Chapter Fourteen
Oliver
I’ve decided to give a friend a visit. I’m not avoiding my apartment and the oddly intense insecurity and uncertainty that now come with it. Nope, this visit is well overdue. I haven’t seen Elliot in two months, and that’s just being a shitty friend.
After work, I drive down to his vet clinic. Knowing him, he'll still be there.
The door jingles when I push it open. There’s no one in the cozy, beige-painted reception area, so I walk directly to his office and knock.
Elliot is just what you'd imagine when you think of a wholesome veterinarian who loves his job and lives for his furry and non-furry patients.
At five foot nine the only thing that comes to mind when you look at him is cute.
With dark hair, grey eyes, and flawless skin with no sign of a beard, he could pass as a college kid despite being older than me.
If you call him cute to his face, though, he’ll deck you.
I push the door open when I hear a faint “Yes?”
He smiles when he sees me. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
“Had to come and see for myself if you’re still breathing. You’ve been ignoring my calls for a month,” I comment.
His smile fades a little, his facade cracking. He looks unusually tired. I take a seat in front of him.
“Work too busy?” I ask.
“Amongst other things,” he vaguely responds.
That’s another thing about Elliot. He plays his cards way too close to his chest. We’ve known each other for months, and I like to think we’re friends, but I can count the things I actually know about him on one hand.
“But I’m definitely taking a break soon,” he assures.
“You need it, man.”
“Look who’s talking,” he shoots back.
I know I have dark circles under my eyes, but it’s better than before. I got five whole hours of sleep last night! “Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off.
He snorts. “How's the show going?”
The show was how I met Elliot in the first place. He was hired as a consultant for one of the episodes, and I had volunteered to show him around. We've kept in touch and met up often after that.
“The show's the same. Fun, unhinged, dramatic,” I say.
“I think they should hire me more often because I’m all of those things,” he brags, smiling widely again.
I laugh. “But you’re also not appropriate for most ages, which we try to be.”
“And fail! Dude, all you’re missing is a full frontal for it to basically be an HBO show.”
“We do toe the line a bit,” I agree.
“Me, too,” he winks. “Wanna get dinner? I was just closing up.”
I perk up. “The burger place across the street?”
“I’m so bored with that place,” he whines, but he ultimately agrees.
Once we’re seated at the restaurant, Elliot looks a lot better than before. Or maybe he’s secured his mask back on. It’s anyone’s guess, really.
When I first met Elliot, I would make plans with him every week and pepper him with questions about everything.
But I quickly realized, the guy just liked keeping parts of himself hidden.
Or maybe he was just so used to hiding now, he didn’t know what else to do.
Either way, I wasn’t going to force him to open up. I assumed he would when he was ready.
I desperately needed friends in the city. I wasn’t going to alienate one I really liked just because he sometimes acted a bit cagey. Things could be worse than that, like he could have been into escape rooms. I appreciated the small blessings.
“How’s Andy?” I ask after we've ordered our burgers.
“We broke up,” he casually responds, like it didn’t mean anything.
Well, silly me for being surprised. “What? Why? When?” I should have known this, shouldn’t I?
“Oh, he was cheating on me.” For a second, that sweet, casual voice slips again, and I pick up a little anger.
“I'm so sorry, dude. That's awful.”
He smirks, lifting an eyebrow. “Stop being so polite. You thought he was an asshole.”
That's not wrong. Elliot introduced me to Andy after we had been hanging out for a couple of months. Andy was a very specific breed of douchebag. The ‘you should be glad I’m gracing your life with my presence’ variety.
“That’s irrelevant. You liked him. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Not really.” He crinkles his straight nose. “I mean, he was hot. Even you can’t argue with that. But he was just convenient because I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Then he became inconvenient,” he says matter-of-factly.
“C’mon, dude. You’re really trying to convince me it didn’t affect you at all?”
“I mean, it did hurt my ego a little bit,” he offers, like he’s trying to placate me.
“Huh,” I say, digesting. I don’t think I’d be okay if Matt cheated on me. Wait, what? You aren’t together, Oliver. Jeez!
“What are you thinking about? I always forget how animated your face is,” Elliot teases.
Is it? My face goes hot. “Just that I probably wouldn’t be okay if someone cheated on me,” I deflect.
“Oh, you totally won’t be. Text me if that ever happens, and I’ll deal with the douche.” His eyes narrow. For a cute little person, he sure has a mean glare.
But the idea of Elliot trying to scare Matt is too funny. I laugh.
“But not everyone wants serious relationships, you know. I’ve just never felt that strongly about anyone, and I’m totally fine with it,” he continues.
That makes sense. As long as he remains his happy, mysterious, and snarky self, I guess that’s all that matters.
I don’t realize why his words hit me so hard until I’m standing in the hallway between my and Matt’s apartment.
Elliot is so right. Sometimes all people want is a convenient fuck.
I turn left and go inside. I’m not sleepy yet, so I pace around, looking for things to do. That leads me to getting out the vacuum and cleaning my entire apartment.
But I’m done with that by nine-thirty. I’m old but not old enough to be in bed by then.
I decide to give old Marge another visit. And what do you know, this time she opens the door.
“Oliver! Finally made some time to come visit me?”
She’s surprisingly happy to see me. Maybe people aren’t as interested in gossiping as they used to be. Maybe the world is healing.
“I came around yesterday, but you weren’t here,” I say. Might as well butter her up some more.
“Oh yes, I went on a trip with my girls before the holidays. My family will be down here tomorrow.” She makes a face that says she’s not looking forward to it.
I laugh dutifully.
She basically pulls me into her apartment. It’s clean, beige, and smells like daisies. “Did you hear about Mr. Winford on the second floor?” she starts as soon as I’m sitting on her brown couch.
“What did Mr. Winford do?” I go along with it. And I’m a little curious to know what the middle-aged, straight-faced Mr. Winford did. Sue me!
“He was arrested for public indecency,” she says, salaciously.
My eyes widen. Couldn’t have guessed that. But that just proves you never really know your neighbors. And that gives me the perfect opening.
“Did you hear about Mr. Smith next door?”
“The old fart? Haven’t seen him lately,” she says.
“Apparently, his family moved him to a drug rehabilitation center,” I relay with all the vigor of a sixties housewife.
“Drugs? He didn't seem the type,” she contemplates.
Well, that’s a first. “He wasn’t?”
“No, the man was just old, tired, and uninterested in people. You get like that if you live long enough. He was over eighty. He earned his grumpiness.”
I laugh. I thought he was in his seventies, but the fact that I was having nightmares because I’m scared of an eighty-year-old is kinda embarrassing.
He wasn’t a plain ol’ eighty-year-old, though, was he?
“But it could be drugs too, I guess,” she nods.
The fact that she didn’t have any other story to add about him discourages me a bit. I mean, was I really hallucinating? I continue while the topic is still hot. “I wanted to check up on him. Do you have his number?”
She shakes her head. “No, I avoided the guy, honestly,” she says.
“But his daughter used to visit often, and one time she dropped a pamphlet when she was leaving. Wait, I’m sure I still have it here somewhere.
” She walks over to the kitchen and opens a cabinet.
Stacks of papers crash onto the floor. She ignores it.
“Here,” she triumphantly holds up a small pamphlet.
I take it, and she sits beside me again.
“I think she works there. It’s their last name, isn't it?”
And there it is. Aurelia Smith. I nod.
There are also tons of bogus claims of snake oils they probably sell, which I ignore. The quackery is so extreme it wouldn’t even tempt a five-year-old. But then again, people believe anything if they’re desperate enough.
“I wanted to give it back to her. But, you know, with my hips I couldn't follow her,” she continues.
I ignore her. Something very close to excitement flows through me. After weeks of restless nights, unexplainable fear, distracted life, and constant reeling, I had a direction. I don’t know if talking to Dalton will solve anything, but I can’t think of any other way to make sense of what I saw.
After enduring and secretly enjoying two more pieces of gossip, I leave Marge to carry on with her Christmas prep.
Walking back, I contemplate giving Matt a visit for some prep of our own, if not to share what I just found. But I change my mind. Maybe some distance will make the awkwardness go away.
Determined, I go back to my house with the plan of giving Dalton's daughter a visit tomorrow after work.