“Yep. Dreams aside, this is emotionally complicated, Olive,” says Kate, nodding.
“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “It can’t be more complicated than Mum and Dad.”
Kate and Ginny and I keep talking for the next few hours,analyzing the situation from every angle, until I start to form a full picture of what I’d be taking on.
The best of friends. An abundance of patience. Not a stifled yawn or a change of subject between them. And then the conversation turns back to Leo.
“Have you heard from him?”
“Of course,” I say, heart squeezing in an entirely different way. Thinking of Leo alters my brain chemistry, despite everything. “Because he’s Leo and he’s thoughtful and he wants to know I’m okay.”
On the train back from Mum’s, I sent him a message with an abridged version of the story.
ME:I was right. Mum confessed. Feeling pretty shocked & heading back to London to process.
Thank you for everything. Olive x
LEO:What can I do? Leo x
ME:Nothing. I’ll call you soon, I promise.
LEO:Don’t think about me. Lx
Later, as the train pulled into Euston station, he sent another message.
LEO:But I am thinking about you. x
I need to call him, but I wanted to speak to him after I’d had time with the girls to regroup and figure out what I really want.
“What are you going to do?” says Ginny, her eyes rounding in sweet hope.
“How do you feel about him?” Kate asks.
The physical response is immediate; my cheeks flush, my stomach tightens, I feel breathless and filled with life at once. I close my eyes and see flashes of Leo. The twinkle in his eye. Chasing me up the hill on our bikes. Cherries. His hands on me in the pool. His freely expressed passion. For life. For food. For me.
“I am drawn to him...,” I say, one shoulder rising.
“A moth to a flame?”Ginny.
“No. It isn’t all danger, danger. It’s like sugar to cream,” I say, laughing. “Like butter to bread.”
“Like peanut butter to jam,” says Ginny.
“Like a hot dog in your bun, more like,” says Kate.
“We fit,” I say, simply. “I’ve enjoyed doing the book with him. Once we found our groove it was great.”
“That’s so good,” Kate says.
“He finished all the recipes. Oh god, that reminds me,” I say, glancing back through the balcony doors into the house. “My suitcase that got returned. There’s a manuscript in there. I need to go through it. I need to get this fucking book done!”
“We’ll leave you to it, honey,” says Ginny, standing up immediately.
“Thank you,” I say.
After the girls leave, I open up my suitcase, smiling at the dresses and bikinis and all the lost, nervous thoughts that went into packing for this trip. And then I pull out the bound manuscript, opening immediately to the first page, when something falls out.
I look down at the floor and there’s an envelope.
