28. Ollie
Chapter 28
Ollie
On Tuesday, my phone buzzes with an email as soon as I get in the door from work. It's from my father, an invitation to attend my parent's wedding anniversary, with an added note that makes it clear I’m required to attend. I have no interest in attending another one of their bullshit parties, and I’m trying to think of a good excuse when I find Megan kneeling on the living room carpet, in leggings and a cropped top, with her hair piled on top of her head.
I tiptoe through to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, then watch from the doorway and try to figure out what the fuck she’s doing now. All around her are piles of stuff, and more lit candles than seem safe around a woman whose eyes are closed.
Is she humming?
Suddenly she peeks one eye open and glares straight at me.
“Stop staring at me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Circle,” she whispers loudly before resuming her humming. Blindly, she reaches for an object, narrowly missing a naked flame, and brings it to her chest, then whispers too softly for me to make out what she’s saying. When she sets it down, once again barely missing the candle, I edge closer for a better look.
“Is that your Grandad?” I ask, peeking at the old black-and-white photo. “Oh shit, are you summoning ghosts?”
“Ollie! That’s Paul Newman.”
“Who?”
She grunts, snapping her eyes open to stare up at me. “Did you just ask me who Paul Newman is?”
I shrug, bending down to pick up the framed photo, but she shrieks before I get there.
“Do not breach the circle. I am manifesting. You’ll mess with my energy.”
“What the fuck?”
“Paul Newman is one of Hollywood’s most famous actors. He was notoriously faithful and once said, ‘Why go out for hamburgers when you can have steak at home.’ He was talking about his wife.”
“That’s gross.”
“How is that gross?”
“Women aren’t pieces of meat, Megan. And if he’s so faithful, why are you trying to summon him?”
“He’s dead.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I feel like I’m going round in circles here but, once again, I must ask, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m not trying to summon him. I’m manifesting . If I’m going to find a man, I need to focus on what I actually want in my dream life. It’s a science. Picturing your goals means you’re more motivated to work hard and get what you want.”
“And you want Paul Newman?”
“Not specifically him, but someone like him. Someone loyal and committed, who puts me first.”
“With movie star looks?”
“That wouldn’t hurt,” she says, poking her tongue out. “Now would you mind leaving me alone for a bit? I’ve still got to fix the career and friendships parts of my life.”
Jesus, this woman drives me bananas.
If she just stopped focusing on all the things she thinks are wrong with her life, she’d see just how lucky she has it.
“Megan, you're spending all this time trying to fix yourself. When you've got a problem with a cow—”
Her eyes fly open again. “Are you comparing me to a cow?”
“No. Bear with me…”
Shit, I don’t actually know where I’m going with this.
“When there’s a problem with a cow, you don't assume that she's a terrible, broken cow. You’d look at her environment, or the grass, or the water or whatever. She's not a shit cow. And you're not a shit person. You're not broken.”
“You are comparing me to a cow.”
“No, I’m not!”
“I don’t understand why you’re talking about cows,” she says, her voice pitching higher.
She’s making me lose my goddamn mind.
“You're the one talking about beef! All of this shit,” I gesture wildly at the floor. “This is not the way to get a man.”
“I know. I signed up for a dating app, too.”
Well, fuck. I didn’t expect that.
“Did you really?” I ask, grabbing my apron from the kitchen and tying the strings around my waist. She nods proudly from her spot on the floor. “Well, look at you little lady, you might not be destined for spinster life after all.”
“Ollie!” she shrieks, reaching underneath her to toss a cushion at me.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Risotto for dinner?”