Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Logan
Life is a combination of magic and pasta.
~ Federico Fellini
I pull out a stock pot and a large skillet, then I walk to the other side of the kitchen to grab a cutting board and knife.
Olivia glances around my kitchen. “Gran used to cook me dinner sometimes. But mostly I brought takeout from Lin’s on my Sunday visits.”
“Tell me about her,” I ask. “If you want to.”
Olivia doesn’t hesitate. Her voice is animated. “My gran was a ray of light. More like a rainbow or a spray of confetti in human form. Vibrant. So full of life. Never met a stranger. And she had a whimsical view of everything. She believed all the local lore and legends about the spring that brought good fortune to this town. I think she even believed some superstitions about this building.”
Olivia looks around again. Her eyes linger in different spots. I imagine each holds a memory.
“This is going to sound weird, with all these fortune cookies popping up everywhere, but Gran loved opening our fortunes together. It was a ritual for us.”
I’m quiet, fully aware how sacred this moment is. Olivia’s guard is down. I’m a cat burglar in a museum, stepping over laser beams to get nearer to the prized jewels. One false step, and the alarms will sound. The jig will be up. She’ll shut down, and I’ll lose all access.
Olivia’s lost in memories, a soft smile on her lips.
“What would you do with the fortunes?” I ask.
“Hmm? Oh.” Olivia smiles again.
I fill the pot nearly to the top with water, purposely turning my back to Olivia and facing the sink so she feels freer to share.
“After we’d had our fill of dumplings, noodles, soup, kung pao or whatever we ordered, we’d sit together and open our cookies.”
I turn and smile at her. She smiles back.
That smile . I’ll be seeing it when she’s not here. This vision of her standing in my kitchen, wearing only socks, yoga pants and an old BU sweatshirt, her hair a gorgeous mess, the way she’s leaned back on my countertop, talking to me like she trusts me with the most tender of her memories—I’ll never forget what she looks like right now. Or how she makes me feel.
“So, anyway … we’d crack the cookies open at the same time.”
Olivia shakes her head as if the whole ritual was a bit ridiculous, but I can see in her eyes it was serious business—heart business between two generations who loved one another tenderly and fiercely.
“Then we’d take turns reading the fortunes aloud. Usually Gran insisted I read mine first. She’d listen so intently, trying to figure out how this silly strip of paper and the random words inscribed on it could pertain to my life.” Olivia chuckles softly. “If it was one of those more generic compliments like, You are a kind and thoughtful person , Gran would say, ‘The cookies know!’”
Olivia giggles, and I laugh too.
“But if it had even an inkling of prescriptive advice or an actual prediction of something to come, Gran was giddy. Then, when something big or small would happen in my life, Gran would always tie it back a fortune I had opened in the past few weeks.”
“Like what?” I ask, feeling less inhibited the further Olivia goes with her storytelling.
“Hmm … Okay. Like the time one cookie said, You will meet a handsome stranger .”
I interrupt her. “Noooo. You never got that one.”
She laughs. Really laughs.
The water boils. I turn it down, pull the pancetta out of the fridge, and set it on the cutting board.
“You just happen to have pancetta in your refrigerator?” Olivia asks me.
“Yes. And did you really get that fortune?”
“Once. Yes. I did. So, that week Gran and I were on a walk in the park—the one where you tackled those doodles and pulled me into a dog pile.”
“Mm-hmm.” I resist making a comeback comment.
“Anyway, we bumped into a guy who recognized Gran because she had chatted him up at the market. When we left our brief conversation with this random guy, Gran said, ‘You will meet a handsome stranger, and there you go. You just did.’”
I laugh. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Unfortunately, she would have loved you. But don’t get too excited. She loved everyone.”
“That is unfortunate,” I say to her, stifling an ear-to-ear smile. “I’d like to think she’d love me more than the average person she knew.”
“I’m sure you would,” she says, but there’s a warmth in her tone where the bite used to be.
I chop the pancetta into small pieces. Then I pour oil into the skillet. I mince garlic and plop the bits into the oil. Pulling an onion out of my fridge, I turn back to the cutting board on my kitchen island.
“Do you want me to cut that?” Olivia asks.
“Sure,” I hand her the knife and the onion.
“Don’t judge me if I cry,” she says.
I pull a box of crackers out of my pantry.
“Here.” I hold one out to her. “You won’t cry if you have a cracker in your mouth.”
She looks at me quizzically, but she puts the cracker in her mouth and cuts the onion without shedding a tear.
We work together making the sauce. Olivia tells me more stories about her gran. I share some memories of my grandmother too. I sauté the pancetta with the garlic and onions, boil the noodles, and add the tomatoes, crushed red pepper, and black pepper to the meat and aromatics. Olivia watches intently.
I plate the pasta and grab some fresh parmesan to garnish each serving.
“Are you a couch person or table person?” I ask her.
“It depends, but mostly I eat on my couch. I guess it’s a habit from being single for so long.” She shrugs. “How about you?” she asks. “I bet you’re a table person, complete with cloth napkins and mood music.”
“Oh, I can be.” I look over at her with a promise in my gaze. “But I’ll confess, I eat most of my meals on the couch too.”
I carry our plates to the coffee table and take a spot on one corner of the sofa. Olivia takes the opposite corner and picks up her plate. Rhett takes his spot on the floor, alternating his gaze between Olivia and me.
This night feels shrouded in some sort of magic. How else can I explain Olivia sitting here sharing a meal with me?
I wait for Olivia to take a bite, watching for her reaction.
She twirls the angel hair on her fork.
Olivia lifts the bite to her mouth, opens and slips the noodles past her lips.
I hold my breath in anticipation of her reaction.
“Oh, man that’s good,” she says around the bite. “So good.”
“Good? Or the best?” I tease her.
“You’re going to make me say it?” she asks.
I don’t. And she doesn’t. But I’m secretly hoping this is one of the best plates of pasta she’s eaten in a while. I smile and take my first bite.
We eat in silence, both enjoying the food and settling into an odd sort of comfort with one another. Olivia’s relaxed, so I tell her something I’ve been wanting to say for almost two weeks.
“Thank you for how you handled that night with Jacob. He’s not a malicious or bad person. He’s just …”
“Unambitious?” she supplies. “Self-focused?”
“He’s a dreamer. And he doesn’t often take action on his dreams. He’s never had to fully experience the consequences to any of his less than awesome decisions. I probably overstepped in my approach to him. He’s taking advantage of my parents’ kindness. But they’re three grown adults. I don’t need to supervise them or their relationship.”
She studies me. “You two couldn’t be more opposite.”
I nod.
“So, you’re training for next year’s marathon?” she asks.
“I am. How did you know?”
“I just … figured.”
“Are you sure you aren’t stalking my socials, Pennington?”
“I’m not stalking. As if.” She scoffs and then takes another bite. After she chews, swallows, and hums a little sound of satisfaction, she says, “I did check out your social media. After all, you work in marketing, and you’re supposedly a digital specialist. I had to see if you’re worth your salt.”
She totally stalked my socials. That seed of hope planted during our dance starts to grow microscopic roots.
“Yeah. I’m training. Are you?” I ask.
“Not officially.”
“You should … if you want to, that is. You could totally run it.”
“I … might. We’ll see.”
“Have you ever run a marathon?”
“No. Only mud runs and halves. Nothing as long as a marathon—yet.”
We talk about running a little more while we finish our food, and then Rhett demands attention, which Olivia gladly gives him. I show her where I store his food, and she feeds him while I wash the dishes.
Olivia’s curled comfortably on my couch with Rhett fully snuggled up in her lap when I come out of the kitchen.
“Do you want to grab anything from your place?”
“I honestly can sleep in the dark. Maybe I should just buck up and make do at my own apartment.”
I don’t answer her for a beat. “It might be challenging getting ready in morning with no electricity. Plus there’s that whole trickle shower …”
She eyes me for a minute. “I guess it might be better …”
“I’ll get my room ready for you.”
She stares at me and then she says, “Okay. I’ll just go grab my toothbrush and some things.”
“And then we can stay up late and braid one another’s hair and make homemade face masks.”
Olivia smiles and then twists her lips to the side and raises her brows. “Don’t push your luck, Alexander.”
“Never, Pennington.”
“Riiiggght.” She walks out my door.
Rhett looks up at me with the most forlorn look on his face.
“She’ll be back, buddy. Don’t go messing this up, okay?”
Rhett’s expression says we both know who would definitely be the one to mess this up. Spoiler alert: It’s not my dog.
He sits at my feet. I bend and scruff his head. “You’re a good boy. You can even sleep with her if she lets you.”
By the time Olvia comes back, I’ve taken what I need out of my room so she doesn’t feel awkward. I’ve made the couch into a decent enough bed. Not that I care. I’d sleep on the coffee table if it meant giving her a place to stay tonight.
I show Olivia down the hall to my bedroom. Rhett trots behind us.
“If you don’t want him in here, just shut the door.”
“Could he stay with me?” Her voice is tenuous and soft.
Rhett doesn’t wait for me to answer. He hops up onto my bed, does two circles and then plops down at the foot of the mattress, staring at Olivia with love in his eyes.
I step out into the hallway.
“Okay. So. Make yourself at home. I’ll just be right there in the living room if you need anything.”
“Are you sure this is okay?” she asks again.
“I’m sure.”
I turn to walk away before she second-guesses me again.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?” I pause in the hallway.
“Thank you.”
This time I don’t restrain my smile since she can’t see me. Olivia Pennington is going to sleep in my bed after sharing a meal I cooked for her. I don’t know what spell has fallen over my apartment, but I can only hope I don’t break it.
The next day, I’m up and running before sunrise so I can make Olivia a breakfast she’ll remember.
By the time I’m back to my apartment, there’s an eerie emptiness. Rhett looks at me as if he’s asking me what I did to chase her off.
There’s a note on the counter.
Logan,
Thanks for everything. Your bed is far more comfortable than mine. Your pasta is better too. And that shower felt like heaven compared to my usual trickle that never gets quite hot. I feel like Goldilocks. To be honest, you’re the last person I’d imagine turning to in my time of need. But you know what they say about desperate times. I’m grateful you were here for me. You are not what I expected. See you at work.
~ Olivia
P.S. I’m stopping by Serendipi-Tea. Text me if you want me to pick something up for you. It’s the least I can do after all you did for me.
I turn to Rhett and pick him up. He licks my cheek excitedly, snorting and snuffling in response to my obvious excitement.
“She likes me, Rhett. I’m not what she expected. Did you hear that? She didn’t run off. She wants to get me something from Serendipi-Tea. That’s good, buddy. Really, really good!”
I lift Rhett over my head like that monkey holding up the lion cub in The Lion King . He squirms and snorts, so I set him down and he runs in circles around me.
“Man, I wish you could talk. I’d be asking you what it was like to share a bed with her. It was awesome, right? Maybe one day I’ll know. Can you imagine? I barely can. Less is more, Rhett. Less is more.”
On my way to work, I call Steve and tell him to do whatever it takes. I want Olivia’s electricity fixed and her shower repaired. I’ll pay for whatever upgrades he puts in. I want her shower equipped with the same rain head and spray attachment as the one in mine. I make it clear I don’t want him to mention my call to Olivia at all, but I expect the repairs to be completed as soon as possible. He assures me he’ll have an electrician and plumber there by this afternoon.
I greet Charlie on my way into the Barnes workspace.
“You’ll want to check out something that was left for you on the back table,” he says.
“Okay.”
I walk back to the table where a cup of my favorite coffee from Serendipi-Tea sits waiting for me. Next to the coffee is a protein bar with a Post-it that says, You’re going to need this to keep up with me today.
I chuckle, looking around the open space to catch her eye. She’s engaged in a conversation with Suze and Chandra. The three of them are laughing. I take a sip of coffee, watching her until our eyes meet. I tip my cup at her and mouth, Thank you , then I turn away.
Our day is spent filming a video shoot for Untethered’s launch campaign. Olivia’s storytelling approach will feature long customer testimonials for YouTube. My digital-first approach will focus on shorts we’ll blast on all social outlets to catch new customers quickly and pull them into the process of engaging with Untethered for their own custom, individualized program.
We’re so busy with models, influencers, and customers all day that I barely interface with Olivia except to make suggestions about the lighting or aesthetic.
She leaves work before I do, saying she’s meeting her sister and niece for dinner.
I told my mom I’d stop by after work, so I drive to the other side of town.
Last night almost feels like a dream. This morning, I felt like I was making progress with Olivia. Right now, I wonder how I’ll ever leap the chasm that seems to perpetually widen between us.
Dad’s out with a client, so Mom’s cooking soup for dinner when I walk in.
“Logan.” She walks over and kisses my cheek.
“Hey.” I pull her into a hug. “Smells delicious.”
“It’s just a butternut squash soup. And some rolls.”
“Sold,” I joke. “I’ll stay for dinner.”
“I hoped you would.”
“Where’s Jacob?” I ask.
“Napping. He had a big day dreaming up something he plans to develop. He went to lunch with an old classmate who wanted to collaborate on the project … or something.”
I’m quiet. Who knows what Jacob is up to.
“What’s on your mind?” Mom asks. “How’s work?”
“Good.” I pause. Mom looks at me with this certain expression that has always gotten to me. It still does, apparently. “There’s this woman at work …”
No need to name Olivia.
“Oh?” Mom’s eyes light up.
“Don’t get excited. It’s probably nothing.”
“You like her.” Mom stirs the soup. It reminds me of how I turned away from Olivia to keep her talking. Was that only last night? It feels like a lifetime ago.
“I do,” I admit. “She’s special. Like no one I’ve ever met.”
“Oh. Wow. Well, what seems to be the problem?”
“She’s … I guess you’d say she’s skittish where I’m concerned.”
“Why would that be?”
“Long story.”
“Okay. Well, do you want my thoughts?”
“I guess I do.”
“Don’t give up on her. Have you considered being honest with this woman about how you feel?”
I chuckle, picturing me coming right up to Olivia and telling her how I feel.
“Yeah. Sure,” I say. “Have you considered running in front of a moving train being driven by a visually impaired engineer?”
Mom laughs.
“This woman would run me down. The only way to win her heart is to sneak up on her. And I don’t even know if that approach will work at this point. Just when I think we’re turning a corner, she backs off again.”
Mom softly shakes her head and smiles at me. “I always knew you’d end up with a woman like this.”
“‘End up with’ is a stretch here.”
“A woman who falls over herself to get to you would never hold your attention. You need a challenge. Sounds like you’ve met your match.”
“That’s what Gil said.”
“Oh? Has Gil met her?”
“He has.”
Thankfully, I’m saved from explaining how my best friend has known Olivia as long as I have. Mom’s clever enough that any more conversation might reveal the identity of the woman I’m falling for. As if on cue, Jacob saunters into the kitchen, stretching dramatically and raising his arms overhead high enough to show some belly before he lowers them.
“Hey, bro. What brings you here tonight?”
“Just stopping by to say hi. What brings you here?”
“Ha. Funny one. I had a great meeting for lunch, though. Looks like I have a backer.”
“Oh, Jacob, honey. That’s great,” Mom says enthusiastically.
Jacob walks into the pantry and comes back out with a box of Cheez-Its tucked under his arm. He’s grabbing out fistfuls and eating them out of the palm of his hand. He tips the box in my direction, and I shake my head no thanks.
“Hey!” he shouts. “Guess what!”
“What?” I say, trying not to feel suspicious.
Our argument the other night was valid. Everything I said was legitimate, but still. I don’t want bad blood between us.
“You know how Olivia stopped by the other night?”
“She did?” Mom says, obviously surprised. “Olivia Pennington?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Jacob says. “She and Logan are working together. And they live in the same apartment building too. What are the odds?”
“Pretty low, I’d say,” Mom says, eyeing me with a very knowing look. “She reminds me of a visually impaired engineer I once heard of.”
“What?” Jacob’s face screws up with confusion.
“Nothing. Nothing. What were you saying about Olivia?” she asks, but her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Not Olivia. Her sister, Lynette. I ran into Lynette yesterday. Did you know she has a kid now?”
“I think I heard something about that,” Mom says.
“She had a serious crush on me in high school, you know,” Jacob says without even a dash of humility. “Lynette had a crush on me. The kid didn’t, obviously. The kid wasn’t born yet.”
“Stay away from her,” I say.
“What? Why? What’s it to you?” Logan asks before stuffing another handful of Cheez-Its into his mouth.
“Her life is complicated enough. She doesn’t need … more complications.”
“I’m not looking to complicate her life.”
Jacob closes the cracker box and walks back into the pantry to put it away. He emerges with a jar of peanut butter. He walks across the kitchen, opens the silverware drawer, and grabs out a spoon and scoops a heaping spoonful of peanut butter out, licking it like a lollipop.
His words are garbled with peanut butter. “I’m just talking about catching up with an old friend. You know—I’d be showing a single mom a good time. Nothing wrong with that. Unless you’re dating her or something. You’re not, are you?”
“Definitely not.”
Mom glances at me. I look away.
“Boys,” she says. “Let’s not squabble.”
“Of course, Mom. You’re right.” Jacob walks over and kisses her cheek. Then he lifts his thumb and swipes a dab of peanut butter off her face.
Mom walks over to me and pats my arm. “Lighten up, honey.”
I nod.
Then, very quietly, while Jacob is ducking into the pantry yet again, Mom says, “Olivia Pennington. I definitely approve.”