We just stared at each other, green eyes to blue eyes. His solid olive skin to my pale, freckled one. His smooth golden-brown hair to my unruly ginger curls that I hated. In my heart, I wondered how beautiful a sister would be who looked like Oliver. I’d have given a lot to have the easy life of unfreckled skin, smooth hair, and a lean body and long limbs like such a sister most likely would have had if she ever came to be before Oliver’s mom died.
“I don’t want another duck. Not ever.”
I could see the tears that finally accumulated in the green eyes and the effort Oliver mustered to not shed them in front of me.
I spared him the need to ask me to go. I briefly hugged him, throwing my chubby arms around his neck—we were the same height back then—as he stood there as straight and stiff as a board. “Bye, Oliver, I’ll see you next week,” I said, then left.
As I closed the door behind me, he still stood there, stiffly, and my six-year-old self heard the single soft sob that escaped his lips.
I hadn’t seen him the week after. He had gone back to spending the rest of the summer with his aunt.
Years later, I would absorb Oliver and his pain into me.
Chapter 4
Oliver
I was likehim.
I knew I was.
The London drizzle raced down the double-glazed windows of the silent apartment on Whitcomb Street, the sound completely muffled. You could hear a pin drop. But who would drop one? I owned the building and stayed here alone. I was used to being alone, even in company. Preferred it. For a moment, during the silly party at my house, I hadn’t been alone, because she’d been there.
Emails answered, meetings held online—you had to love technology for sparing you unnecessary contact with people. So was overseeing the financial side of things, making decisions, and having others execute them.
Took me years to get to the point where I could treat everything as a function—eating, working, traveling, breathing, fucking. Living.
That was better than before, when rage seeped through the seams. Now it couldn’t. No feelings, no rage. No nothing. Not even wondering if January had moved into the house.
I lived up to my reputation. Oliver Twisted didn’t do relationships. I didn’t trust him to.
I was likehim. But at least I didn’t hurt anyone. Anymore.
Chapter 5
January
“Vi, if I join you for the first five minutes, will you sit with Sue? She’s new, she’s nice, and you’re going to love her. She has a big mouth, just like yours.”
“Why should I?” Vi gave me a sly look. It was four days after Oliver’s party, and I had just gotten my modest check from Amy.
“Because I have other patients, and things to do, and places to be, and I hate to leave you alone. And she’s alone, too.” I got up and wiped my hands on the cotton of my light blue scrubs.
“I’m good on my own.” Vi pretended to gaze out the window of her room.
“No, you’re not. You love having an audience. I bet Sue won’t clutch any pearls when you tell her about that time you had a threesome with that famous guy and his girlfriend whose names I always forget.”
Vi didn’t look convinced.
“I bet she’ll see your threesome and raise you a foursome,” I added in a low voice and a cheeky smile.
A laugh. Finally. I loved making Vi laugh. I loved making all my patients laugh. I felt like I was adding sand to their hourglasses. It helped me repress the thought of other favorites who had passed on, and the fact that I had attended more funerals than I cared to remember.
“Okay, let’s see that new favorite of yours,” Vi said.
“You’ll always be my favorite,” I said as I undid the brake on her wheelchair. She was a bit weaker this morning, so I had managed to convince her we would use the chair.
“Sue, this is Vi. Now you both met the coolest person here,” I whispered as I parked Vi’s chair at Sue’s table in the community room. “You two, please get along and don’t raise hell for the others, okay? Promise?”
