Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Rhett
Curled up in a ball, breathing heavily with her head on my chest, Olivia looks like a dream. She made it through maybe one and a half episodes of Friends before she dozed off, but the feeling of her asleep on my chest, tucked under my left arm is nothing short of incredible.
I take her in as she lays there peacefully. She has a smattering of freckles that fleck the tops of her cheeks, and a small mole on the left side of her neck that I desperately want to press my lips to. Her rhythmic breathing grounds me.
Another episode begins on the TV, and the theme song blasts way louder than the rest of the show. Olivia instantly stirs, and as she realizes she’s wrapped around me like a koala on a tree, horror fills her face.
She shoots up, startling Maverick who was comfortably sprawled at her feet.
“Sorry,” she says to Maverick and then to me.
“Don’t be sorry. You needed rest.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“Couldn’t have been long. Maybe two episodes?”
“Oh.” She directs her attention to Maverick, scratching behind his ears after he settles back down with his head in her lap.
“I should probably get off your bed now.” She looks at me, obviously seeing the concern in my eyes because she adds, “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
She’s closing down. She’s going to hide away in her room until Maverick needs something, but I still really want to be with her.
“Are you hungry? I can cook some burgers for us.”
“I could go for a burger.”
My lips quirk. God, why am I so desperate to be around her? I know I can’t have her, and yet I can’t stay away.
* * *
Pulling the burgers off the grill, I turn to Olivia. “No way. Your mom turned your wheelchair into a carriage for Halloween? I didn’t realize she was crafty.”
“I don’t think she is.” She laughs. “That’s the only time I’ve ever seen her creative side come out, and she spent two whole weeks on it.”
I pass her a burger and a bun so she can add toppings. When we settle into the chairs on the back porch, the humidity swaddles us, and the sound of birds playfully chirping fills the air. It’s peaceful. I figured it’d be exactly what Olivia could use after the day she’s had.
“Do you want to see the costume? I’m pretty sure I have a picture.”
“Hell yeah, I want to see it.”
She scrolls through her phone for a few moments, her face screwed in concentration, before she finally hands it over to me. Five-year-old Olivia is perched in a wheelchair with her brown hair cascading over her shoulders, topped with a sparkly crown. I can just barely see her baby blue Cinderella dress over the top of the elaborate carriage Mandi created from cardboard and a lot of duct tape.
“Your mom really cares for you.”
“I know. She did stuff like this all the time. In high school, I failed an English test and she stayed up all night with me before the next test to help me study. My dad has done some above and beyond things for me too.”
“Like what?”
She pauses. “Are you sure it doesn’t bother you to hear all these stories about my parents… given your relationship with yours?”
“I’ve moved on, and I enjoy hearing stories about your parents.”
“Just tell me if it bothers you, and I’ll shut up.”
“No way. I want to hear it all, starting with something cool your dad did for you.”
“He used to volunteer to announce at my track meets in high school. He’d announce all the events, and he even snuck in music before my races to help pump me up. There was this one song, ‘Unstoppable’ by Sia, that would always get me ready for a race.”
“You ran track in high school?”
“I used to run the mile and two-mile.”
“And who’s Sia?”
“She was popular in the early to mid-2010s. Her music is way better than all that George Strait and grassroots country you listen to.”
“You take that back! You haven’t even heard my music.”
“Yes, I have. We spent a couple hours driving around town together that day you took me to Cup of Sunshine and Copper Hill. Besides, I hear the music you play in the morning when you’re cooking your breakfast before work.”
“You hear that?”
“Yeah, my bedroom is right next to the kitchen.”
“Sorry. Why haven’t you said anything?”
“I didn’t want to tell you how much I hate your taste in music.” A devilish smile paints her lips.
“Okay, that’s it. We can’t be friends anymore.”
“Oh, we’re friends now?”
“I don’t know what to call you.” A twinge of hope and fear swirls inside of me. I don’t want to put myself in the friend zone, but I don’t want to let this go too far. I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to Olivia. It’s like I’m not even in control of myself when I’m around her.
“That makes two of us.” She smirks, and now my heart is soaring. So much for not letting this go too far.
Her smile falls quickly, and she pulls out her phone, putting on a song with a funky beat.
“What are you doing?”
“Playing ‘Unstoppable’ for you.”
I sit next to her in silence, imagining Olivia listening to this song in high school. It’s about putting on a brave face, pretending you’re okay, and pushing forward to succeed. No wonder Olivia is constantly smiling for everyone else’s sake.
When the song ends, I shrug, saying, “Eh, it’s all right. I’ll show you real music.”
I take her phone and play “Texas Cookin’” by George Strait.
Immediately I start tapping my foot, which turns into moving my shoulders from side to side until I’m out of my chair, taking her hand and spinning her around. She tilts her head back, laughing, and I wish I could hear the sound of her laughter every day for the rest of my life. I tell myself I’m only spinning her around again because she had a hard day and deserves to laugh, but when I pull her into me and feel the warmth of her whole body pressed against me, I snap out of it, letting her go and sitting back down. What am I doing?
The last minute of the song plays as we sit there, staring at each other, both our chests heaving as we process what just happened.
When the song finishes, I take advantage of this opportunity to change the subject.
“What triggered your panic attack today?”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“I think it could be good for you. Plus, I want to know if there’s a way I can help.”
She leans back in her chair, crinkling her nose and pressing her lips together. It’s so darn cute. “I guess a couple things piled up and sent me spiraling. My coach emailed me today and said I could still get promoted to senior this fall. I should’ve been happy because that’s always been my goal, but a part of me doesn’t care about being promoted anymore.”
“It’s okay to realize you don’t want the same things you used to.”
“No, I have to stay until senior.”
“Why? You don’t seem to enjoy your job. It clearly makes you very anxious.”
“My dad worked for a smaller public accounting firm when he was my age, and he loved it. He had to quit to come home and help take care of my grandma, and he’s always wished things could’ve been different. When I ended up in accounting, my dad immediately showed me the right path. This is how I get ahead in my career. This is how I make all the hard work of the difficult undergraduate degree, the Master’s degree, and taking the CPA exam worth it. Making it to senior opens up a lot more doors in my career than if I left now.”
“Did you even want to be an accountant and work for the Big Four?”
She glances down at the ground, breaking eye contact. “When I started school, I wanted to go into marketing. I always loved social media and creating content, and I liked the idea of using that for a good cause like helping non-profits raise money, but by the end of my freshman year of college, my parents helped me realize there are more steady careers and better uses of my intelligence and work ethic, so I found my way to accounting. I’m good at it, and it’s a very secure job. It pays well. There’s lots of opportunities. After working at the Big Four, I can go onto other jobs that could lead to a career as a CFO or Controller?—”
She’s rambling now, and I see right through her. “But that’s not what you want.”
“It is to a degree. I’ve always wanted a secure job, something to make my parents proud. This is it. It’s hard work, but you don’t get ahead if you don’t work hard.”
“But it’s killing you.”
“Rhett, I don’t want to argue with you. You asked me what triggered me, and I’m telling you. I can stop.”
I sigh heavily. “Go ahead. What else caused you to start spiraling?”
“My mom called, and she wanted to leave work to hang out with me.”
“That’s sweet. Why did that upset you?”
“Because she’s always giving things up for me! I don’t understand why she keeps worrying about me. I’m going to see a counselor tomorrow, just like she and my dad asked me to. I’m trying to give them everything they want.”
“I don’t think she’s giving anything up by leaving work a little early.”
“She was going to skip out on a meeting. Knowing her, it was probably some important meeting that she shouldn’t miss.”
“It sounds to me like your mom has her priorities in line, and you’re at the top of the list. Maybe you should take note. Screw this job that you don’t even want. Who cares about being secure and looking good to other people?”
“Actually, a lot of people care about that,” she grumbles. “This isn’t the first time she’s blown off something important for me. In college, she skipped out on a super important work meeting, and I still can’t forgive myself for letting her do that.”
“Whatever happened, I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad. Your mom is happy now. She’s thriving.”
“Yeah, but I still wonder how things would be different if I hadn’t gotten in the way.”
The irony isn’t lost on me as the next words come out of my mouth. “You can’t let all the what-ifs drown you. Life goes on. It’s what you do with the rest of it. Do you learn lessons from the past? That’s what matters.”
“I’m going to therapy. What else can I do?”
“Let your parents in a little.”
“That’s what has started every mess I’ve ever been in.”
“Then let’s figure out how to let them in without messing it up this time.”
“Let’s?”
I grab onto her hand, looking into her eyes and giving her the only thing I can ever give her. “You’re not in this alone.”