Chapter 23 Hannah
I wake up the next morning with a feeling of anticipation, but it takes me a second to remember why: Olivia is coming. As I roll over and find Lainey still sound asleep, my excitement quickly dissipates, replaced by acute nervousness.
In the bright light of day, without the cloud of alcohol, I realize what an untenable plan Olivia and I made last night. Lainey is going to kill me. Panicking, I reach for my phone, wondering if there is still time to cancel. But I quickly discover that it’s nearly eleven o’clock and Olivia’s travels are well under way. She sent a text at nine-thirty that says: Getting to Naples around noon and will try to make the 12:40 ferry.
A second text just came in, reading: Hello? Are you getting these? Still okay that I’m coming??
There is no mention of Lainey, but I know that’s what she means by her last question.
I take a deep breath, then text her back: Sorry! I just woke up! I will be at the dock when you arrive!
I put my phone down, looking at Lainey again. I don’t like keeping a secret from her—or Tyson, for that matter—especially on a trip like this one. But I remind myself that I’m not meeting Olivia for Lainey; I’m meeting her for me. It feels like an acceptable loophole.
If, later in the day, Olivia and I decide to tell Lainey that she’s come to Capri, the ball will be in her court. If she wants to meet her sister, she can. If she chooses not to, that is also fine.
Our pact, along with this trip, is about the sanctity of our friendship, but it’s also about following our guts. Tyson followed his gut by breaking up with Nicole and quitting his job, and Lainey always does exactly what she pleases in whatever moment she’s in. It’s my turn now. I need to be true to myself.
I ease my way out of bed, doing my best not to disturb the sheets and blankets wrapped around Lainey. The longer she stays asleep, the more time I have to figure out what to tell her I’m doing today. I could always use Archie as my alibi, but I don’t want to overtly lie. A lie of omission feels bad enough. I have a couple of hours to figure it out.
I take a shower, then apply loads of sunscreen and a little bit of makeup. After debating what to wear, I go with a canary yellow cotton midi dress and white canvas sneakers. Just as I’m leaving the room, Lainey says my name.
I turn and smile. “Good morning!”
“Where are you off to?” she asks, her head still on the pillow.
“I was just going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?”
“That’s okay,” she says as she sits up and gives me a once-over. “Why are you dressed so cute? Are you seeing Archie today?”
“This isn’t that cute,” I say, dodging her question.
She nods, then says, “You look good.”
I thank her.
“Where’s Tyson?”
“I’m not sure. He was already gone when I woke up. Maybe he’s working out.”
“Working out?” she says. “You don’t think he’s hungover?”
“You know Tyson doesn’t really get hungover,” I say. “He always stops himself before he goes too far.”
Lainey nods, and I slip out the door before she can ask me any more questions.
I milk the clock for as long as I can in the hotel restaurant, drinking coffee and eating a chocolate croissant. When I finally return to the room, I find Tyson and Lainey on the balcony. They are both on their laptops, looking engrossed. I brush my teeth, then grab a small crossbody bag, gathering my credit card, my phone, and a room key.
“All right, y’all!” I call out to them on my way to the door. “I’m headed out for a bit.”
“Wait. Where are you going?” Lainey asks me.
“For a walk,” I say, my heart racing as I make nervous eye contact.
Lainey nods, then says, “I’d come with you, but I’m going to start working on my script.”
“And I’m helping her,” Tyson says.
“We can meet up with you a little later,” Lainey says. “Assuming you aren’t with Archie.”
“Sounds good!” I say, turning back around.
“Have fun!” Lainey says. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”
I spot Olivia the second she steps off the ferry. She is wearing chambray shorts, a white tank top, and tennis shoes, with a sweatshirt tied around her waist. Her dark hair is in a short ponytail, and her only luggage is a backpack slung over one shoulder. Her gait is strong and confident, and as she nears the top of the pier, I can tell how muscular her arms and shoulders are. She definitely looks like a professional athlete, and for a second, it almost makes me want to go lift some weights.
I watch her for a few more seconds, feeling worried again. Hopefully, this visit won’t result in an argument with Lainey.
As Olivia steps off the pier, she looks right at me but doesn’t react. Apparently, she hasn’t been stalking my Instagram the way I’ve been studying hers.
“Hi, Olivia,” I say.
“Oh, hey!” she says, smiling, switching her backpack from one shoulder to the other. It would appear by the size of her bag that she might not be planning to stay overnight—which means we’d only have a few hours before the last ferry departs for Naples. I tell myself to make the most of our time together.
“How was your trip?” I ask.
“It wasn’t too bad. Easy flight.”
“You flew?”
“Yeah. It’s, like, an eight-hour drive to Naples. I actually took a train to Genova, then flew to Naples,” she says.
“Oh my gosh! I had no idea you were going to that much trouble….”
“It’s no trouble,” she says. “It was actually very efficient.”
I smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry? Should we have lunch?”
“I’m always hungry!”
We stand there, grinning at each other for a few seconds, before we start walking down the narrow road, single file. A couple of minutes later, as we reach a stretch of shops and cafés, we cross the street to check them out. We pass by the first few options but eventually find a restaurant that feels nice. Ducking inside, I ask a lady clearing tables if they’re still serving lunch. She nods as Olivia asks her a follow-up question in Italian. The lady responds, gesturing toward the seating area.
“Do you want to eat inside or outside?” Olivia translates.
I glance around the dining area, then point to a small table in the corner right next to an open window—a compromise. “Maybe that one?”
“That works,” she says, striding over to it. She drops her backpack on the floor before taking a seat.
“Your Italian is really good,” I say, sitting across from her. “Have you picked that up in the last few weeks?”
She smiles and says no, telling me that she’s been working on it for a few months.
I tell her I’m terrible at foreign languages—that I took eight years of French and never achieved any sort of fluency.
“The trick is—don’t be embarrassed. Try whenever you can. There is no shame in trying,” she says.
I nod, thinking her advice applies to many things in life. As we review the menu, I also glance at the wine list, debating whether to have a glass. It feels a bit early in the day, especially given how much I had to drink last night.
I look back up at Olivia. “Are you going to have a glass of wine?”
“I shouldn’t. Training and all of that,” she says. “But you should have one…. And maybe I’ll have a sip of yours.”
I smile back at her. I’ve had a good feeling about Olivia since that first time we spoke on the phone, but now I really like her. Weirdly, it also feels like I’ve known her a very long time. Maybe that’s because she’s related to Lainey, but I doubt it, given the very different feeling I had in Ashley’s living room.
Our waiter is in no rush to take our order, which seems to be normal here. I don’t mind, though. In fact, I like the feeling that nobody ever seems to be in a hurry or bothered. When he finally makes his way to our table, Olivia orders the risotto alla pescatora, and I go with the spaghetti alla posillipo, ordering in Italian. I also choose a glass of red wine.
“Good job,” Olivia says, giving me a thumbs-up.
Our eyes lock, and we both smile as butterflies invade my stomach.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Sorry. I’m just a little nervous. I’m not sure why…. I guess because I haven’t told Lainey you’re here.”
Olivia bites her lip and nods. “I figured…. What does she think you’re doing right now?”
“I told her I was going for a walk…and possibly meeting up with this guy we all met….”
Olivia raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Oh?”
“Nothing like that…. I mean, he’s very cute…but no.”
She nods, then says, “Too soon?”
“I don’t think it’s that. The idea of a rebound is appealing,” I say. “It just wasn’t there, I guess. That spark.”
“How are you feeling generally? About the breakup?” Olivia asks.
“I’m doing surprisingly okay. I think it might be a different story when I get back home,” I say, my heart sinking at the thought. “But for now, I’m holding my own.”
“Have you heard from your ex?”
I shake my head and say, “No. And nothing from my mother, either.”
“Good,” she says. “But be careful of the stealth attack. They often come when you least expect it.”
I nod, then say, “Yeah. I dread going back to it all. I really wish I could just move away for good.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know…. Where would I go?”
“Um…literally anywhere—” She gives me a big, warm smile that reminds me of Lainey.
“True,” I say. “But in a way, that makes the idea of moving even more overwhelming.”
“I get that,” she says. “And I know your roots are in Atlanta. But if the tree is dying—” She makes a quick slashing motion that gives me a sense of what she must be like on a tennis court. “Maybe it’s time to cut it down.”
I nod, my stomach fluttering again.
“So. Where can you see yourself living? New York City?”
I shake my head and say, “No. Not another big city.”
She nods. “What about the West Coast?”
“Too far.”
“Too far from what?”
I smile. “Good point.”
“Have you spent any time in California?”
“A little. I went to a wedding in Napa once.” I hesitate, then say, “And Tyson and I went to Lainey’s hometown, Encinitas. We stayed at her mother’s house at the beach.”
Olivia nods, then quickly looks down, rearranging the napkin on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Lainey’s mother.”
“That’s okay,” she says, looking back up at me. “It is what it is.”
I nod and sigh. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Is her mom still in California?”
I feel my shoulders tense, as I shake my head. “No. She died a few years ago.”
“Oh, shit. I didn’t know,” she says. “Poor Lainey.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They were very close. It was terrible…. But I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about that. I feel like it’s not my place to go there with Lainey’s life—”
“I understand,” she says.
“I mean, we can talk about your father—and your relationship with him—”
“Yes. I totally get the difference,” she says, nodding. “And you’re right.”
I smile, feeling relieved.
Olivia sighs, looking deep in thought, then points to my wine. “May I?”
“Of course. Help yourself.”
She picks up my glass, then takes a sip. “Hmm. That’s really good,” she says, putting the glass back down in front of me. “I may need to make an exception to my training rule.”
I smile, then push the glass to the middle of the table. “We can share this one.”
Olivia takes another sip before she says, “I’ve been thinking about my father a lot lately. I guess that’s no surprise, is it?”
“Not at all.” I shake my head, waiting for her to continue.
“It’s so messed up. What he did. All those lies. My God…it’s astonishing that someone could lie for that long about something so big—”
“I know. But maybe he just felt trapped,” I say, instantly regretting my words. I quickly backpedal. “Not trapped by your mother and you and Ashley. But by the whole situation. Trapped by the lies.”
“I knew what you meant,” she says. “But I find myself wondering who he truly loved. I know it’s possible to love two people—but what was in his heart? I’d love to ask him.”
I nod as she continues. “A big part of me hopes it’s my mother, of course, because I know she’s so in love with him. But that’s not the real reason—”
“What’s the real reason?” I ask, threading the needle, doing my best to avoid mention of Lainey’s mother.
“Because if he wasn’t in love with my mother—that meant he stayed in a relationship that he didn’t want to be in. And as bad as the lies are, there’s nothing worse than living an inauthentic life.”
I nod, riveted. She makes it all sound so simple—and maybe it is—but in this moment, her statement also feels profound.
“I don’t think my dad is happy,” she continues. “In his marriage or his job. I think he’s settled his whole life. He should have been a musician. He used to be in a band—he played the guitar and has a really cool singing voice, a raspy baritone.”
“Your voice is raspy, too,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “People say that…. But there’s no way he’s happy working at JCPenney for all these years. Especially after they filed for bankruptcy. So depressing.”
I nod. “Does your mother have a career?”
She shakes her head. “No. She stayed home with us. She was a great mother in a lot of ways. Doting on us. Homemade cookies when we got back from school. Carted me to tennis tournaments all over the country. But she’s also so narrow-minded in a way that he isn’t.”
I nod, then reach for the wineglass, waiting for her to continue as I take a sip.
“Everything really came to a head when I came out to my parents,” she finally says.
I look back at her, surprised. For some reason, Olivia being gay has never crossed my mind. “When did you come out to them?” I ask.
“In college. When I got into a pretty serious relationship.”
“What was her name?” I ask for some reason.
“Zara. She was my best friend for a long time. And then it was more. And I just couldn’t hide it anymore. I didn’t want to hide it—or her. So, I went home and broke the news.”
“What did you say?” I picture my own mother, feeling impressed by Olivia’s bravery.
“I cut right to the chase.” She clears her throat, then says, “?‘Mom, Dad. I’m in love with Zara. She’s my girlfriend. I’m a lesbo.’?” She smiles, but there is something troubling in her eyes.
“What did they say?”
“My dad said nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Zilch. Total silence. Although to be fair, there wasn’t any oxygen left in the room after my mother’s reaction.”
I wince. “Oh, no. What did she do?”
“She cried buckets. She asked if it was ‘just a phase.’ When I told her no—that this was the way I’d always been, the way I’d been born—she insisted that that couldn’t be true because—get this—I played with Barbies as a kid.” She shakes her head.
“Wow,” I say.
“Yeah. Then she told me I needed to talk to my pastor. When I reminded her that I didn’t have a pastor, nor did I believe in God, there were more tears.”
“Gosh,” I say, shaking my head. “That must have been so hard.”
“It was. And what hurt the most was that my father just sat there the whole time. A few days later, after I’d gone back to school, he drove to Austin and took me to lunch. He told me he loved me no matter what—and said Mom would come around. Eventually.”
“And did she?”
“In her own way. But she still goes to some megachurch that preaches hate from the pulpit. And my dad goes, too…even though I know he’s only doing it for her. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it any longer.”
I nod, then say, “When did you know you were gay?”
“Oh. That’s hard to say. Growing up, I had crushes on girls. And I was obsessed with this one babysitter when I was about ten.” She smiles. “But I didn’t see it as a queer thing at the time. I just thought she was the coolest ever.”
I nod, thinking of the platonic girl crushes I’ve had over the years.
Olivia continues, “Then, in high school, I had a boyfriend. He was so cute. But—” She shakes her head. “Let’s just say I’m definitely not bisexual.”
I smile, thinking of Lainey’s belief that sexual orientation falls on a continuum, ranging from exclusively opposite sex to exclusively same sex with every possible combination in between. She has always insisted that very few people are at one of the extremes. I reconsider her theory now, as Olivia and I both reach for the wineglass.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling her hand back.
“No, go ahead.”
She takes a sip, then hands me the glass. “You seem surprised.”
“About what?”
“That I’m gay.”
I start to deny it but force myself to be honest. “I’m a little surprised. I don’t know why, though—”
Olivia nods, putting me at ease. “I get it. I present as straighter than some…but obviously those are just stereotypes.”
I nod, then blurt out, “Just so you know—I fully support the LGBTQ community.”
She nods, seeming to suppress a smile.
“Is that a dumb thing to say?”
“No, it’s not at all dumb. It’s nice.” She hesitates, then says, “Do you have gay friends?”
Her question is gentle, but I still feel defensive. “I work with quite a few gay men,” I say. “But I wouldn’t say I’m close with any of them.”
She smiles. “So I can be your first?”
“Yes, please,” I say, smiling back at her. “I’d love for you to be my first.”