Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia
There is nothing in a caterpillar
that tells you it's going to be a butterfly.
~ R. Buckminster Fuller
The next week, on Monday, I find a to-go cup of coffee outside my door when I’m leaving for work, and another one on Tuesday waiting for me after my run. Then, on Wednesday, I find an almond croissant in a paper sleeve sitting next to the cup. The bag has a note scrawled on it: I thought you’d like this too .
I take a bite. It’s delicious. Flaky, crisp, buttery, filled with just the right amount of marzipan, coated in crunchy slivers of almonds and lightly dusted with powdered sugar. Perfection. I rarely indulge in pastries. And I love them more than any other sweet.
I’m holding my coffee in one hand, croissant in the other, with my eyes closed, humming at the taste and allowing myself to fully enjoy the rare indulgence. I sense his presence before my eyelids flutter open. I’m not alone. I look around. Logan’s at the edge of the lounge staring at me, his face neutral, as it so often is.
“Whoever is leaving those fortune cookies around just upped the ante,” I tell him. “I got coffee and pastries.” I lift my cup and then the little brown paper bag.
“Wow. All I got is another fortune cookie.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. Yesterday. In my mailbox.”
“The mailbox? How do you think it got in there?”
“No idea. The cookie bandit must have an in with management. Is a person a bandit if they leave things instead of taking them?”
“I don’t think so. What did your fortune say?”
“I’d love to share, but I heard somewhere that when you tell your fortune, it doesn’t come true. And I kind of hope this one does.”
“That’s the rule for birthday wishes,” I tell him, realizing how ridiculous this conversation is but still feeling one hundred percent invested.
“Well, I don’t want to take my chances with this one,” he says, casually but firmly.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Enjoy your coffee.” Logan winks and walks toward the staircase.
That wink. It’s so devastating. Or it would be on someone more susceptible to his charm. I’ll give Logan that. The man knows how to wink. His wink is nearly as delicious as this pastry. I take another bite while I watch Logan disappear down the spiral staircase. Then I stand in my doorway, taking a long sip of coffee and letting the sweet, tangy flavor fill my mouth.
I don’t know why he’s buying me these treats, but I don’t really care anymore. I’m going to enjoy the heck out of them. And still sleep with one eye open, of course.
I show up to work with a little bounce in my step. Charlie greets me at the doorway before I’ve even walked over to the cubbies to stash my purse.
“We’ve got trouble,” he says. “Aspyn Green just went viral for her Untethered post.”
We hired various celebrities and social media influencers to promote Untethered for us. Aspyn Green is a big name.
“Why is that trouble?” I ask, following Charlie through the open floor plan of the shared workspace, past tables where coworkers are busy discussing other clients and projects.
Logan is standing at a table toward the back of the room, right next to the carpeted area with colorful bean bag chairs and a few oversized chairs and loveseats.
“Wait ’til you see her post,” Charlie says. “Mais non!”
Charlie is our resident world-traveler. He spent a year in France followed by a year in Italy while working on his marketing degree. He resorts to foreign exclamations when he’s rattled. This must be bad.
We reach Logan. He turns his laptop in my direction, and without a word he clicks play on Aspyn’s reel. She’s standing on the edge of her balcony tossing slices of bread over the railing. The next clip is her yeeting a protein shake. The clip shifts to her spinning in a circle, leaves of kale flying out like water spraying from a rotating sprinkler.
“What am I seeing?” I ask Logan and Charlie.
“Wait for it,” Charlie says.
Aspyn turns toward the camera and shouts, “I’m untethered! No more carbs! No more shakes! I’m ditching the kale! Untethered has freeeeeed me!”
She looks more than a little crazed. Actually, I’d say she’s manic.
“Okay …” I say. “That’s not ideal.”
Logan clicks to another open tab on his laptop. It’s full of memes. Untethered or Unhinged? is the caption on a few of them.
“That hashtag is already trending,” Charlie says. Then he adds an Italian expletive. “Cavolo!”
I smile at Charlie. He keeps things entertaining, that’s for sure.
When Logan clicks to the next open tab, the screen fills with videos stitching Aspyn’s reel. Logan selects each one in succession. Some imitate Aspyn, people are throwing all sorts of things: socks, donuts, rolls of toilet paper. Those mostly end with the audio of Aspyn saying, “I’m untethered!” One reel has a woman stuffing her face with cake, and Aspyn’s voice closes the reel, saying, “No more carbs!”
“Not the brand representation we were hoping for,” Logan says sternly. “We’ve got some damage control to execute today.”
His voice is steady. Where Charlie is nervously pacing behind me, Logan is the picture of calm, cool, and collected. I honestly believe we’re going to get past this. I look up and accidentally glance into those eyes of his. Logan holds my gaze.
We’re on the same side of the fence this time.
Do I trust him? No.
But I believe he’ll bail out our client, and I know he wants my input and expertise to get that job done today. This isn’t about besting one another. It’s about grabbing buckets and putting out a fire—together.
We work through lunch, ordering a delivery of salads and some more coffee to keep us fueled. By midafternoon, we’ve commissioned a handful of influencers to launch a series of counter-campaigns, shedding a less unhinged light on Untethered and their personalized approach to wellness and fitness.
“Joe Mercurius is on board,” I say, setting my phone on the table and stretching my arms overhead.
“Good work,” Logan says without looking at me. He’s focused on his laptop screen, working on the landing page for the Untethered website, which clearly lays out their thoughts about bread, protein shakes, and kale.
My phone rings.
I pick it up. It’s my sister.
“What’s up, Lynette?” I answer.
“Olivia. Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t know if you’d answer.”
“What’s up?”
“Mr. Shapiro called an emergency teacher meeting for this afternoon. I have to stay late. Cassidy needs to be picked up. Can you get out of work early?”
“I’ve got you,” I promise Lynette. “Just go to your meeting. I’ll get Cassidy.”
“Thank you. Thank you. I owe you big time. I’ll come by and get her from you as soon as I’m out.”
“Take your time. And you don’t owe me. She’s my niece. I love spending time with her.”
“Okay. Well, I’d better go. Recess is almost over.”
“See you tonight.”
I set my phone down. Logan’s staring at me.
“My sister. I need to pick my niece up. We’ve got things under control here. Right?”
“We do.” He nods. “Thanks for all you’ve done today.”
“Thanks for everything you’ve done,” I answer him. The words feel unnatural.
Charlie appears out of nowhere. “Well, look at you two, getting along like normal coworkers.”
I roll my eyes at Charlie and tell him I’m taking off early.
“You earned a little break today,” he says.
“We all did,” I say.
I don’t look at Logan to see what he thinks of that near-compliment. I just grab my purse from my cubby and head out of Barnes to pick up my niece.
Cassidy is standing with her teacher at the curb when I pull through the pickup line. She waves frantically, as if I’d miss her in her hot-pink tights and purple skirt. Her hair is up in two pigtails, the ringlet curls relaxed a little after a day of playing and learning with friends.
Cassidy opens the back door of my car and hops in, dragging her butterfly backpack with her. The chatter starts immediately as she buckles herself into the booster seat I keep stowed in my trunk for days like this.
“Miss Carmady said you get to be the picker upper today. Where are we going? Can we go to your house? I like your house. Do you still have the big stairs by your porch? What about the swing? We could bake cookies, maybe? Remember when we made snickerdoodles because they’re Mommy’s favorite?”
I don’t even know where to start.
“I moved to a different apartment, Cass. Did your mommy tell you?”
“She said somepin about it.”
“So I don’t have the swing on the porch anymore, but there are stairs outside and inside and there’s even an elevator.”
“Can I push the buttons?”
“You can push the number two.”
“That’s poop.”
I chuckle and look back at her in her booster seat. Her face is dead serious.
“Number two is poop. It’s also the number of my floor.”
“Does it smell like poo?”
“No, thank goodness. It doesn’t.”
“Okay. I’ll be the guy who pushes the number button. And you be the girl who tells me, ‘Number two please, sir.’”
“Sounds good,” I smile.
She’s good medicine after this day of putting out dumpster fires and having so many confusing interactions with Logan.
Why is he being so nice to me?
Cassidy chatters on about her day while I drive us home.
“Do you know what the saddest thing ever, ever in the world is?” Cassidy asks. “My teacher told me today. And Ava just cried and cried too much. So Miss Jackson had to give her a Kleenex. But I didn’t even cry a drop.”
I drive into the parking structure, and Cassidy switches channels faster than a teen with a remote. “This is the best place ever! I love this thing to park in.”
“It’s a parking garage,” I tell her, feeling only slightly guilty for my grumpy thoughts about the way it blocks my view of anything beautiful. “You can see it from my apartment.”
“You can? That’s so amazing! I want to see.”
“You will as soon as we’re up there.” I hop out and shut my door behind me.
Cassidy half-carries her backpack on one shoulder. I shut her door for her.
She looks up at me and says, “The saddest thing is that butterflies can’t even see their own wings.”
Her wide eyes search mine. She extends her hand, and I take it, fitting her small fingers along my palm.
“I never thought about that,” I tell her.
“Miss Carmady says so. We had caterpillars. They hatched out of their cocoons except two didn’t yet. And we had to let them go. The butterfly ones. Then Miss Carmady said they can’t even see their own wings.”
Why would a teacher feel it necessary to share that sad reality with a child? Let them dream as long as they can. Soon enough they’ll lose all sense of magic and wonder.
“Well,” I say. “Maybe they can see their friends’ wings.”
Cassidy is quiet for a beat. Then she looks up at me with a beaming smile.
“They can see them! Can you see if I have wings?”
“If you do, they’re invisible.”
She smiles even wider. “Maybe I have invisible wings.” Then she pats my back. “I don’t feel yours, but you maybe have them too.”
“Maybe,” I say, even though I know very well I don’t.
“I bet my invisible wings are silver … with glitter,” Cassidy says, hopping up the stairs, alternating feet as she goes.
When I open the front door to The Serendipity, she stares around the lobby, taking it all in.
“Those are the stairs,” I point to the spiral staircase to our left. “And that’s the elevator.”
“And those are phone booths,” she says.
“What do you know about phone booths?”
“I saw one on TV.”
“Hmm.”
We step onto the elevator, and Cassidy says, “Okay, tell me to push number two.”
“Number two, please ma’am.”
“Coming right up,” she says in a very formal tone of voice.
She pushes two, and the elevator engages. When the doors open, she steps out and looks around. We walk past Logan’s apartment.
“My Gran, your great grandma, used to live there,” I tell her.
She studies the door intently. “She doesn’t live there now?”
“No, she passed away. But I used to visit her here all the time.”
Cassidy nods softly.
We walk through the lounge, and I open my apartment. The door squeaks.
Cassidy runs over to the window and looks straight out. “I see it! I see it! That’s the parking garage!”
“Yep. There it is.”
“Okay. Let’s bake cookies. Or we could paint.”
“How about we do both?” I suggest.
“Really?”
“Why not?”
We spend the afternoon making chocolate chip cookies, and while they’re in the oven I pull out the bin I keep in my coat closet for Cassidy’s visits. We take out watercolors and paint butterflies.
“What’s that, Aunt Olivia?” Cassidy points to the floor near the windows.
“What’s what?”
She hops off the stool at the kitchen island and walks over to the windows. She picks something up off the floor and brings it over to me.
A fortune cookie.
“It’s a fortune cookie!” she says.
“Probably from when I ordered takeout with Megan.”
But why would there be so many leftover cookies from that one meal? And why would they be scattered all over my apartment? And why would there also be cookies out in the hall and in Logan’s mailbox?
“Open it!” she squeals. “Can I open it?”
I stare at the cookie.
Cassidy doesn’t wait for me to give her permission. She rips at the cellophane wrapper and cracks the cookie in half, pulling the paper fortune out and handing it and half the cookie to me.
I read the words: Sometimes a gift is actually a gift .
A gift. Like my croissant? And those coffees? Obviously not. This is just a coincidence.
“What does it say?” Cassidy asks.
I read the inscription aloud. “It says, ‘Sometimes a gift is actually a gift.’”
“That’s silly!” she giggles. “A gift always is a gift. Silly cookie.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Silly cookie.”
Lynette knocks at the door. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mommy!” Cassidy jumps up and runs toward the door.
“Mommy! Mama. Hot mama!” the bird next door squawks.
“What was that?” Cassidy stops in her tracks before she opens the door.
I pass her, letting Lynette in.
“My neighbor has a macaw. It’s a talking bird.”
“Can I meet him?”
“Maybe one day.”
“Hot mama!” the bird squawks again. “Mamasita. Whew-eeeeee!”
“He’s funny!” Cassidy giggles.
“Get your bag, sweetheart,” Lynette says. “I need to tell Aunt Olivia something important.”
Lynette’s usual easy smile is replaced by something obviously forced for Cassidy’s sake.
“Grown up things?” Cassidy asks with a bored tone to her voice.
“Yes.”
Cassidy skips toward the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s not anything wrong. It’s great, actually. But weird.”
I lean in toward Lynette, pausing to look over my shoulder to make sure Cassidy is occupied. She’s unzipping her backpack and carefully placing her butterfly painting inside.
Lynette’s voice is a whisper. “Someone covered my rent for the next three months.”
“What?!” I exclaim far too loudly.
“ What what?” Cassidy asks from the kitchen.
“Um. Could you pack up some cookies for your mom?” I ask.
“Yes! But, Mommy, they aren’t snickerdoodles. They’re just chocolate chip ones.”
“That’s perfect,” Lynette says. “Find a sandwich bag to put them in, okay?”
“Okay!” Cassidy shouts.
The sound of drawers opening and shutting confirms she’s properly occupied.
“What do you mean someone covered it?” I whisper. “Do you think it was Mark?”
“No. It wasn’t Mark. Of course it wasn’t him. Think about it. First of all, he’d be calling me to brag and let me know what strings were attached to his generosity. Besides, you know it will be a cold day on Venus when he steps up to the plate.”
“True. A leopard doesn’t change his spots.”
“Sometimes people change,” Lynette says. “Sometimes people aren’t what we thought they were in the first place. That’s not Mark.”
“Who do you think it was, then?” I ask. “Do you have a secret admirer?”
“A secret admirer sends you flowers. He doesn’t pay three months’ rent. Three months, Olivia.”
The magnitude of this gift hits me in waves.
Is it real?
Who did this?
Was it a mistake?
“Think of how much money that is.” I stare into Lynette’s eyes.
Whoever did this loves my sister with a sacrificial kind of love.
“Was it Mom and Dad?” I stab at the only logical guess I can drum up.
Our parents don’t have the kind of reserves to simply fork out thousands of dollars. But I could see them doing whatever it took to lighten the load Lynette carries as a single mom.
Lynette laughs softly. “I called them. They didn’t do it. And the landlord said it was my boyfriend. Dad is definitely not my boyfriend.”
“Ugh. Brain bleach, please. Sorry. I’m just fishing for who it could have been.”
“Trust me. That’s all I’ve been doing since I got the text. It came in during my meeting. I didn’t check my phone, of course. But I heard the notification. As soon as the meeting was over, I checked my phone and nearly fell over.”
Lynette pulls her phone out of her purse. “Look at the text my landlord sent me.”
She taps on the screen. I read the message.
Hi, Lynette. Thank you for your advance rent payment for the coming three months. Your boyfriend came in today to make the payment. It’s much appreciated. I’ve updated my records to reflect no balance due for the coming months. Let me know if there’s anything else you need! – Joe
“Wow.” I stare at her cell.
“I know. It’s crazy, right?”
“It’s crazy, all right. But also … awesome.”
“What’s awesome?” Cassidy asks, appearing out of nowhere and handing her mom a bag of the cookies we baked.
Lynette pulls one out and takes a bite.
“Mmm. These cookies are awesome. And you. You’re awesome.”
Cassidy does a twirl. “It’s my invisible wings. That’s what makes me awesome!”