Betting on the Brainiac: a Sweet Romantic Comedy

33. Chapter Thirty-Three

I’d thought the only thing marrying Oliver would change is that I’d see him more now that we’re neighbors too. Nope. I don’t see him at all. I mean, at all.

There is evidence he spends nights at home, like the changing dishes on his kitchen drying rack. That’s about it. I don’t know when he leaves for work or when he comes home, but it’s definitely before I get there and after I leave.

I knew it wouldn’t bother me to see Oliver more. By Thursday, I’m honestly surprised by how much it bothers me to see him less, and I don’t know what to think about that.

Guys have always fallen into two categories for me: friends or future exes. The friend category is small, and it’s mostly made of guys like Joey and Josh, guys I spend a lot of time around because they’re related to or dating one of my roommates. Other than that, every now and then I’ll date a guy, get bored after a couple of weeks, but like his personality enough that he falls into my friend category. Not usually, though. Mostly, when I’m done, I’m done.

Oliver became the first kind of friend after enough time together at Gatsby’s. But I’ve never reacted to a shirtless Joey with anything besides an eye roll when he’s flexing by the pool or found myself wishing Josh would manhandle me the way Oliver does sometimes.

From the minute he hauled me into his lap at our movie party, there’s been something . . . different. Why was I borderline transfixed by Oliver’s shirtless chest on Sunday? It wasn’t just the tattoos. Why was I wishing he was around more so I could provoke him into toppling me into his lap?

I look around my bedroom, a space I love spending time in, but I think I’d rather be at Oliver’s, even with his plain white walls.

This is ridiculous.

“Ruby?” I call down the stairs. It’s around the time she gets home.

“Yeah?”

Yes. I race down the stairs to the kitchen, where she’s settling her work tote on the table.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Great.”

“No, for real.”

She’s taking a sparkling water from the fridge, but when I press, she narrows her eyes at me. “Am I allowed to answer that honestly?”

“Of course.” It kind of hurts my feelings that she has to ask. People in our house are often honest to a fault. “You can always be honest with me.”

“It seems like I can’t if it means saying I’m still sad about the breakup.”

I’m biting my tongue as soon as she says it.

She points her bottle at me. “There it is.”

“You can be sad about Niles.” I try very hard to sound sincere.

She snorts. “No, I can’t. None of you liked him, so none of you want to hear about how it feels weird not to be together anymore. It’s weird and it’s lonely. We’ve been broken up for a month. I wish y’all would understand that it takes longer than that to get over a five-year relationship.”

I do not make the joke that jumps to the tip of my tongue about how even a boil will heal in a month.

“I can hear the joke you’re not making,” she says.

“Can I get credit for not saying it?”

“No, because your face is saying it.” She sits at the table and takes a peach from the fruit bowl. “Go ahead, get on with it.”

“The joke?”

“No, your plan to distract me like I won’t know what you’re up to.”

I fill a cup of water and take a seat across from her. “Sometimes I hate having smart friends.”

She lifts an eyebrow and waits.

“Okay, I swear this isn’t a distraction tactic.” At her skeptical look, I amend, “Or it’s not only a distraction tactic. I need advice. What’s the difference between being physically comfortable with someone and being attracted to them?”

She takes a bite of her peach while she thinks. “You cuddle with everyone in the apartment. You’re definitely comfortable with us. You trying to tell us there’s something more?”

“Y’all wish.”

She nods. “That’s your answer.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You can be physically comfortable with a guy but not be into him.”

“Right.”

“You crushing on your husband?” she asks.

“No.”

She smirks.

“I’m not,” I insist.

“If you say so. But when you are into someone, how do you know?”

“It’s obvious. Sparks even if you’re not touching. Stomach swoops. Can’t wait to get his mouth on my mouth. Or vice-versa if he’s taking too long.”

“Right, the kiss thing.”

“There are one billion songs about how a kiss tells you what’s really up. So yeah, I like to get to the kiss sooner than later.”

She takes another bite of her peach before she says, “Then kiss Oliver and put it behind you.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can and do kiss whoever you want.”

“Because they don’t matter!” That came out more heated than I intended and both of her eyebrows go up. “I mean they don’t matter in the sense that I’m not married to them and also doing a big business deal with them.”

“So the only reason you don’t want to kiss Oliver is because you’re married to him.”

“You know what I mean, Ruby Ramos. If things get awkward between us, I have to deal with it for a whole year.”

“Fine. Don’t kiss him.” She takes another bite of her peach. “Is he planning to date?”

“While we’re married?” Not sure why I need to emphasize that when I’m the one who told him he should.

“Date while you’re married for business and no other reason, yes,” Ruby says.

“He says no. He’s too busy.”

“Maybe you should tell him to take me out.”

I stare at her.

“What? He’s cute.” She takes another bite.

I want to grab the peach out of her hand and dunk it in the trash can. “I can get behind the idea of a rebound but not with Oliver.”

There’s a knock at the door before she can respond, and I get up to answer it so I don’t give into the peach-throwing urge.

I open it to find my sister standing there. “Kaitlyn?”

She’s in a tailored mint green suit with black leather lapels. I recognize it from the Zo? runway, and it costs more than six months of rent.

She gives me a cool look. “Hey. Mom and Dad got your delivery.”

“Ah.” It had been delivered yesterday with large photos of the wedding nonsense and the marriage certificate. I’d topped it all with a note on stationery I’d had made especially for my message, lined paper with a pastel print of the block where the Dhaka factory had once stood. Thank you, Google Earth.

The note was my favorite part. I’d written out the first two paragraphs of the Declaration of Independence, substituting “parents” for “government” in a few key places, then finished with two short sentences. “Married a guy who checks all your boxes for a one-year-and-one-day term. It’s legal, so here’s my wire transfer info and my lawyer’s number.”

“Can I come in?” Kaitlyn asks.

“I didn’t know you even knew my address.” She’s never come over. I sort of know where her townhouse is. Maybe?

“It was in the paperwork.”

I shrug and step back to let her in. “Have a seat.”

She settles in the center of the sofa. A power move.

I curl up in an armchair to show her I’m relaxed and I don’t care. “I’m surprised to see you here. Anything they need to know should have been in that packet.”

“Strangely, they seem to think you’re trying to put something over on them.”

“Are you here to warn me?”

Her eyelids flicker, and a muted wave of acid floods my stomach and disappears. Disappointment, but disappointment that never lingers because I’ve conditioned myself to expect and dismiss it when it comes to my family.

“I see. You’re here to check on me. For them.”

She glances around, taking in the feminine touches we’ve all added over the years, from the fluffy blankets to Ava’s flowery smart-aleck cross-stitches. “According to the terms, you’re supposed to live with your husband.”

Ruby walks in. “Hey, Kaitlyn.”

Kaitlyn nods. Bag of laughs, my sister.

“Oliver and I both live at 1598 Lynn.” I draw a careless checkmark in the air.

“You’re in number twenty-one. Does Oliver live here?”

“I just told you. Oliver also lives at 1598 Lynn.”

“In number twenty-one?” she presses.

Politely and evenly, I repeat, “Oliver lives at 1598 Lynn.”

“I didn’t think it would be this easy, but there you go. That’s not going to qualify as living as husband and wife unless you’re in the same unit.” She stands. “I’m sure their attorney will reach out.”

I panic, not believing Oliver and I could have gone to all this trouble for Kaitlyn to ruin it as soon as I delivered the papers that were supposed to get Oliver and me both what we needed.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I tell her. “We pulled this wedding together really fast, so we’re still in the process of moving. Come on, I’ll show you.”

I catch Ruby’s eye as I get up to grab my key to Oliver’s house. She’s doing a good job of keeping a straight face, but I know her well enough to recognize that the faint crinkles near her eyes mean she’s worried.

Kaitlyn follows me to Oliver’s apartment, and as we walk through the pool area, she says, “Is this where you had the wedding we weren’t invited to?”

Like any of them would be caught dead at my 7-Eleven wedding. I don’t let the comment get under my skin, instead nodding and saying nothing until we reach Oliver’s.

“He’s at work, so you won’t meet him,” I tell her as I open the door. I hope the fact that I know his work schedule and have a key is making my case. Luckily, he still has three unpacked boxes with their labels sitting in the living room for more evidence. I walk past them—kitchen, books, books.

My sister’s eyes skim over them and latch on to the cat palace against the far wall. “What’s that?”

“We’re fostering cats.” Thank goodness that sounds so domestic. I sit by the cat cave. Tabitha appears from under the couch and pads over to look at me. I scratch behind her ears. “This is the mama. The kittens are moving around more, so she’s starting to hide from them when she wants some peace and quiet.”

“Can I see the kittens?”

Is she kidding? “You think I’m making up kittens?”

For the first time, she shifts uncomfortably. “No, I just . . . I wanted to see them. It’s not a big deal.” The last part she almost mumbles.

“Okay,” I say.

She comes over and sits down.

“Wait, I was going to warn you about the cat hair. You’ll get it all over you.”

“It’s fine. I live near the dry cleaner.”

She’s probably half of his business. Whatever. I reach in and pull out a couple of kittens. “This is Smudge. She’s the most mellow, if you want to hold her.”

She looks from me to the kitten. “What do I do?”

Right. I guess she hasn’t spent any more time around kittens than I had until a month ago. “How about if I set Smudge in your lap, and then she’ll move where she wants?”

“Okay.” I set Smudge down in the cradle of Kaitlyn’s crossed legs and settle back to cuddle Big Stripey against my chest.

“She’s the biggest one,” I say, tickling her under her chin. Mrs. Lipsky came over last night and confirmed that Big Stripey and Smudge are female and Little Stripe and Tuxie are bouncing baby boys. Well, not bouncing yet. But Mrs. Lipsky assured me that they’ll all be pouncing any day now. She’d stayed so late cooing over them that I thought for sure we’d still be there when Oliver got home, but no.

Kaitlyn reaches a tentative finger down to stroke Smudge’s head. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles.

After a few minutes, the other two start mewling inside the cave, and Tuxie pokes his head over the edge to see what’s going on.

“Does that mean they’re mad?” Kaitlyn asks. “Should you put Smudge back?”

“Yes, but only because they want to eat.” I return Big Stripey, and I’m about to get Smudge when I pause. “You can pick her up if you want.”

Kaitlyn gets a pinched look around her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t.” Against my will, all of my life experience, and my own better judgment, I feel a pang of compassion for my sister. I know exactly how she’s feeling, having one of her first interactions with baby animals. “Be gentle and set her in there. She’ll be fine.”

Kaitlyn repositions herself, moving carefully until she’s on her knees. She picks up Smudge and transfers her back to the cave like she’s trying not to drop an unstable bomb. When Smudge is safely inside, I hear a relieved sigh.

I pick up Tabitha and set her inside. She gives me a warning chirp and swats a baby or two over when they lunge at her, but she settles down, and within a minute, they’ve all piled next to each other to nurse.

“I can show you upstairs if you want, but this is a business marriage, so we’re in separate rooms. That’s not against the terms of the trust,” I say before she can object.

“I know,” she says.

“But my room isn’t set up yet, so there’s nothing to show you. Been meaning to get around to it, but it’s been a busy week.”

“Mmhmm.” She takes a slow glance around the condo. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad what I saw.”

“Meaning what?” I ask her. “You’re convinced we’re sharing a residence?”

She gives me a look like not even a little and gets to her feet. “I’m convinced you both live at 1598 Lynn. I’ll tell them what I saw.”

Whatever softer feelings had tried to creep in toward her a moment ago evaporate. “Awesome.” It comes out cold and flat.

Kaitlyn walks to the door and turns. “I get that you’re annoyed, but you’re the one who decided to do this the hard way.”

I tilt my head. “I think of it more as doing things the right way.”

She leaves without saying anything else. I sigh when the door clicks behind her. I’d planned to spend the evening convincing Ruby to let me do a display at the library on fair-trade pieces, but I guess instead of doing actual good, I get to spend the evening making it look like I live at Oliver’s place instead.

Score another point for Gordon Freakin’ Armstrong.