It’s still the same accusing message when I wake up groggily the next morning, the smell of coffee and the clanging of Mom’s pots and pans stirring me awake. Lured by the thought of some food and warm coffee, I slog down the stairs and sit at the kitchen table, blinking blearily until she gently places a plate of food in front of me. But it still feels like my arms are filled with lead as I pick up my fork and take a tentative bite of the fluffy eggs. I decide to go a tiny bit crazy and send another text—a simpleHey, did you get my message?
But that one loads and loads, and never delivers.Good going, Olive,my brain snaps at me, enraged at me realizing my true feelings too late.Now he probably blocked your number for being crazy.
Mom takes one look at my face and frowns. “Rough night?”
I shrug into my plate. “Didn’t sleep well.” Not exactly a lie, even if it isn’t the full truth. If Mom picks up on it, she doesn’t let on, instead setting her own plate down, forcing me to make small talk to ignore the whirling dread in my heart.
“Connor and I have another date this weekend,” she begins, unable to keep the smitten smile from blooming on her face. “He originally told me it was a surprise, but then he got too excited so he told me anyway. We’re going to the botanical gardens and having a picnic there. Isn’t that sweet?”
The mere mention of a picnic has my mind flashing back to images of my day with Tyler at the Rainbow Drive-In. The carved wooden picnic tables, the smells of meat and rice and egg in the air. Still, I rally for my mother and do my best to paste on a pleased smile. “That sounds awesome, Mom. He seems like a really nice guy.”
She beams back at me. “Thank you, pea. I have a feeling this one’s going to stick. I don’t know how, but…he just feels different than the others.”
A few weeks ago, if my mother had said those exact same words to me, I would’ve internally rolled my eyes and started counting down the guy’s days. Lord knows she’s said that more than two dozen times in her life.
But this time…I can’t help but agree that it feels different. While she still seems bubbly and excited and madly in love, she also seems grounded, in a way that she hasn’t ever before. Almost like her soul’s at peace. Almost like when you find the right person, you can just let yourself rest and bask in it.
Which is why, instead of mentally placing my bets on how long Connor will last, I find myself smiling back—and actually meaning it. “I think so, too. He seems like a good fit for you.” And it’s quickly clear how much those words mean to her, because her smile breaks out even wider, and if I’m not mistaken, it looks like her eyes are shining and a bit misty.
However, I’m pulled out of those thoughts pretty quickly when my mother seems to decide that my moping around this morning is no longer a suitable activity for our afternoon.
“All right, Olive.” Mom sets her fork down and claps her hands once, commanding my attention. I look up at her in surprise, and she levels me with a serious look. “You’re clearly in a funk, even if you won’t admit it to me, so today we’re going to do something about it.”
I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to sink any further. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need some time to stew in it.”
She shakes her head and stands up, collecting our platesbefore I can shovel the last forkful of eggs into my mouth. “Stew is something you make for dinner; it’s not a suitable activity. I have some errands to run today, so you’re coming with me.”
Could a worse decree ever be declared by a mother? Whether I’m eight or eighteen, I haveneverbeen a fan of running errands with Mom. It’s a process that includes a lot of pit stops and takesforever.
“Mom—”
“Nope.” Her tone is firm and she crosses her arms. “I’m pretty lenient with bossing you around, pea, but right now, this is not up for debate.” She gives me a steely look as she motions toward the stairs. “So, go get ready. The groceries aren’t going to buy themselves, and we have to get a move on.”
“Fine,” I grumble, standing up and shaking breakfast crumbs off my lap. As grumpy as I am about the prospect of being forced to go run around town with my mother all day, at least it’ll be a welcome distraction from sitting and wallowing. Still, on the way out the door, I can’t help but slip my phone out of my pocket and check my messages one more time, the empty notification bar taunting me. Tyler still didn’t reply, so I take the risk of seeming clingy and send another.
Olive: Hey, can we talk when you get home? Things felt like they left off weird. And I could really use some time to talk to you about it.
But I’m still met with nothing. Nothing is delivering.
The rest of my day passes by the exact same way—running those dreaded errands with Mom, cleaning my room, finallyunpacking my suitcase. Checking my phone constantly with not a single reply to my texts.
That’s it,I finally resign to myself around 9:00p.m. while I’m sitting on the couch with Mom, trying to distract myself withRuPaul’s Drag Racebut not quite succeeding. I’ve sent close to ten texts at this point, well into obsessive territory, and every single one went undelivered. Everything ranging from pleas to talk, to sending along the selfie we took on our hike, and even some stupid internet meme about coconuts that I came across during my Twitter doomscrolling. That one I was sure I’d get a response to—but still silence.It’s over. I lost my chance.It doesn’t feel unlike it felt back when Tyler and I broke up, when it was like he totally vaporized out of my life in the week that followed—no texts, no calls, not even taking the usual routes to class to avoid bumping into me.
Mom, to her credit, doesn’t push me about what’s wrong, even though I catch her frowning in my direction more than once, her brows furrowed. As close as my mother and I have always been, I’ve never felt a million miles away from her before now—not even when I was across the continent and the Pacific Ocean.
By midnight, I’ve finally accepted my fate and the fact that I managed to cosmically mess up the best second chance of my life. This would normally be the part of a mental crisis where I’d reach for my trusty planner and stickers and pens and washi tape and try to organize the hell out of my thoughts, figuring out what the next steps will be to solve my problem—but this time, it’s a problem that seems unsolvable.
I’m so empty about it that I can’t even cry, instead curling up in a ball under my comforter and listening to my breathing, feeling the sharp sting in my eyes from the tears that refuse tofall. I blew things up with Tyler, and with Delia, and she was right—I was only thinking of myself. Which is what prompts me to pick up my phone for the umpteenth time that day, but not for Tyler.
“Olive.” Delia’s tone is cool when she picks up. There’s the soft sound of running water behind her, which means she’s likely propped up in bed in her childhood room next to her exotic fishtank that Tyler and I both admired but were never allowed to touch. One Christmas I even got her a fake little fireplace to put inside the tank—briefly, I wonder if she still keeps it there.
“Look.” I take a deep breath and launch right into it. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry. You were right about everything with Tyler, but that isn’t even the point. The point is that I’ve been a shitty friend to you, and you deserve an apology. Of course I want to know what’s going on in your life. You were one of my closest friends for so long, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you in all the ways I should’ve been. You deserve better.”
“Mmm,” Delia mutters. “I did. Thanks for recognizing that.”
I hear a cough in the background on her end, and it brings me up short. “Is someone there with you?”
“It’s my dad, down the hall,” she responds dryly. “Mom moved in with my aunt across town after finding out about my girlfriend. He’s working on being better and more accepting, especially since she won’t be. Which is something you’d know if you hadn’t ditched us all for that colossal Jackass.”
