by Diana Kane
“I do care about her. I just don’t know if I can risk opening myself up to her again.”
“Let me tell you something: that woman loves you. Not the same way she loved you when you were younger, full of foolish ideals and notions. She’s in love with you. I think you feel the same way, but you need to make peace with the past before you can admit that to yourself. You need to figure it out though, because what happened between the two of you has had her hurting ever since.” Tears fall freely when I hear the confirmation of what I already knew. I never intended to hurt Olivia. Honestly, I didn’t put much thought into it at all when I kissed her. I acted on an impulse, and it blew up in my face. “You need to talk to her,” mom eventually whispers. “She’ll listen to whatever you have to say. Just make an effort.”
“I know,” I agree as I wipe my tears away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“Why don’t you get out of here and give yourself some space to think,” mom suggests after a few silent minutes. “I’ll be fine. You can always call me if you need to.”
“Are you sure? You’ll be alone until Scott gets out of work.”
“Please. I’ll be alone until the next time the nurse comes to check that I’m still alive. I haven’t been alone since I woke up after surgery,” she jokes. “Go on. I’ll be fine reading and napping. Go take care of whatever you need to.”
“Thanks,” I manage as I get to my feet. “I love you, mom,” I whisper as I lean in to give her a gentle hug and kiss on the top of her head.
“Love you too. Call me if you need to talk.”
“I will,” I agree as I make my way around the foot of the bed. “If they are going to discharge you tomorrow, let me know. I can come back to take you home.”
“Scott is already planning on taking the day off. You take care of you and talk to Olivia.”
Chapter 30
I sigh as I set the knife down and steel my resolve with two large swallows of beer. My mind registers how light the bottle feels, and a glance reveals that I’ve already downed most of the chocolate colored liquid. Great, I’m going to be drunk before I manage to take the lid off, I think as I stare at the box that I mailed home those many years ago. When in Rome, I think as I procrastinate a little longer by finishing the first beer and making my way back to the kitchen for another. I laugh when I return to the living room less than a minute later to discover Artemis and Apollo examining the box I asked my mother to burn, Apollo rubbing the side of his face along one edge while Artemis works on trying to eat the tape.
“All right you two,” I shoo them away as I sit down on the floor again, my legs spread around the box. I can see them lingering in my peripheral view as I stare at the box, the duo anxious for another crack at the cardboard container that houses things that once brought me so much joy. I reach out to pry the lid off, but the ringing of my phone issues me another respite as a relieved sigh escapes me before I answer the call.
“Hey stranger,” I answer before taking another sip of beer.
“Hi there,” she lightly responds. “Gavin told me about Dana. How is she?”
“She’s doing well. It looks like she may be getting discharged tomorrow.”
“So soon?” she asks, her concern evident, even though she’s well aware my mom was never her biggest fan.
“Apparently it’s right on schedule. Recovery is going to take a while, but she can do that at home. How are you doing?”
“She must be doing well then. You sound very calm,” Addison observes.
“Must be the beer and a half I recently chugged. I assure you I’m not feeling calm,” I reply before taking another drink.
“Well you don’t sound panicked, so I doubt it’s your mom. What’s going on?”
“Just sitting here, working up the courage to open this box.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Addison shares before speaking to someone in the background.
“Do you need to go?”
“No. Just answering a question for Steph. So tell me about this mysterious box,” she demands. I pause, wondering how it is that we seem to have better phone conversations now that we aren’t together than we did when we were. “Jordan?”
“Yeah, I’m here. The box,” I begin before cutting myself off and sighing. “You remember how I told you about the call from Olivia where she told me she didn’t love me, while she was in bed with someone else?”
“Vaguely.”
“After that call, I packed everything from her or that reminded me of her into a box and mailed it to my mom. I told her to burn it, but she put it in her storage room and left it for me when I moved back. It was still sealed until a few minutes ago,” I share as I continue staring at the object of my anxiety.
“Is there a reason you’re thinking of opening it now?” she asks, her voice filled with nothing but curiosity.
“I slept with Olivia about a month ago.”
“I knew there was something there,” Addison half teases as she laughs at herself. “So how is being back together?”
“We’re not. It just happened. She thought it meant more than I did. I hurt her, Addy.”
“I imagine you did. I know you have feelings for her, so that’s not what’s holding you back, right?”
“I do have feelings for her, yes.”
“I don’t think she’ll hurt you again if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” Addison admits. “Have you talked to your mom about it?”
“Not by choice. Olivia visited her in the hospital, and mom guessed when she saw our strained interaction.”
“Hmm. So why open the box?” she asks as a knock sounds in the background. “Hold that thought,” she says before I hear the sounds of a muffled conversation.
“You need to go now?”
“No. I told them I’d be out in a few. It’s supposed to be an evening shoot. It’s the middle of the day,” she says as I picture Addison shaking her head. “Anyway, the box,” she prompts me to continue.
“Mom said I need to make peace with the past before I can figure out the future,” I share before drinking more beer. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be through the six-pack before the lid comes off and the memories assail me. “Was I ever cold or seem like I didn’t care?”
“I wouldn’t say it like that,” she hesitantly begins. “I mean our lifestyles are so different and we didn’t see each other that often. I never thought that you didn’t care, but I also never really thought you were in love with me. That’s why I didn’t think you had an issue with me sleeping with other women. That said, I don’t think you ever looked at me the same way you were looking at Olivia in those photos.”
“I know,” I concede with another sigh. “I truly am sorry.”
“It’s okay. We had fun and made it out the other side as friends. So what will you do about Olivia?”
“Try to figure out if I can trust her with my heart again.”
“You think the answer is in the box?” she skeptically asks.
“No, but I think the stuff in the box will help me make peace with the past.”
“I don’t envy you,” Addison responds before I hear the banging on her door again.
“You should probably get going,” I tell her.
“Probably. I’ll make them wait if you want me to stay on the phone while you get started.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m not sure why it’s giving me anxiety,” I admit as I glare at the box again. “Call me when you have a little more time. I want to hear about how things are with you and how working with Chloe on this TV show is treating you. I mean, you’re tied to one set for a majority of the year now, with Chloe. That’s the equivalent of a woman getting knocked up by some dude in hopes that it’ll make him stick around,” I joke.
“With the exception that neither of us will be dealing with a growing belly or swollen ankles,” Addison jokes. “Things with Chloe are fine. It’s kinda like it was when we were on set together,” she a
dmits, her voice filled with happiness.
“I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll call in the next couple of days to see how Dana is getting on. And you for that matter. If you need to talk before then, call me. If I don’t answer, call Steph. She can interrupt filming. They’ll wait for me,” she adds, causing me to laugh. Oh Addison, you’ll always think that the world revolves around you, I think with a grin.
“Will do. Thanks for calling to see how mom is doing. And thanks for listening to me go on about Olivia.”
“Anytime. Don’t be a stranger,” she adds before disconnecting the call.
“All right,” I say to no one in particular as I reach out and pull the lid off of the box. My breath catches when I see the scrapbook Olivia and I created together, the photo of us on the front taken in front of Buckingham Fountain in Chicago. I thumb through the pages, pausing here and there to reminisce about a picture and recall the concerts we cataloged with ticket stubs and the sketches and drawings Olivia made for me. The book ends with a photo of us taken in front of the Fountain on the Palace de la Concorde. Apparently we had a thing for fountains, I think as I take in our smiling faces. I feel the smile currently stretched across my lips fade slightly when I realize that the photo was snapped shortly before Olivia disappeared. Did she love me then, or was she just going through the motions, biding her time for my visit to be over with? I sigh as I set the album aside and pull out a concert shirt, wrapped around a framed photo of Olivia and me at one of our Chicago Christmas parties. Another shirt yields to reveal a picture of Olivia and me on the day we brought Zeke home. I smile as I recall him bonking me on the nose in the middle of the night because he wanted to play, and Olivia grumbling that I’d be the parent to give our kids everything they asked for when I gave in to Zeke’s demand.
I feel the first tear fall when I pull out the stuffed snow leopard she bought for me at the Lincoln Park Zoo, and wonder if she still has the lemur I purchased for her. I can’t recall whose birthday we spent the day there to celebrate, but I know it didn’t matter. The real gift was spending time together, not having to hide what we meant to each other. I swipe at my cheek with my free hand as I set the leopard aside and skip over the books and movies, searching for the box within the box. My breath catches when I spot the decorative storage chest, the one Olivia had Jim craft before she painted the outside to resemble a stack of vintage hardcover books. I carefully extract it from the shipping box and set it on the floor in front of me, preparing myself to relive the sentiments the thick stack of steel blue paper adorned with silver ink contain.
“I’m gonna need another beer for this,” I share with the cats, who have taken up residence inside the lid I set aside however long ago. They both look at me with little interest, their tails twitching back and forth as I get to my feet. This will be one of the few times they don’t bother following me to the kitchen in the hope that I somehow forgot that I already fed them.
Fresh beer in hand, I sit on the floor again and slowly pull the lid from the wooden chest, my breath hitching when I catch the first glimpse of that familiar blue paper. On top sits the last letter she mailed me before she stopped contacting me. I read it so many times, searching for some clue that she didn’t love me anymore, that I’m confident I can still recite it verbatim. Setting it aside, I dig deeper in the chest, pulling out a random handful of the smaller snips of paper. I drop them into my lap before reaching for my beer and downing a third of it, hoping it will vanquish the tears that are already threatening to fall. I sigh and sniffle as I set the bottle aside before wiping the condensation off on my short clad thigh. When I’m sure my hand is dry, I carefully pull one of the slips from the pile, gently unfolding it to ensure I don’t damage it in any way. I may have avoided these for over a decade, but I can’t deny how important to me they still are. Perhaps it’s due to my revived feelings for Olivia, or maybe it’s just the nostalgia of first love. I have no way of knowing for sure, but the reason why doesn’t matter. They simply are.
Your smile is still my favorite sight, the first slip reads. I never wrote a date on any of these, so I have no idea when I received the message. I’m pretty sure she left this one on the pillow next to me one morning, while she slipped into the kitchen to make us breakfast. I smile when I remember teasing her about my ass being her favorite sight, which started an avalanche of banter between us, ending with Olivia licking the vanilla custard sauce, initially intended for our french toast, off of various parts of my body.
My smile still in place, I set the first slip in front of the chest and carefully unfold another. Even though I hate mornings, I always wake up smiling. It’s all your fault. I release a short laugh after reading it, knowing that Olivia only smiled after hitting the snooze button at least five times, a habit that used to drive me mad.
Still laughing after setting the memory aside, I open the next slip to see a more sentimental message. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes; then you’d know how much I love you and how amazing I think you are. I struggle to recall when she left this one for me. Was it after one of our few disagreements? Olivia and I never really fought. We were always both so laid back and usually on the same page that arguments were exceedingly rare. However, I never needed to be inside her head to see how much she loved me. I could always see it when I’d catch her looking at me, the contented smile curling the corners of her lips and the blue of her eyes somehow softened by the emotions they held. Even now I can close my eyes and picture it, the image I’d witnessed countless times permanently etched in my memory. I’m not sure if anyone else has ever looked at me that way. I move to set the fold of paper aside but freeze with my hand halfway to the pile. My mind flashes through recent memories, and it’s then that I realize that I’ve seen Olivia looking at me that same way several times in the last few months. I understand then how badly I must have hurt her feelings after we had sex a month ago. Surely some part of my subconscious knew then how she felt about me. Hell, even if I didn’t want to admit it at the time, weren’t my feelings for her far deeper than platonic too? Isn’t that part of what made that evening on her sofa so phenomenal? I set the slip down and scrub my hand over my face as I wonder what it is that I’ve done. I should have seen it. I should have recognized it before I kissed Olivia. Would I have still kissed her had I accepted what was right in front of me?
Sighing, I pick up the next fragment of Olivia’s past love for me and carefully open it. I can’t imagine my life without you. Reading the words is like flipping a coin, everything that I had been feeling seconds ago quickly fades into the background. Olivia did more than imagine her life without me, she disappeared. She shattered my heart without explanation. It’s this that presents the major obstacle. I can’t deny that my feelings for Olivia run much deeper than friendship, but how do I get over the fear that she’ll stomp on my heart again? I tip my head back and rest it against the sofa cushion as the tears slowly roll down my cheeks. How the hell do I make sense out of the mess I’ve made? It’s clear that I owe Olivia an apology, but what is it that I ultimately want from her?
I nearly choke on my beer when the chiming of the doorbell radiates through the house. I look around and see the mess of things scattered across the floor, feel the stickiness of tears drying on my face, and realize I’m halfway through a six-pack, which means that in my current lightweight status, I’m starting to feel a bit buzzed. I decide to ignore whoever is at my door, but the knock that follows informs me that they know I’m home and have no intention of leaving. Sighing, I get to my feet, happy to discover the equilibrium in the room isn’t shifting. I drain the remainder of the porter on my way to the door, intending to dismiss whoever it is disturbing me, before grabbing a fresh bottle and continuing my trek down memory lane. I throw back the deadbolt and open the door, not bothering to see who is waiting for me on porch.
“Did something happen to Dana? Olivia asks from the other side of the screen door as I gape at her in silence.
�
��What? No, she’s fine. Why would you think that?” I ask when I finally find my voice.
“You’ve been crying,” she observes but says no more. We stare at each other through the stiff mesh, neither of us knowing what to say. “Could we talk?” she quietly asks after what felt like an interminable silence. I glance back into the living room and spot the box and some of its contents strewn around on the floor. Should I let Olivia in to see what I’ve been doing or talk to her on the porch? “Sorry, I didn’t realize you have company. Maybe we could talk sometime soon,” she says as I turn around and watch the hopeful glimmer disappear from her eyes.
“I don’t,” I start as she turns to leave, “have company, that is.” Olivia slowly turns around and raises her eyebrows at me, silently asking what I’d like to do. “I’ve been drinking,” I warn her as I show her the empty bottle.
“We should wait to talk until your sober,” she answers with a slight smile.
“This was only my third. I’m not drunk,” I assure her. “You’re welcome to come in if you’d like to talk,” I invite as I open the screen door for her. She unleashes a nervous smile as she opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside. At least I know that this is as awkward for her as it is for me. “I just want to say I’m sorry for how things went down,” I apologize before turning to see Olivia frozen in place, speechless. I follow her eyes as they bounce from one object to the next across the living room floor, before finally landing back on me.