Chapter 8
Olivia slid into Adam’s spot across from me after Adam and Victor left the coffee shop.
“You didn’t tell me he was hot.” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows over her Americano.
“Define hot.” I crossed my arms defiantly.
“He is literally your typical definition of hot. Tall, dark, and lanky. But lanky in a good way.”
“Lanky in a good way?” I said incredulous, but knowing exactly what she meant. Katie calls out an order ready for pick-up from the coffee bar.
“He’s got those arms that could hold you but also hold one of your giant stacks of books,” she said, laying it on thick as icing.
I rolled my eyes. His attractiveness was just annoying to me, another glitch to my system to try and rewire. “No, because I bet Annoying Adam doesn’t even read fiction. He’s one of those guys who think anything that isn’t nonfiction is a waste of time.”
“It seems signing the contract didn’t make things nice between you two? Hm?”
“Well, we weren’t fighting like we did during our disastrous first meeting. But we’re not suddenly best friends, either. Signing the contract simply made us colleagues if you’re reading the fine print.”
“Did he apologize?” Olivia lowered her voice, taking on a more serious tone.
“He did. It seemed genuine…but I’m waiting to see if he’s secretly still that guy from our first phone call.”
“What’d he say about that call, anyway?” She took a sip of her drink.
“He said that he was caught up in work mode and wanted to brush past any,” I made apostrophes over my fingers, “extra baggage.”
“I could see that mindset making the phone call brisk.” Olivia cocked her head like she was considering his excuse.
“Or this nice little truce he proposed is Adam in ‘work mode’ trying to save face with the old volunteers and manipulate me. And the guy on the phone is the real Adam.”
Olivia twisted in her seat. “What does your gut tell you?”
My gut was a knotted mess of feelings. Trusting it wasn’t something I could do when it came to this guy. My gut wanted me to tell him off one more time with feeling, but it also wanted him to grin at me again.
Iwent home that night and tried to ignore any conflicting feelings and rogue thoughts, but it was difficult to do in such a quiet apartment. My thoughts were louder without our usual chitter-chatter to drown them out.
Olivia hadn’t been gone that long, but I felt her absence right away, like losing contact lenses or a light bulb burning out. Olivia down the hall humming to herself or lying on the couch with a thick book wasn’t only comfort, it felt vital in ways I was just realizing.
It had only been a week since she started sleeping at her new house. That first night without her I went to bed early and cried into Stevie’s sweet, furry self because I had never noticed before how dark my apartment got at night.
Where are the street lights?Am I too old for a nightlight? I ordered some on Amazon anyway and slept with the lamp on that night.
Now I stared into the fridge for something to do. “She’s not here,” I called out to Stevie as she looped outside Olivia’s old bedroom door. I think she was wondering where the aunt who snuck her treats and bought her little toys had disappeared to.
These days, I was trying to find a new rhythm since so much of my day-to-day was different now. I was eating more meals alone and started playing music throughout the day, letting Stevie Nicks and Maggie Rogers replace what used to be conversation.
But it went beyond the concrete, tangible changes. Olivia was my sounding board. Now, I was suddenly lacking the immediate second opinion I had in Olivia. Does this milk smell rotten? I would have to ask myself. I couldn’t put it up to Olivia’s nose for confirmation anymore. Is this text weird? I used to walk out of my room to show her messages and get her opinion.
Now I was forced to decide on my own because the cat didn’t have any advice. Or let’s be real, send my sisters a screenshot and hope they didn’t take forever to reply.
Here I was tonight, wishing I’d find Olivia sitting on my couch so I could ask her…
Do you think what I’m feeling after talking with Adam is a warning premonition or does he just make me nervous?
Should I be running for the hills or taking a few steadying breaths?
Am I jumping the gun or should I jump ship?
Is he hot or is it the stupid good hair and the infuriatingly sea-blue eyes behind them?
Stevie loudly meowed from Olivia’s room. Which was now the empty extra bedroom. I went to check on her to find she was playing with a toy in there.
Glancing around the room, I remembered Mom urging me over breakfast the other day to turn this into a guest bedroom. And Gracie chimed in, “Make it an art studio.”
Out the window, the sun rested low in the sky under streaks of burnt orange and plum purple, Gracie’s words ringing in my ears. Did I really need a studio?
I painted in my bedroom just fine. Would that be self-indulgent? There were real artists without studios. Who was I as a hobby painter to have a whole room set up?
But even as I tried to think logically, my fingers itched and a picture started forming in my mind. I went ahead and pulled my easel and favorite work chair into the room, just to try it out. I gathered all my art supplies.
Pushing the window completely open and turning on If Anyone Falls by Stevie Nicks, I started putting paint to canvas. Because it was an experiment. Because it was a coping mechanism. Because the time and room were mine and I wanted to.
I wasn’t sure what I was making at first, what that image in my mind was. Then as I went, I uncovered it stroke by stroke.
It was an empty room with an open window. On my easel it looked like more than that though, it looked like potential.
As I shaded, I realized I wasn’t feeling quite as jaded or frustrated as I thought. My life felt a lot like a blank canvas, like an empty room. Waiting to see what I did with it. What I made of it.
I translated the curtains billowing in the wind from life to paper and knew as steady as the pencil in my hand, I could make something beautiful.