Her voice comes quiet, hesitant. “Is he seeing anyone?”
I shake my head. “No. He made a whole show at Sam’s wedding, pretending to be into Charlie’s friend Tish. But it was just that—a show. We all saw through it. Poor girl didn’t even realize she was being used as a shield.”
Olive sighs, her shoulders curling inward. “It’s only a matter of time before he moves on.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But you haven’t seen him, Olive. That man is devastated. He walks around like his boots are full of lead. Barely speaks. He’s heartbroken, even if he’s too stubborn to do anything about it.”
The rest of the drive is quiet after that. Heavy with everything said and everything left unsaid.
When we pull into Olive’s parents’ place, I’m swept into warmth and chaos. Her mom throws open the front door, eyes lighting up with joy as she gushes over ultrasound photos. A little while later, her dad arrives.
And that’s what hits me hardest.
Not because I’m not happy for Olive.
But because it’s something I’ll never have.
My mom died when I was born. My dad passed away while I was in college. Both gone too soon, leaving behind holes too big to fill.
I’m still thinking about it when Olive’s mom suggests we go freshen up before dinner.
Olive leads me down the hall, stopping at a door.
“I should warn you,” she says, hand on the knob. “This room is frozen in time.”
I snort as I step inside. “Wow. One Direction. Why am I not surprised?”
Olive huffs, “That was Opal’s side of the room.”
I grin and point. “Not gonna mention there’s a One Direction poster over there, too?”
She rolls her eyes, laughing, and I cross the room to sit on the edge of Opal’s old bed. The air shifts like we’ve stepped into a memory made of soft light and echoes.
Opal was Olive’s twin. She died from cancer when they were eighteen. I know Olive misses her, especially now.
“This feels like you,” I say softly. “And her.”
“It was us. For a long time, it was everything.”
“It still is.” I smooth a hand over the faded quilt. “She had good taste.”
“She was loud about it,” Olive says with a watery smile. “Everything had to have sparkle or denim or both. You should’ve seen what she wore to our eighth-grade graduation. Tried to get me to match. Like we were Britney and Justin, circa 2001.”
“I wish I could’ve met her.”
“She would’ve loved you. She had a nose for bullshit and loyalty. You two would’ve been instant friends. Probably would've ganged up on me.”
“Definitely would have,” I say, nudging her.
Olive’s smile falters. “I spent so long trying to be the one who didn’t fall apart. After she died, I just held everything. For my parents. For myself. For what was left.”
“And then Liam,” I say gently.
“And then Liam.”
The air settles into stillness. Like dusk curling into the corners of the room.
“I don’t know what he’s doing, Olive,” I say. “I don’t know why he hasn’t come after you. But I do know he’s miserable. And so are you. But even if he never comes,” I add, “you’ll still have something beautiful. You’ve already made something beautiful. That’s what Opal would’ve seen. Not just what you lost—but what you’re still building.”
