I suck in a breath, silently nodding, attempting to shake off the memory of him and reminding myself that I came here to find the girl I was before his brush touched me.
I slice into the thick piece of french toast, the crispy outer edges perfectly complimenting the fluffy interior and I’ll give it to Olivia, I do feel a hell of a lot better. Elliot’s been pushed away, even though fragments of him still swirl in the base of my stomach. But I can feel them settling.
“Sugar fixes all,” she says with a mouth full of brunch and I laugh because I’m seeing yet another side of her.
I find myself wanting to paint this version. Powdered sugar is sprinkled against her black turtleneck and her previously coiffed ponytail is now haphazardly pushed up into a messy bun, the perspiration of the day melting away her foundation to reveal a smattering of freckles I didn’t notice before. The harsh discerning glint in her eye gives way to pure amber flecked warmth, and I can already see the pigments on my shelf.
“You ever modeled?” I ask, stacking pieces of cut toast on my fork. When I flick my gaze up to her, her brows are drawn tight, a disbelieving smirk on her face.
“Not my thing.”
“I’m serious. You’re stunning, Liv. No one’s ever approached you?” The comment takes her aback. She stops mid-bite like she didn’t expect it, her corners of her mouth turning downwards. Caution pools in her eyes like I’m tricking her or trying to hurt her in some way. I shrug, not wanting to force her to sit in this discomfort and suck down the final dregs of the house iced coffee they poured us when we walked in.
“I wasa late bloomer,” she finally says, clearing her throat. “Unibrow and all.”
“Stop it. You’d kill a unibrow.” The ferocity of her brow should’ve made it more obvious that she’s plucking a barrier between the two sides of her face, and I nod vigorously so she knows I’m being serious. “Your body your choice and all that, but you’re fucking gorgeous, Olivia. Free the brow,” I shrug, shoving the sugary bread into my mouth.
Her hesitance shrinks a little, her lips melting into the softest smile. “Well, you are, too. Obviously.”
I roll my eyes, smirking. “God, you really don’t have girlfriends, do you?” I signal the waiter for a refill and glance back at Olivia who's more closed off, her cheeks a rosy hue signaling her unease. “What I mean is…we could just exist. There’s no measuring stick. If I tell you you’re pretty, you can trust I told you because you deserved to know…not because I want something from you. You know?” I dip my head, taking a long sip from my newly refilled iced coffee, keeping my eyes tipped up to her.
She hums to herself, her gaze going far off before blinking back to the present. “That is new for me. But I’ll try it. Foryou, ‘midnight princess’.” Her mouth twists into a playful smile as she recalls just one of the many names the gossip columns call me.
“You looked me up?”
She shrugs, easing into us. “Course I did. You can’t just pop up out of thin air and expect peoplenotto ask questions.” She eyes me, tilting her head. “Call me crazy but…could it have something to do with the way you bolted out of that gallery?”
Pulling in a breath that reaches my diaphragm, I nod, slowly. “Have you ever been involved with someone you knew you shouldn’t be?” I use my fork to move the final pieces of egg still lingering on myplate.
Liv shifts in her seat, discomfort now stifling the air around us and my mind flicks back to the team dinner, to the heat between Ben, Will, and Olivia, and I realize that may have been the wrong question to lead with.
“That…piece of art…” I trail off trying to find the words.
“With the oranges?” she asks, interest overtaking her former embarrassment now that she realizes the question was rhetorical.
“Right. I, um—” I take a sip of my coffee, nodding at the waiter in thanks. “I collaborated on that piece.” Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up in excitement and I realize yet again I am not framing this well.
“No way! Sloane—that’s amazing. Oh my god, we can go back? I can get a picture of you with it and?—”
“It’s not really known. That I collaborated, I mean.” Her eyebrows bunch in confusion before her mouth forms an oh shape, clearly realizing there's more to the story.
“With the person you shouldn’t have…”
I nod, trying to reel in this story that I’ve hidden so deep within myself until I can almost feel the pulp of the oranges that I so carefully sliced: not too jagged, not too perfect but somewhere in between.
“Like us.”
Elliot’s voice rings in my head like dust traveling through air, the clarity transporting me to the floor of his loft.Every note we’d pass before and after his lectures sprawled between us like stolen scripture, sacred and trembling with the things we couldn’t say out loud.
At the time he’d convinced me that the installation was about the ripeness of new love. How alive one person could feel when they met another. I feel stupid, seeing that fruit in the gallery, how it’s been preserved. Every bruise lacquered into permanence, nothing softened with time, the rot just settlingdeeper. I swallow, the hatred now souring in my mouth with the realization that he had me help him immortalize our decay, and with the understanding that all the evidence of what I was to him is just framed and hung on a wall.
I can still see his genius. Still want it all to mean more than it does.
Olivia sighs, reaching over to squeeze my hand, a gesture I can sense is foreign to her which makes it all the more meaningful. “Do you want to talk about it?” Her eyes are sincere. Tender.
Still, I shake my head. “Honestly, I just need to get my mind off it.” I begin to push around the eggs again.
“Well…if it’s any consolation, I do have a taser. So, if we ever see him.” A warm laugh miraculously finds its way through me and I smile at my new friend. “Seriously though, I know what it’s like to have to deal with a man who doesn’t want all of you.” She’s nodding into her food, the mousiness from the other night making an appearance and I pinch my eyes trying to see what she’s not saying.
