Page 43 of If You Like It, I Love It

“I haven’t even had a shower yet,” I say. “And I slept outside last night.”

“We’re not coming to do a photo shoot. We’re coming to catch up on each other’s lives, the same as we would at the bar. We’re bringing food and booze, and we’re already on the way, so if you don’t want to hang out with us, you’re going to have to tell us to our faces.”

“I won’t turn y’all away.”

I know they’re not on the way yet, but even if they are, I have time for a quick shower. I leave the bathroom door open in case Oliver screams. If I have to run to him wearing a towel with soap in my eyes, I’ll do it.

Oliver doesn’t interrupt my shower, but I don’t push my luck with the hair dryer. After I comb through my wet hair, I twist it up into a clip and throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

They take turns hugging me as soon as I open the door, and then they march right past me into the kitchen. This isn’t a delivery; it’s an ambush of friendship, and they know I’m not going to ask them to leave. I update them on the Oliver Chronicles, and Glynnis immediately asks, “How long are you planning to keep sleeping in a pasture?”

Of course, that’s what she took from my story. Some people see the world in black and white; she sees it in pink and red, gloss and matte . . . shades of sleeping in a pasture are beyond her emotional color wheel.

“For a few more nights at least.”

“What will be the sign that he’ll be okay on his own overnight again?” Sabrina asks.

Right, like I’ve thought this through that well . . . my head is swimming with fear and hard truths and anxiety. “I guess I’ll just know.”

“Well, I’m glad you and Enzo are seeing each other again,” Glynnis says. “Sounds like you need him right now.”

“Oh, no . . . actually, we’re not. He just came over for dinner, and happened to be great about the whole ordeal last night.”

“If he wouldn’t let you sleep outside alone last night, what makes you think he doesn’t plan to come straight here after work to make sure you don’t do that tonight either?” Sabrina asks.

“Trust me, it was not a fun sleepover. I doubt he’s looking to repeat it.”

They brought salads from Trudy’s. The wine they brought sits unopened on my counter. I’m too tired for wine, and Glynnis has an event at her store that starts in a few hours, an event I was planning to attend before Oliver’s health changed everything.

Sugar Lips is hosting a lip injection specialist for several hours. I didn’t have an appointment for injections, but I did want to go to support Glynnis. She’s got her licensing almost complete, and she’s so close to hiring a full-time injectionist. Tonight’s event is a preview, sort of a soft launch for the upcoming additional services she’ll be able to offer.

She understands why I’m not coming, of course. Truthfully, I’ll probably never use those services myself, but I still feel bad for not being there to celebrate the expansion of her business.

Sabrina tells me to keep the wine and enjoy it when Oliver is all better. I appreciate her reassurance that he’s going to be fine. It doesn’t matter that I’m the one who works for a vet; I’ll take any and all votes of confidence to heart at this point. If my mail carrier wants to weigh in with an optimistic diagnosis, I’ll treat it like a professional opinion.

I’ve opened my new bay window just a crack to be sure I can hear Oliver. After Sabrina and Glynnis leave, I sit in the breakfast nook and fold a load of laundry. My wallpaper still needs to be installed, but I don’t feel any sense of urgency about that anymore. It’ll get done when it gets done.

Enzo’s shirt that I slept in last night doesn’t smell like him the way his shirts usually do. It also no longer smells like Oliver’s pen, which I’m sure he’ll appreciate. Hopefully, he won’t mind that it smells like my lavender-mint detergent pods, which probably means it smells a little like me.

I take more time and care to make sure the folds on his shirt are crisper than I ever bother with for my own shirts. I’m usually a flip-flop-fast folder, but his clothes are always so neat. Maybe I should put it on a hanger instead.

My half-naked bed is a reminder that I still need to wash my bedding, though if I’m sleeping outside again, there’s no point. I snag an empty hanger from my closet and hurry back to the kitchen where I can see Oliver’s pen through the window.

He’s up and moving around, nibbling the soft leaves off the small cedar elm branches that hang over his fence, and not screaming—all good signs.

Sabrina was wrong about Enzo showing up after work. The sun is already starting to set when I go out to offer Oliver the supplements that Dr. Abernathy recommended. I have to camouflage them in a handful of shredded sweet potato. They must not smell or taste too bad because Oliver gobbles them up in his favorite treat. The fact that he eats the whole handful of sweet potato is another good sign.

I hear the truck pull up out front, and I want to be annoyed that he’s here, but instead, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. There’s no way I’m going to let him stay again. He can’t keep spending all night on alpaca watch in my pasture and then trying to work all day with so little sleep. But my shoulders relax, knowing I’m about to see him.

When he rounds the corner of the house, he’s pulling a loaded utility wagon.

“What are you bringing me?”

“I’m bringing us a tent and sleeping bags. Cool front is moving in tonight. This will be a better option than sleeping out in the open.”

“Enzo, you can’t stay again. I can do this on my own, I promise.”

“You can do a lot of things on your own. Doesn’t mean you should have to.” He starts unloading his camping gear. “Besides, you need some social time.”