Every time I open my mouth to do it, I envision her telling me that she never wants to see me again. I picture Jasper caught between the sister he helped raise and me, and I feel like the worst person in the world.
Is there a reality where I get to keep them both? Where I'm brave enough to love him in reality as fiercely as I always have in secret? I want to be that person so damn badly I can taste it.
And then I taste the memory of smoke, and it chokes me. I'm paralyzed by fear that I don't want to carry anymore. I want to put it down. I want to put it down so fucking badly.
"What did you do?" I ask, not entirely sure I want to know. When she left here last night, she was determined to stake out her hot neighbor. I told her it was a bad idea, but Olive never listens to anyone except the devil on her shoulder.
"I heard someone screaming for help from Mason's," she says, grabbing filters to start brewing coffee. "Like, legitimately screaming for help, Sarah."
"Oh, my god." My eyes widen with shock.
"I know, right? I mean, you all laughed at me when I said he could be a serial killer, but there I was, listening to some poor woman screaming. I wanted to run over there and beat him with a shoe. You know, the fancy ones with the pointy heel that I bought a few weeks ago?"
"Please tell me that you didn't," I groan.
"Hell no. I called the cops." Her shoulders slump. "It was a parrot."
"What?"
"The screaming was his damn bird!" she cries, flinging water from the pot everywhere. "I called the cops on a parrot."
"You didn't!" I groan, staring at her in horror. "Please tell me that you're kidding."
"I wish I were," she croaks, dumping grounds into the filter. "It was like a trainwreck, Sarah. I know he knows I'm the one who called. The police came to my house as soon as they left his. Like,as soon as."
"So much for discretion," I mutter.
"Right?" she cries, gaping at me like she's offended. "It's a good thing he isn't a serial killer!"
"At least you're finally ready to admit it." I grin, relieved we've at least established that much. Maybe now she'll admit that she's crazy about him. "I thought you'd do something drastic first."
"I hate you," she groans, making me giggle. "I'm never living this down. I fucking ninja-rolled to my car just to get out of there without him seeing me this morning. If anyone saw me, they probably think I've lost it!"
"You have," I tease softly. "You called 9-1-1 on a bird."
"You aren't helping! If you'd heard what I did, you would have called too."
"How did you mistake a bird for a woman?" I ask and then crack up. I can't help it. This would only happen to her.
She dirty-glares at me.
"I'm sorry!" I wipe tears from my eyes. God, I needed to laugh like this today. "It's just…this is so classically you. Remember that time you mistook Jasper for a burglar when he flew home from overseas to surprise you? You tried to jump on his back with a pillowcase to try to smother him to death, but you missed and landed on the coffee table."
"It was screaming for help," she mutters defensively, glossing over that particular memory like it never happened, even though she still has the scars from the stitches she needed afterward. "And it's not like I was in the same room with the bird. It was screaming from next door. The sound was muffled and distant. It sounded like a woman!"
My lips twitch again before I manage to compose myself. "What are you going to do now?"
"There are only two options," she says, sighing heavily. "Either I move to Europe and change my name, or I apologize."
"You are not moving to Europe, Olive."
"I could. I even picked out a new name."
"Oh, this will be good," I mutter, propping a hip on the counter. "Let's hear it."
"Alyvia Sandoval."
"You know the most frightening part?" I stare at her for a long moment before grabbing a coffee mug to pour a cup. "You're actually serious."
