Separate Like Stars

by Diana Kane

  “Back up a minute. I wanna know more about this bondage and role-playing,” she says with a mischievous grin.

  “Veering a bit out of second date territory, aren’t you?” I tease.

  “Ah, but this isn’t our second date. It’s more like our thousandth date,” she corrects me.

  “Be that as it may, that’s something you’re gonna have to figure out on your own,” I challenge.

  “So you’re telling me there’s a chance,” she quotes Dumb & Dumber as she wags her eyebrows.

  “Perhaps one day, if you play your cards right,” I inform her after my laughter subsides. I can’t help but pull my hand from hers so I can reach over and run my fingertips along her cheek. This is the Olivia I knew and loved all those years ago. The goofball behind the piercing eyes and enticing smile. Inside the woman is still the girl who used to make me laugh so hard I’d end up crying. The woman who was my world, until her love for me went extinct, or so I thought.

  “Where’d you go just now?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts, my fingertips lingering motionless on her cheek.

  “Memory lane,” I admit with a smile. “Everything is fine,” I assure her as I reach down and take her hand again. I see the hint of a crease that forms along Olivia’s forehead, a sign that she’s skeptical and worried.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” she quietly asks.

  “Not at all,” I promise. “I’m looking forward to spending the day with you,” I freely admit. I watch as the crease smooths and her smile returns. I have to admit that part of me is starting to accept that the past is just the past. Yes, Olivia broke my heart, but I have no way of predicting that it’ll happen again. We were young and idealistic when it happened. We had no idea how much effort it took to maintain a relationship and fate intervened to teach us that cruel lesson. It could have easily been something other than Olivia moving to Paris or Mrs. O’Connor taking her own life. Maybe the rigors of press tours, book signings, and movie adaptations would have doomed us. I have no way to know what any alternative scenarios might have looked like, but I know that in the here and now, Olivia Bradley loves me and my feelings for her have been reignited and are growing stronger than ever.

  “You’ve grown quite serious over there,” Olivia observes with a glance in my direction.

  “Just lost in thought for a moment,” I share before lifting her hand to my lips.

  *****

  “How’s writing treating you?” Olivia quietly asks as we stroll through the museum hand in hand.

  “Still toiling away on reworking that old story I mentioned before. It’s coming along though,” I evasively answer. The truth is the story of Olivia and me is still the only writing I’ve worked on as of late.

  “Well that’s better than nothing,” she answers as we stop to examine an exhibit featuring sculptures of women from various regions around the world.

  “It is,” I answer as I look at the display. “Isn’t it remarkable how differently women are seen and revered, depending on where in the world the art comes from?”

  “I think this one is my favorite,” she answers, drawing my attention away from the exhibit.

  “Which one?” I inquire.

  “This one,” she answers as she brushes the tip of her finger against the end of my nose.

  “You’re such a smooth talker,” I answer as she looks at me, her eyes telegraphing her intent as they bore into mine.

  “I am, aren’t I?” she jests as her free hand reaches up and cups my cheek. I smile in response as she slowly leans forward and her eyes fall to my lips.

  “Isn’t that Jordan Cohen?” I hear the loudly whispered question coming from my left.

  “I really don’t like your fans right now,” Olivia whispers as her forehead meets mine.

  “Neither do I,” I murmur back, cursing my luck. “Give me a minute,” I manage after a few seconds, not nearly long enough to bask in being that close to Olivia.

  “Hello,” I greet the two women standing a few feet away from us. Confirmation of their recognition lights up both their faces as I release Olivia’s hand to meet the duo. Olivia graciously watches as we chat for a minute, then helps out by snapping a photo of me with the pair before we go our separate ways.

  “Sorry,” I apologize when I’m by her side again.

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” she assures me. “They just had the worst timing,” she groans.

  “Yes they did,” I agree before quickly cupping Olivia’s face between my hands and stretching upward to press a kiss to her lips.

  “It was worth the wait,” she answers as she draws me closer to her and steals another kiss, the press of her warm lips lasting slightly longer than the first one.

  “Definitely worth it,” I concur as she takes my hand and we continue making our way through the museum.

  *****

  “Good to know your prowess at Skee-Ball is still getting you places in life,” I joke as we exit The Zone after a round of mini golf and a few hours in the arcade.

  “And I’m glad to see that your racing game skills have improved markedly. It’ll make betting over Mario Kart a lot more interesting,” she fires right back. “Besides, my talent for Skee-Ball netted us all of this,” she adds as she holds up the big bag of assorted candy we exchanged our tickets for.

  “Dinner is going to be served from that bag, isn’t it?”

  “Stick with me and I’ll have you fat and happy in no time,” she informs me as she unlocks the car. “Speaking of dinner,” she begins as we open our doors, “are you still up for continuing this date or will you be turning into a pumpkin if I don’t head for home soon?”

  “I’m still up for more if you are,” I issue, knowing she’ll see it as a challenge.

  “You of all people should know it’s dangerous to question what I’m up for,” she responds with a cocky grin before leaning over and swiping a quick kiss. “Buckle up. We have places to be and only a few minutes of wiggle room,” she says as she puts the car in drive and zips out of the parking lot.

  *****

  “Hey Frank,” Olivia calls over the counter to one of the six men busy dealing with the throng of people crowding Zender’s Deli.

  “Olivia!” the man I assume is Frank exclaims from the other side of the counter. We watch as Frank finishes up with his current customer before making his way down crowded counter. “You’re ready for it?”

  “We are,” Olivia shouts before smiling at him. I watch as Frank disappears into the back of the deli before turning to Olivia.

  “You’ve been busy planning today, haven’t you?”

  “Not that busy,” she leans in and speaks more directly in my ear so that I’ll be able to hear her over the echoing sound of a lot of background conversation. “Frank’s an old family friend. I called a few days ago and told him what I needed and when.”

  “I see,” I reply as Frank returns carrying a fancy looking picnic basket.

  “This is her?” he asks Olivia as he places the basket next to the cash register.

  “Yes,” Olivia shouts over the din. Frank’s deep, booming voice has to serve him well if tonight’s crowd is any indication. “Jordan, this is Frank. Frank this is Jordan, the woman I told you about.”

  “Very beautiful,” Frank says to Olivia.

  “I can’t argue with that,” Olivia beams. “So what do I owe you?” Olivia asks as she pulls the card from her wallet.

  “Nothing,” Frank says as he closes his beefy hand over Olivia’s, pushing it and the card away from the register. “Enjoy your date,” he says to Olivia. “And you,” he says turning his attention to me, “Olivia is very smitten with you, so don’t break her heart.”

  “I’ll try not to,” I shout over the din.

  “We’ve gotta get moving Frank. You sure I can’t pay you for this?”

  “Positive. Have a lovely evening,” Frank answers before turning back to the crowd along the counter.

  “Good grief,” I manage when
we finally exit the stuffy confines of the deli and are met with fresh air. “I’m glad you called ahead.”

  “I expected that,” she mysteriously answers. “I mean, Zender’s is busy most nights, but Friday nights in the summer they tend to be packed.”

  “How have I never heard of that deli before?”

  “No idea. I think it’s one of those spots that locals like to keep to themselves,” Olivia shares.

  “Maybe,” I answer, wondering why my uncles don’t seem to know about it. “So, we’re going on a picnic?”

  “Kinda,” Olivia remains tight-lipped. “We’ll be good to leave the car here, but I’ll need a hand with a few things,” she informs me as she pops the trunk. “We need that bag and the chair,” she says as she makes her way around the car and snags the bag of candy she left dangling around the center console gear shift. She returns in time to close the trunk as I hoist the strap of the duffle bag over my shoulder and scoop up the low profile lawn chair for two.

  “Are they still doing Classics in Conway?” I ask as we start walking in the direction of the park.

  “They are. I thought we could end the evening there. If that sounds good to you,” she smiles at me as she shifts the picnic basket to her other hand so that she can entwine her fingers with mine. “I debated on going to the concert in the park on the other side of town, but movies have always been more of our thing than classical music. We could still make it there if you’d rather do that.”

  “No. Classics in Conway sounds great! I didn’t know it was still a thing. I don’t think I’ve been since I went to Waterford,” I share as we continue towards the park.

  “That close to Zender’s and you had no idea,” Olivia teases.

  “None. So what are they showing tonight?”

  “Tonight’s double feature includes The Princess Bride and Labyrinth,” she shares, her smile infectious.

  “So the first movie we ever watched together and a film featuring an iconic Bowie role? Almost like you chose the lineup yourself,” I joke as we enter the outer edge of the park.

  “Almost,” she confirms with a smile. “Next month they are showing Willow and The Neverending Story on the same night. Maybe we can come back for that?”

  “Think you’re gonna make it another month?” I ask, fighting to keep the smile off of my lips.

  “Oh, that month and countless months to follow,” she cockily informs me.

  “Oh my god,” I push out on a rush of air, freezing in my tracks.

  “What?” Olivia asks, the panic in her voice hard to miss.

  “Have you realized that all the movies from our childhood are now classics?”

  “Seriously? Don’t scare me like that,” she nearly shouts as she nudges me with her shoulder. “I thought you just realized you left the oven on, or forgot to lock your front door, or I don’t know, changed your mind about dating me!”

  “What? Oh, no, none of those. I just realized classic is a way of saying antique and antique is a gracious way of saying old. We are old!”

  “We aren’t old,” Olivia chastises me. “Well, I’m not old. You do have a couple of months on me,” she adds as she tugs on my hand to get me moving again. “Wait, is this about your imaginary grey hair?”

  “It wasn’t imaginary,” I pointedly remind her. “I keep having to pluck it every other month.”

  “We’re still not old,” she argues. “Now, where do you want to sit?”

  “Anywhere is fine. That spot over there looks good,” I observe as I point to an open space near the center of the viewing area. There aren’t a lot of people here yet, but I’m sure the park will fill in around us soon enough. I squeeze Olivia’s hand before beginning the short trek to the grassy space we’ll occupy for the next few hours, the prospect of snuggling up with Olivia while we watch two classic films sending jolts of anticipation through my body.

  “You hungry?” Olivia asks as I work on spreading our blanket out.

  “I’m not starving, but if you’re ready to eat, we can,” I answer as Olivia opens the lawn chair and situates the picnic basket in front of it. “Will whatever is in the basket keep?”

  “Yeah. Frank put some dry ice in there to keep everything cold. We can wait. I’m not feeling famished yet,” she says with a grin. Her smile never fades as I watch her take a seat on the chair. Once comfortable, she looks up and meets my eyes as she pats the vacant space next to her and wiggles her eyebrows. I return her smile as I take the two steps required to stand in front of her. Instead of taking a seat, I lean down and claim her lips. I catch the faint sound of a contented murmur escaping her as my fingers curl into the hair at the base of her neck and hold her to me. Not content to allow this kiss to remain chaste, I gently suck her lower lip into my mouth, securing it between my teeth so I can run the tip of my tongue along it. Her fingers dig into my hips as I allow her lip to slowly slide through my teeth, ending the all too brief lip lock. I pull back slightly and watch as her eyes slowly flutter open, unsated desire flooding them, feeding the rapid beating of my heart.

  “Thank you for today,” I whisper as I slide my hands from the back of her head to her cheeks, allowing my fingertips to loiter there. “It’s been perfect,” I add before stealing another quick kiss.

  “I’m sure you’ve been on fancier dates,” she murmurs as her eyes drift upward from my lips to meet mine.

  “Olivia Bradley,” I utter her name in my best imitation mom voice. “I thought you said you knew me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you should know better than that. I’ve been on dates to Michelin Star restaurants that were complete disasters. Today has been anything but. I don’t need an expensive meal and an exquisite view to have a good time. I’ve had some of my greatest dates with you, when we were just ourselves, goofing around and wasting time. You don’t need to impress me,” I remind her as I allow my fingers to caress her cheeks. “Why do you feel you need to?”

  “All those years of seeing you dating those other women. The restaurants, the opera, the Hamptons, Napa, all of it. I can’t give you those things, so I feel this pressure to impress you, even though I’m not sure how.”

  “Oh Liv,” I whisper as I feel my heart break slightly. “I don’t need any of that. If I wanted it, I doubt I’d be living in Jupiter Falls. Not to mention I’m more than capable of providing them for myself. Do you have any idea how many of the places I’ve been spotted at were staged sightings? I lost count long ago, but believe me when I say those things are not me. I’d have more fun watching paint dry with you than I did on some of those dates. So please don’t feel pressured to impress me. Just be you. That’s who I’m interested in being with,” I assure her before pressing my lips to her forehead and squatting down to pull her into my arms. “Okay?” I ask as she buries her nose in my hair and takes a deep breath.

  “Yeah,” she answers, her breath tickling my neck.

  “Good,” I reply as I release her and stand up again. “I’d like it if you’d tell me when you’re feeling that way. If it’s something I’m doing or said, I’d like to know.”

  “It wasn’t anything you did or said,” she assures me. “I promise I’ll tell you if something is bothering me,” she adds as she takes my hand. I silently pray that she’s telling the truth, especially given that she didn’t share her feelings with me all those years ago. “It won’t be like before,” she quietly adds. “I promise that if something is bothering me on that level, I’ll talk to you.”

  “I hope so. Don’t bottle it up until the glass shatters, like the typical Pisces you are.”

  “I won’t. I know I screwed up by not talking to you before. I won’t lose you to the same mistake again,” she vows as she squeezes my hand. I take a seat as I allow her words to sink in, hoping they’ll ease that apprehension I feel knowing the mistakes of the past could repeat themselves in the future. “Jordan, I swear that I won’t. I’d marry you today if I thought it was what you wanted.”

  “Is that what you wan
t?” I ask, taken aback by where this conversation has led.

  “How scared are you going to be if I say yes?”

  “I’m not,” I answer, despite the nervousness I feel gripping my stomach.

  “Is it something you might want someday?”

  “Perhaps one day. I haven’t given it much thought,” I admit.

  “And that’s fine. You still need to figure out if you think we can be an us again. I’m in no hurry. I am sorry that I just threw it out there like that though,” she adds, her cheeks flushing slightly.

  “It’s fine. We can revisit the matter when the time is right,” I say, causing her to frown slightly. I know it’s not the answer she wanted to hear, but it’s the only one I have at the moment. “So, what’s in the basket,” I ask after a few seconds of silence.