I squeeze her hand under the table. She squeezes back.
Mom leans forward, her pearl earrings catching the light. “So, Olive,” she says, “when is the big day?”
Olive glances at me, her eyes wide, but then she smiles. “Next month. We wanted to keep it simple but still… special.”
There’s a pause. I can feel Dad calculating, probably tallying up the “impulsive decisions” in his head.
“Which is why,” I say, clearing my throat, “we’d like you both to be there. At the wedding.”
Mom blinks. Dad raises an eyebrow.
“We’d love for you to come,” Olive adds, her voice gentle but sure. “It wouldn’t feel complete without family.”
I can see my mom’s shoulders soften at that word—family. It’s Olive’s tone that does it. It’s not some showy, fake invitation. It’s real. Heartfelt.
“Well,” Mom says after a moment, “of course we’ll be there. We wouldn’t miss it. What about your family, Olive? Will your parents be attending the wedding?”
The question hangs in the air, soft but loaded—like a thread dangling over a flame.
Olive sets her spoon down with a gentle clink and straightens her spine. “They passed away,” she says quietly. “Car accident. I was fourteen.”
My mother’s face shifts instantly—shock, then something softer. My father lowers his glass slowly.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom says.
Olive nods once, offering a faint, practiced smile. “Thanks. It’s just me and my brother these days. We get by.”
There’s a beat of silence before my dad clears his throat. “Well, then we’ll consider ourselves honored to represent the older generation at your wedding.”
Olive blinks, a little surprised, and then smiles, wide and grateful.
And I—I can’t stop staring at her.
Because this woman just handed my family her tragedy without flinching. And instead of shrinking, she glowed. Strong. Resilient. Warm.
And I’m in awe of her.
15
OLIVE
Human Golden Retriever
Ash’s fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel as we merge onto the freeway, the city lights flickering across the windshield like nervous energy.
“Well,” I say, breaking the silence, “that wasn’t a disaster.”
He huffs a laugh. “I was bracing for an emergency exit. Like… crawling out the bathroom window kind of exit.”
“Same,” I admit with a smile. “Your mom didn’t even blink when I quotedPride and Prejudiceover soup. I think she might actually like me.”
He glances at me, eyes soft. “She does. You were… amazing.”
I snort. “I asked for more breadsticks four times.”
“Exactly.” His lips twitch. “You were unapologetically Olive. They didn’t know what hit them.”
A warm flush creeps into my cheeks. I turn to the window, watching the blur of headlights streak by.
