Chapter 15
It took nine of Courtney’s allotted ten minutes to get the duct tape off Xander. Then the boys freshened up and were out the door in another five. I had no idea what their schedule was for the day or when they’d be back, but I didn’t care because my plan was to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
That didn’t work out so well.
As soon as I lay down, I started thinking about this morning and waking up with Oliver.
Thinking turned into worrying, and soon I was in full-out panic mode.
Exactly what had happened between us? I prayed it was nothing.
Maybe we were both so drunk that we accidentally passed out in the same bed.
Maybe. But the evil part of my mind jumped to the worst possible explanation—what if I’d thrown myself at him?
Unable to sleep, I tried watching a movie, but nothing could distract me from my thoughts.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went back to the boys’ suite to see if they’d returned.
Nobody was there, but I decided to stick around because I knew Oliver and I had to talk.
I spent the next hour practicing what I was going to say.
The minute he walked through the door, I was going to march over to him and tell him that whatever happened last night was an accident, which was definitely the tequila’s fault, and that it would never happen again.
“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” I exclaimed and pulled at my hair.
Shaking my head, I sunk down on the couch. The more I rehearsed my speech, the more I thought talking to Oliver wasn’t such a good idea after all. Most of the party had come back to me in throbbing, colorful flashes, but there was still a blank when I tried to picture the events surrounding him.
I could always ask Xander or Alec to tell me the details, but they were still gone doing band stuff. Maybe things would be a lot less frustrating if I just asked Oliver straight out what went down and stopped being so embarrassed. I could do that, right? After all, we were just friends.
As if on cue, the hotel door slammed open and Oliver appeared carrying three large grocery bags.
Trying to carry was a better description.
One of the brown paper bags was ripping, and he was struggling to get the load to the kitchen without losing anything.
I shot out of my seat and rushed over to help him.
“Thanks, Stella,” he said when I relieved him of one of the bags. We set everything down on the counter next to the sink, and an onion, a jalapeno, and a can of tomato paste came spilling out.
“What’s all this for?”
“I’m making dinner,” he said. “Wash your hands. You can help.”
I stared at Oliver, brows raised. If he noticed my hesitation, he didn’t say anything. He was already pulling out the groceries, and I quickly noticed the way he was slamming cans of beans down on the counter as he pulled them from the bag. Something was wrong.
Not knowing what else to do, I slid the ponytail holder from around my wrist and pulled my hair back before turning on the faucet.
While the water warmed up, I lathered my hands with soap and chewed on my inside cheek.
This would be the perfect time to discuss last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to mention it, even after practicing for more than an hour.
Especially not if Oliver was upset about something.
“Where is everyone?” I asked instead and grabbed a paper towel to dry my hands.
His nostrils flared. “They’re supposed to be here.”
“Supposed to?”
“Yeah. Once a month, we have what I like to call family dinner. I cook, and everyone else helps out. Tonight was supposed to be family dinner, but on the way back from the store, JJ saw the Cheesecake Factory and they all decided to go there instead,” he said, his lips curling in an ugly scowl.
He didn’t wait for any response on my part.
Instead, he spun around and started opening and slamming drawers in search of something.
Eventually he pulled out a can opener and hooked its jagged teeth to the lip of a can.
He started to crank the handle, but the blade slipped.
He tried twice more with the same results, his face turning redder with each failed attempt.
I placed my hand over his and pulled the can opener away. “Oliver, are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. A second later he shook his head and glanced up at me. “Sorry, Stella. I’m not mad at you. I’m just frustrated.”
He seemed a bit more than frustrated, especially considering it was only one missed dinner, but maybe I wasn’t catching something. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s fine.”
He nodded. “Well, looks like it’s just the two of us. You like chili, yeah?”
“Chili’s great.”
This seemed to put him in a better mood, because he turned on some music, and we busied ourselves with preparing our meal.
For most of the next hour we worked in silence, our only conversation when he gave me instructions.
I was uncomfortable at first, mainly because I couldn’t stop thinking about last night, but browning ground beef was so mundane that it was strangely calming.
When Oliver started to hum along with the radio, I turned away from the stove and watched him chop vegetables.
He was shimmying his shoulders back and forth, and I realized that if something awkward had happened last night, he wouldn’t be as relaxed as he was now.
Once the chili was simmering on the stove, I set two places for us at the table, and then we sat down and waited for the food to finish cooking.
“So…” Oliver said. He was playing with the spoon set out in front of him and was avoiding looking at me.
Oh crap, I thought. Maybe I spoke too soon.
He was about to bring up last night, and if thinking about it made him uncomfortable, then something bad totally happened.
“I wasn’t purposely listening or anything, but I overheard you and Xander before the show on Monday. ”
“Oh.” That wasn’t what I was expecting. “What about?”
“Your sister,” he said, starting to speak in a rush. “I would have said something sooner, but there wasn’t a good time and—”
The spoon flew from his hand as his fingers slipped, and it clattered against his bowl. Reaching out, I scooped up both of his fidgeting hands and held them still. Oliver raised his gaze to find mine.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said. “Really, it’s fine. Cara…she’s been sick for a while now.”
Oliver grimaced and shook his head like he was disappointed in himself.
“I’ve been trying to come up with something perfect to say all week, but I guess that’s stupid, isn’t it?
There’s nothing that would make things better.
It’s just, the thought of having someone so close, and then there’s this potential they might suddenly be gone…
” Oliver stopped, and his expression was twisted in a way that made it impossible to interpret.
“I can’t even imagine how difficult that must feel. ”
The one thing that I did understand was that he was upset, and seeing him so choked up was completely unexpected.
“Thank you, Oliver. That means a lot to me.” He nodded his head, a grave expression still on his face, so I squeezed his hand and said, “If Cara were here right now, she’d point out that she’s still alive and that you need to stop acting all doom and gloom. ”
“You’re right,” he said. His smile finally returned and he sat up. “Hey, did your sister like her gift?”
“Like it? She just about pissed herself she was so excited.”
Oliver’s grin widened. “That’s great. I can’t imagine how she reacted when Paul offered you a job. What’d she say?”
“Well, she threatened to never speak to me again when I considered turning it down.” As soon as the words came out, I wanted to steal them back because Oliver pulled away from me.
“You weren’t going to accept?” he asked. “Why the heck not?”
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice dropping. I didn’t like where this conversation was going, so I let my hair fall in front of my face and started combing my fingers through it.
“Really, that’s all I get?” he asked as I isolated the blue chunk from the rest of my hair. I wrapped the colorful streak around my finger and avoided his scrutinizing gaze. “Come on, Stella. There has to be a reason. It—it wasn’t because of me, was it?”
I let the strand go and laughed as it unraveled from my finger. “Of course not, Oliver. Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to tell what you’re thinking sometimes. I thought maybe you didn’t want to say anything because it had to do with me.”
I breathed a sigh. “It’s not you. I promise.”
“Then what?”
“I already told you,” I said, speaking warily.
“I don’t know.” I was trying to swallow my frustration, but the more Oliver pushed the subject, the more uncomfortable I felt.
I knew it wouldn’t be long until I popped like the bottle rocket I could sometimes be, and I hunted for a way to change the subject.
“How can you not know?” he pressed, looking at me like I was an idiot. The doubt on his face was all it took.
“Because, Oliver!” I said, throwing my hands into the air. “I just don’t. All I know is that there was this disgusting pit in my stomach whenever I thought about leaving.” There was no way I was going to tell him that I still felt that way whenever I thought too much about Cara.
“Okay, okay,” he said, his voice softening as he held his hands out in defense. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just thought maybe I could help.”
“No offense, but what can you do?” It was nice and all for him to try, but if my brother—one of the two people in this world who knew me best—couldn’t help, then how could Oliver?
He shrugged. “No clue, but talking about it isn’t going to hurt.”
“What are you, my therapist?” I knew I sounded harsh, mean even, but I could feel the pull of the rip current again. Joining the band on tour was supposed to help me figure out what was bothering me, but so far all I felt was more confused.
“Actually, I consider myself more a detective,” Oliver said, cracking a small smile. “Right now I’m working a case called The Mysterious Upset Stomach.” I looked at him, lips pinched tight, but he just raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Relax, Stella. I’m not going to judge you.”
Ask yourself what you’re so afraid of…
Finally, I sighed. “When Paul called me, I was super-excited,” I admitted.
“I mean, jumping-up-and-down excited. The first person I went to tell was Cara, and I think—I think it was seeing her bedroom door that made me panic. She has all these pictures of us taped up, and it reminded me of when we first found out she had cancer.”
“What happened?”
I lowered my head onto the table and didn’t say anything for a while. That was a day I didn’t like thinking about.
Cara had told me she was feeling strange, bogged down and constantly tired, but I’d dismissed it as exhaustion from too many long hours at cheer practice.
Eventually Mom brought her to the doctors.
They decided to run some tests, and I thought, Okay, maybe Cara is sick, but it’s probably just mono or something.
Her doctor would give her some meds, tell her to take it easy, and she’d be fine. The truth was, I was too busy with our school’s winter production of Guys and Dolls to pay much attention. The Art Club was designing the set, and I was in charge of the entire project.
When the test results came back, my parents sat Drew and me down at the kitchen table so Cara could explain what was going on.
I’d been annoyed—it was a Saturday and I was supposed to be at school putting the finishing touches on the set before Thursday’s opening show—so instead of paying attention, I was texting my friends to tell them I’d be late.
“Stella, are you even listening to me?” Cara had screamed. I remembered looking up, seeing the tears on her face, and still not grasping the severity of the situation.
“Yeah, what?” I’d asked.
“It’s cancer.” That time she didn’t yell. The hard line of her jaw was enough, along with the word “cancer.” It packed the kind of punch that could only be compared to a championship-winning knockout. That or getting run over by a dump truck.
Shaking my head, I lifted my eyes back up to look at Oliver. “I didn’t notice she’d been crying,” I said, my own eyes watering. “Something was wrong with my sister, and I didn’t even realize it.”
“Hey,” he said. His chair scraped against the floor as he scooted over and draped his arm over my shoulder. “You’re not all-knowing, Stella. How were you supposed to tell she was sick? X-ray vision?”
“That’s not the point.” I tucked my elbows into my sides so I could hold myself. “I didn’t notice anything was wrong because I was too busy to notice.”
Oliver shook his head at me. “No, Stella. You were living your life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
My nails bit into my palm as I clenched my fist. “You don’t get it. If I’d been there”—thinking about this made me squeeze my eyes shut—“I would have known something was wrong. We could have taken her to the doctor sooner, and then maybe her cancer wouldn’t be as bad.”
He was quiet for a minute as he chose his words.
“You’re right,” he said finally, which made me suck in a sharp breath.
“I don’t get it. Not at all. You’re blaming yourself for something that’s out of your control, like a thunderstorm or an alien invasion.
Fact: bad things happen sometimes. You’re gonna get the shit kicked out of you sooner or later, and that’s just part of life.
What matters is how you absorb the blow. ”
“Okay?” I wasn’t quite sure if Oliver was saying I’d actually get beaten up or if this was just some terrible guy analogy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Stop feeling so guilty, Stella. You’re absorbing all wrong.”