10. Oliver
OLIVER
Cutting Kassie’s grass brought back memories of my teenage years living in Richton.
Getting up early in the mornings on the weekends, going house to house, cutting grass, trimming hedges, doing whatever I could for pocket money.
I had regulars that I went to every week, and new ones popped up all the time, which lined my pocket with dollar bills and promises of spending the money I earned.
I enjoyed the simple, mindless task that was a reminder of growing up here.
Once I was done, I put the lawn mower away and used her trimmer around the fence and edges of the property, pleased when I was finished.
I hadn’t lost my touch. The yard looked great, and I had a feeling the burgers on the grill would be a worthwhile reward.
I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a burger on the grill.
Or a home-cooked meal made by someone that I didn’t have to reheat.
I headed upstairs, grabbed a shower, and then went out in search of something to bring with me to Kassie’s.
It felt wrong to show up empty-handed. My mother had always drummed into my head you never went somewhere without offering the host or hostess a gift—she was firm on that rule.
I had noticed Kassie was drinking white wine the other night, so I picked up a bottle at the little liquor store and then for some reason headed into the flower shop and looked around, unsure what I was searching for.
Luckily, the young girl behind the counter was helpful and put together a nice bouquet for me, which I took home.
I went straight to Kassie’s, knocking rapidly, somehow more eager to see her than I realized.
She answered the door, greeting me with one of her shy smiles.
She had changed into leggings and an oversized plaid shirt, looking effortlessly pretty.
Her hair was loose, hanging down her back, glinting red in the late afternoon sun.
She laughed as I handed her the wine and the flowers, shaking her head.
“There is no need for such extravagances, Oliver,” she said, yet looking delighted as she sniffed the flowers.
“My mother always taught me to bring the hostess a thank-you,” I replied.
“Well, this is a thank-you for cutting the lawn, so I feel like I should be giving you the wine and flowers,” she teased.
“We could give thanks back and forth all night, or you could invite me in and really thank me with one of those delicious-smelling burgers.”
She laughed. “Come on in. I just took them off the grill.”
I followed her to the kitchen, inhaling deeply. “Dinner smells awesome.”
“Let me put these in water, and we can eat,” she said.
Kassie was obviously in her element in the kitchen, moving around easily, no hesitation as she got a vase from the cupboard, added the flowers and some water, then grabbed a couple of wineglasses and the corkscrew, offering it to me.
I uncorked the wine and poured her a glass, not taking any for myself.
She brought over a platter of burgers, a leafy-green salad, then opened the oven door and filled the basket with some crispy-looking potato wedges.
She sat down after adding a pitcher of water to the table, watching as I filled my wineglass with the liquid. I lifted my glass in a toast. “To a great dinner—thank you.”
She touched her glass to mine, and for a moment, there was silence as we dished up some salad, adding potato wedges to our plates and condiments to our burgers.
She had remembered everything I liked—grilled onions, dill pickles, jalapenos, even an extra-sharp cheddar cheese for toppings.
I took a big bite and groaned in delight.
“You can cook as well as you can bake, Kassie.”
She smiled around a mouthful of burger, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
“Living in Toronto, my budget was pretty tight, so I rarely ate out. My mom had taught me how to cook, and those skills came in handy. I still prefer homemade food to going out—that’s more of a treat than a regular activity for me. ”
That was the opening I needed. I took another bite, chewed and swallowed it, followed by a sip of water. As I set down my glass, I looked at her. “How long did you live in Toronto?” I asked casually.
“A while,” she said, deflecting my question easily. She lifted her glass and took a sip of wine. “I finished school there and went to work at an accounting firm.”
She didn’t say anything else, so I prompted her. “You didn’t like it there?”
Some of the light in her eyes dimmed, and she shook her head. “I always thought I wanted to be in the big city but decided it wasn’t for me. And it was time to come home, period.”
“Any particular reason why?” I asked.
She set down her burger and wiped her fingers on her napkin.
“Sometimes what you want changes. Sometimes the things you thought you wanted aren’t what you expected.
I realized I thought life in the city would be better than life in Richton, but I missed home and decided to come back.
I’ve built a nice little life for myself here, and I’m happy.
” She paused for a moment. “Much happier than I was in Toronto.”
“Sounds like a story there,” I said cautiously.
“Not for tonight,” she replied.
I didn’t push her. With our fragile new relationship, I didn’t want to move too fast, even though I was burning to know why she’d come home. It wasn’t enough that she missed Richton—something happened and, for some reason, it was important for me to know what.
For a moment, we concentrated on our food. The burger was delicious, the salad crisp and tasty, and the potato wedges coated in some sort of spicy mixture. It was reminiscent of my favorite meal as a teenager, which only proved I’d never really grown up.
Kassie met my eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“You’re not drinking. You don’t like wine?”
“No, I do like wine. But you’re right, I’m not drinking.
” I sighed, leaning my elbow on the table as I picked up my water, swirling it in the glass.
“I’ve been using alcohol as a distraction, a crutch.
I’m not an alcoholic but it’s a dangerous path, so I’m limiting what I drink and when I drink it. ”
“A crutch?” she asked.
“For lack of a better word. I was unhappy, unsure what to do with my life, feeling trapped. It’s very easy in the world I live in to get lost in a different kind of vice to help pass the time between working. It’s easy to get bored.”
“Why were you unhappy?”
I decided to be honest with her. I wanted her to be honest with me, so it was only fair.
“I didn’t like my life. What I thought I wanted, what I thought would make me happy, no longer did.
The only time I felt settled was when I was working.
When I could lose myself in whatever character I was creating so that I didn’t have to be Oliver. ”
“Is being Oliver so bad?”
I shrugged, draining my water and refilling the glass. “When I’m working, no. During interviews, no. Helping out on a cause that means something, no. When I’m alone and looking at the sum of my life…well, let’s just say I don’t like what it adds up to.”
“Which is?”
“Loneliness.”
She reached over and grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I nodded, wrapping my hand around hers and holding it tight.
“Money, fame, and fortune don’t talk to you when you’re alone.
They don’t make you laugh. They don’t listen to you about your day.
I always thought, once I was rich, I’d be happy.
But the bottom line is, the old adage money can’t buy you happiness is actually fucking true. ”
Her eyes met and held mine. Her soft green gaze was filled with understanding. She squeezed my hand. “Sometimes our dreams change and what we thought were our goals change,” she whispered. “I’m proud of you for recognizing that you needed to make a change and that you did it. That you’re here.”
“Don’t be too proud. Annie pushed me into it, but I’m glad too.” I released her hand. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted. “Thank you for telling me that. For being honest.”
I finished my burger, wiping my fingers on the napkin and topping up my water glass.
“I’ll just refill that,” Kassie said as she reached for the jug.
She grimaced a little as she stood, and I frowned in concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, but I noticed she rubbed the spot in the middle of her back as she waited for the water and ice to fill the jug. I had noticed the same action earlier when she was trying to start the motor on the lawn mower. A grimace of pain had crossed her face more than once.
“Did you hurt your back earlier?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, it’s an old injury,” she said quietly, setting the jug on the table and sitting back down. “It flares up every so often.”
“Old injury? Like something from when we were in school?” I tried to recall if she’d hurt herself during one of our gym classes or at some other time, but I couldn’t think of anything.
“No,” she replied, pushing her salad around on her plate and not looking at me. “It happened when I was living in Toronto.”
“When what happened?”
“I, ah, I fell backward into a chunk of concrete. I cracked a vertebra, and it took a long time to heal. It flares up every so often.”
“Jesus. How did that happen?”
“It was an accident,” she said briefly.
Somehow, I knew there was more to the story.
I knew without a doubt this so-called accident had something to do with her leaving Toronto and coming home.
But she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.
She didn’t trust me—not that I could blame her.
I had to earn that trust. And I intended to. No matter what it took to do so.
We finished dinner, and Kassie suggested dessert out on her little patio. She made coffee, and I carried out the tray with another one of her decadent pies added to it.