Chapter 17 Olivia
SEVENTEEN
olivia
“What’s your plan for this childless, house-guestless weekend?” Sophie asked as we finished our post-yoga coffee.
“Um, I didn’t get past yoga class. But I have an open house tomorrow. Want to lounge by my pool today and pretend to be housewives?”
“Only if day-drinking is allowed.”
“Of course, and Bran can come too.”
Sophie had quickly become the other half of Sophie and Brandon, and I had adapted to having day-dates with both of them. Bran had stopped rolling his eyes when I objectified other men and had become almost one of the girls.
“Do you want me to have him invite his co-worker, Josh?”
“Meh. He didn’t seem like my type. And a date in my backyard won’t really give me the chance to run away if things go south.”
Not said, I couldn’t think about another man when a certain rookie’s image kept playing on repeat in all of my fantasies.
The day before they left for this road trip, I had the misfortune—fortune?
—of finding him in my pool, swimming laps.
Yes, I had seen him shirtless in my house.
But watching him glide through the water, fuck, he was a goddamned beautiful man.
Man, yeah, I stopped referring to him as a boy. That wall of muscle had left boyhood behind years before.
“Nothing to do with your houseguest at all?”
“Soph—he’s literally every single one of my fantasies wrapped up in a man. It’s so unfair.”
She chuckled. “Stop letting Jason’s judgment keep you from enjoying your life. You’re single, and you have every right to fuck around if you want.”
“As long as PTO Karen doesn’t catch me.” PTO Karen was our code word for Maddy and the rest of the vipers. It represented the generic mean girls who’d grown up to be mean moms.
“PTO Karen wants to be you, because her husband Kevin hasn’t put any effort into her orgasms since the night he proposed to her.”
“That poor, poor woman. She should have remained single. A vibrator is a sure thing.”
“And you, my dear, should fuck the rookie.”
“Stop—”
“I will not stop until you start putting yourself first. Never. Fuck him, take notes, and tell me everything.” Her evil laugh rang in my ears as I dropped her off, said goodbye, and headed to the store to get some snacks for when she and Bran came by to day-drink by the pool.
Me: Do you want to bring the girls over for a swim later?
Lindy: Are you sure? I know you don’t have Cooper this weekend.
Me: Yes. Come by, have a glass of wine, and show my friend Sophie that there is life after children.
Lindy: Okay! But don’t make any food—I will handle everything.
Lindy always brought more than her fair share to every cookout or party I hosted. Granted, she likely used it for her social media content, but where I always felt drained thinking about what I could cook for a party, she came alive.
“Olivia, can you even cook a basic meal?”
Jason’s tone still sent shivers up my spine, even as a memory. It dripped with scorn and somehow brought every single insecurity I had to the forefront. It never mattered how hard I tried; he found fault with anything I did.
“Jesus, you’re only good for one thing.”
Yup, the second I heard that, it was the last time Jason got any part of that “one thing.” I had felt guilty for years because I couldn’t give Cooper the stability of a home with both his mother and father.
Still, thankfully, I found a therapist who reminded me of the importance of modeling healthy relationships.
Until I trusted someone to teach Coop, I owed it to him to keep my dating life private. As he got older, it became nonexistent.
Nate: Thanks for connecting me with your friend. I’m meeting with him next week.
Me: How is Toronto?
Nate: Going to be a tough series.
Me: You’ve got this.
Nate: What are you up to? No Coop this weekend?
Me: Pool party with Sophie, Brandon, and Lindy Griffen.
Nate: Elijah’s wife?
Me: Yes. She lives in the neighborhood.
Nate: Interesting.
Me: Why? I feel like I get a similar response from Austin.
Nate: Well, the Elijah you see on social media is different from the guy left alone on the road. And that’s the last statement you’ll get from me.
Me: Ugh. I feared as much. Honestly, he’s been a little flirty with me.
Nate: Say the word, Liv.
Why did my stomach flip when he called me Liv? And why did I love the idea of him telling Elijah Griffen to keep his eyes and hands to himself?
Me: Go break records.
Nate: I’ll do my best.
I chopped the rest of the fruit and dropped it into the pitcher of red sangria I had made as the doorbell rang.
“Come in!” I yelled, and the door burst open. Lindy’s three daughters came flying into the house.
“Miss Livvie! Guess what?” Juniper, the oldest, tugged my shirt as she struggled to hold her backpack and pool float.
“What, Junie?”
“I passed the deep-end test at the pool club!”
“Woo-hoo! Nice work! Does this mean you don’t need a floatie?”
She looked down at the floor. “I don’t need one, but sometimes I want one.”
“Sometimes I want one too.”
She dragged her two younger sisters out to the backyard, Lindy following close behind. Her arms were filled with bags of what I expected to be decadent snacks.
“Lin, need anything besides a glass of sangria?”
“No—that’s perfect. Thank you.”
I poured sangria while Lindy set up platters of snacks on the poolside tables. The girls sat patiently on the edge of the pool, waiting for their mother to give them the signal to enter the water. Her youngest was barely walking, yet already following directions and toeing the line.
“Are you sure you don’t mind the littles on your kid-free weekend?”
As if on cue, Cooper came busting out onto the patio looking distressed.
“Hey, bud. What’s going on?”
“I couldn’t stay there.” He plopped into the lounge chair and crossed his arms, offering no details.
“Everything okay?”
“No. And I’m not talking about it right now.”
“Coopie-Doop!” Junie yelled. She and her sisters piled on him, tugging at him until he started to laugh and play with them.
“I don’t know how she gets away with calling him that, but he likes it,” I said to Lindy.
“Junie always gets what she wants—from everyone.”
Sophie arrived soon after; she had been well-trained not to question why Cooper frequently ended up back here on Jason’s weekends. We’d talk about it later, but not while Coop could hear us. Jason was supposed to give me a heads-up before he dropped him off, because what if I hadn’t been home?
Nate: Are you going to watch the game?
Me: Photo of pool with kids in the background.
Nate: Huh. I thought Coop was with his father this weekend?
Me: Don’t know what happened, but he’s not.
Nate: Jackass.
Me: Probably. But I will do what I always do and keep my mouth shut.
Me: But we will be listening to the game. Good luck.
* * *
Was I annoyed that Jason couldn’t manage the weekend on his own with Cooper?
Yes. But was I also happy to have my son back?
Also yes. Deep down, I knew that it was critically important for him to have a relationship with his father—but when did it become my responsibility to step in and stop Jason from hurting him?
What was more detrimental? Never seeing his father or this chronic disappointment?
Talking to Cooper, I realized the successful trip to the amusement park was purely thanks to Jason’s newest girlfriend. She worked to earn Coop’s trust, and Jason was on his best behavior. This weekend, it seemed as though he’d met his “good dad” quota.
God, it was so much simpler when I could read him a book and tuck him in at night.
I felt the tension in my son, even while he entertained Lindy’s kids.
Junie had no concept of their age difference and demanded his attention—he gave it—but not because hanging out with us was his first choice.
It didn’t help that his best friend spent weekends on the Cape.
I tried to pay attention to the game on the radio, but I missed Nate’s 21st home run and the fact that Austin extended his hit streak. As I cleaned up the kitchen after the afternoon of entertaining, I turned on the television, hoping to catch the recap.
Watching Nate round the bases, I was once again struck by how strong he looked. He had a baby face, but so did other players much older than him.
Nate: Livvieeeee
Me: Congrats on 21.
Nate: I’m not 21. It’s Canada, baby.
Oh, shit. He was drunk.
Nate: I’m not drunk, I swear.
Me: Really? How many drinks?
Nate: Not 21.
Me: Where are you?
Nate: Hotel room. All alone.
Me: You should try to sleep it off.
Nate: I have a confession.
Oh boy. Why did I feel like Nate was about to divulge something he never would sober?
Me: Are you sure it’s a good time for a confession?
Nate: Yes. I want to be able to tell you everything.
Okay. Mushy drunk it is. I pictured him hugging his teammates at the bar and professing his love for them all night.
Nate: I heard you the other night.
Stunned silent. There was only one thing he could mean. I mean, we’d danced around the subject, made comments about watching TV, but Nate’s drunken confession was opening the door on the illusion.
Nate: And I saw what you were doing by the pool.
Me: Nate?
Nate: Yeah?
Me: Have you ever told a lie?
Nate: I once told my mother I loved her meatloaf.
Me: What’s wrong with her meatloaf?
Nate: You needed a steak knife to cut it.
I laughed out loud, imagining Nate hiding his disgust from his mother to spare her feelings.
Nate: You know what else?
Me: What?
Nate: You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Me: Thank you.
I wondered if he’d fallen asleep, because that was the last I heard from Nate that night.