of his arm.

  “Thank you,” I said as we both buckled in.

  “Happy to help.” Before pulling into traffic, he made a quick call. I could see his dentist right away.

  I wanted to speak again, maybe casually bring up Sarah’s painting. Super-casual segues into talking about us. “Oliv—ohh.”

  “Don’t talk. We’ll be there soon.”

  Blerg. I exhaled and sat back, adjusting the makeshift icepack against my cheek. Not too much time later, after handing over my insurance card, I only had to wait a few minutes before being called into the examination room. Two shots and too many drills later, I had a temporary crown and found Oliver in the waiting room.

  “You didn’t have to wait. I could’ve—”

  “Shh, this is hilarious.” His eyes were fixed on the TV mounted to the wall, his expression as animated as a little boy watching SpongeBob.