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“I don’t understand. How can she be there? Does she work for WP too?”
“Not only that, but she’s the journalist from Toronto I’m supposed to train. And spend two weeks with in the woods. And . . .”
There’s no point in telling Lola that Donna asked me to house Charlee, because I can’t do it. And I doubt Charlee would agree to it once she puts two and two together.
But if Lola is anything, it’s deadly stubborn.
“And?” she presses.
“Apparently, the bed-and-breakfast made an error with the booking. Donna asked me if I could host Charlee when we’re in Pine Falls. I said yes when I didn’t know who the journalist in question was, but now she’ll have to find a plan C, because there’s no way I’m agreeing to it.”
“Okay, yeah, I can see how that’d be an issue.”
I close my eyes. Maybe if I blink hard enough, it will all go away. Maybe I’ll wake up from this bad dream and go back to my peaceful routine, as if none of this has happened. “What am I gonna do, Lola?” My hand slides across my face. “Fuck!”
“Oli, breathe. There’s a solution somewhere, you know that. You just can’t see it now because you’re in the thick of it. Take a step back. What’s in front of you?”
I do as Lola says and fill my lungs with air. “A dead end. It’s either I say no and lose the money for the restaurant, or I say yes and have to deal with Charlee, and I don’t have any clue about how anything will go down.”
“Are you really ready to say goodbye to Jerry’s, Ols? I know this is all kinds of fucked up. And I haven’t even wrapped my head around it yet, so I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. But this is your grandparents’ place we’re talking about. You can’t back down.”
“So, what?” I snap and regret it instantly. “I’m supposed to let her stay with me on top of everything? Do you know how long it’s taken me to get over her?”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Over her.”
“I—”
There isn’t really an answer to that question. None that would make sense five years later, anyway. The easy answer would be yes, I am. But the truth is far more nuanced, painted with many shades of maybe and I don’t know. Because I still can’t explain to myself how everything went so wrong so damn fast. How we went from having this overwhelming connection that made me feel like she was tethering me to this earth, to free-falling into utter silence.
“Look, Oli.” Lola’s soothing voice breaks the silence. “I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park. I’m not saying you have to be at her beck and call while she stays with you. All you need to do is put up with it for two weeks. Two weeks. You’ve done harder things than that. Put on your most convincing smile, don’t dwell on the past, and just do your thing. Stay professional. There’s no need to hash things out if you don’t want to. She’s here for business, and so are you. Keep your eyes on the prize. And I’ll be right there if you need me. You know that. Two weeks, Ols. Two miserable weeks to finally get your lifelong dream. What do you say?”
I push to my feet and stand. “I say I would rather become a finance bro who doesn’t eat gluten because it’s cool and works a nine-to-five job in New York City than spend two weeks with Charlee Fletcher with no cell reception.” I walk to the sink and splash some cold water on my face with my free hand, then pull my reading glasses from my back pocket. And as I slide them on, I catch a glimpse in the mirror of the little boy who spent hours in the kitchen of Jerry's with his grandpa, preparing Christmas dinners for the whole town, his tongue stuck between his teeth and his glasses slipping off his nose as he focused on chopping the vegetables just right.
It's for that boy that I say, “You’re right. Eyes on the prize.” I lock my gaze on my reflection. “I’m doing this.”
Toronto, October 13, 2017
Oliver!
Wow, it feels so good to be able to call you by your name.
First of all, thank you for your words about my mom. I didn’t know I needed them until I read your letter. Nobody has ever said that to me. Where have you been all my life? Ha!
Last night, I was working on a paper for my writing class. The teacher gave us this prompt: “Write about a place you’ve heard of but never been to,” and I got this urge to write about Pine Falls. I was lying on my bed, my computer in front of me, Red playing in the background (please tell me you know what I’m referencing), and daydreaming about your town, how I imagined it, how it’d feel to walk its streets next to you.
You’re not the only one wishing there weren’t forty hours of driving distance between us.
Second of all, thank you (again) for opening up to me about your neurodiversity. I learned a lot when I read the article you wrote. I know it made you relive memories you probably didn’t want to, so thank you for sharing this part of yourself with me.
If you ask me, I believe your sensitivity is a gift, even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes, especially in a society, with thousand-year-old stereotypes that men aren’t allowed to be anything but tough.
How was it, growing up with your grandparents? Do you think about your parents sometimes? Oh boy . . . I don’t know if it’s insensitive or intrusive on my part. Aren’t you glad you’ve been partnered with me? Haha.
I’ve talked to you about my sister, Riley, right? She’s been like a mom to me all my life. Sometimes, she’s a little overbearing, if you ask me, but she’s there for me whenever I need her. Anyway, she’s been married for six years to this guy from her work. Sean. Ugh, just his name makes me want to puke. Who do you picture if I tell you to imagine a guy named Sean working a corporate job in Toronto? Right?? Douchebag definition right there. Well, I hate him. He’s always so nice when he’s with us, but I don’t know. I don’t like how Riley acts when she’s with him. She’s off, not like I’m used to seeing her. And she always looks at him like she’s waiting for his approval or something. But Riley is head over heels for him, and I don’t know what to do. All I can do is watch him like a fox and make sure my sister knows I’m here for her if she needs me.
