Gage
Chapter thirty-one
The week after Duncan comes to camp is Olivia’s birthday. It’s on a Tuesday, which means I’m limited in how I can celebrate her on the actual day, but I have big plans for the following Saturday, which is also the Saturday before the last week of camp.
I do have a few tricks up my sleeve for her actual birthday on Tuesday, though.
With Nina’s help, I weave colorful crepe paper streamers around the inside of Olivia’s cabin while she’s sleeping.
I wanted to do balloons, but I quickly learned that getting helium-filled balloons delivered out here to Camp Prairie Star was cost prohibitive, not to mention difficult to hide ahead of time. So, streamers it is.
I’m not there to see her face when she wakes up on her twenty-third birthday, of course, but I’m hoping it’s equal parts thrilled and annoyed.
I went extra obnoxious with the streamer placement.
She won’t be able to get out of bed without tearing through a couple of layers.
Olivia’s a pretty sound sleeper, apparently, because she didn’t stir once, even as I was wrapping streamers under her bed and over the covers.
When I take my kids to the lake for their free-swim time, she’s waiting for me with a reproachful smile on her face. Perfect.
“I felt like a fly this morning,” she says in greeting, her hands on her hips.
I puff out a laugh, because I was not expecting that statement. I send my boys over to Rocky for their pre-swim safety reminders. “A fly?”
“Or some other kind of insect stuck in a spider’s web, all wrapped up.”
I grin. “I think what you mean to say is ‘Thank you, Gage, for the glorious birthday surprise.’” I raise the pitch of my voice to mimic hers.
Her eyes dance, though her fists remain against her sides. “I do not mean that.”
Still using the falsetto, I continue, “It’s so nice that you remembered my birthday and took time out of your sleep schedule to decorate my cabin for me.”
She loses the battle against her instincts and laughs, pushing on my shoulder. “You’re so ridiculous.”
Still grinning, I tease her in my normal voice. “You love it.”
And as I hold her gaze, her eyes are shining, telling me without words that she does love it. That she loves me. I pray that I’m not misreading and that I can have more than the next two weeks with her.
I wrap my hand gently around her wrist and pull her into the boathouse. Our lips are on each other the second we’re away from prying eyes. I know we don’t have much time before we need to help Rocky supervise free swim, so I make up for it with intensity.
I pour everything I feel for Olivia into this kiss. The sweet and gentle love I have for her, but also my more passionate emotions. It’s an embrace that echoes down my spine and all the way to the tips of my toes, leaving me wanting so much more when she pulls away.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur in her ear, my eyes still closed as I struggle to compose myself.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I clear my throat and open my eyes, managing to shoot her a half smile. “We’re going to celebrate for real on Saturday. So, if you have plans, cancel ‘em.”
She squeezes the back of my neck where her hand still rests. Her eyes, hooded and hazy, lock onto mine. “You’re my plans.”
Standing in an unventilated boathouse in the sticky heat of a Texas July, I shiver with hope.
Saturday is bright and sunny. And hot, of course. Olivia, wearing white shorts that come up past her belly button and a blue, sleeveless shirt that's tight around her chest and stomach, climbs into the front seat of my Jeep.
“So, where are we going?” she asks, sliding large black sunglasses on.
“You’ll see.”
“The thing about surprises,” she starts, her voice cautious, “is that I always get carried away imagining the most over-the-top things and end up disappointed by the real surprise, which is usually perfectly wonderful on its own.”
I chuckle and consider her words. I have a fun day planned but not like we’re-taking-a-private-jet-to-Paris fun. I should tell her.
“We’re going to the ice cream factory in town, for starters. It’s called a creamery. We can see how they make ice cream, and we can eat sundaes as big as our heads.”
I glance over at her as I drive to gauge her reaction. She’s smiling, her eyes bright.
“And then, there’s a park nearby that has an antique carousel. We can ride it and have a picnic under the trees.”
Olivia sighs, but the sound is content and happy. “Perfectly wonderful.”
We start in the creamery visitor center, where we walk through exhibits about the history of the company and the ice cream–making process. Then we check out the observation deck, where we can see into the factory. We watch machines fill various-sized containers with soft, creamy ice cream.
“Hungry yet?” I ask Olivia with a grin.
“I’m always hungry for ice cream.”
I take her hand. “Then let’s go.”
We find the ice cream parlor with the long list of giant ice cream sundaes they can prepare. The menu is a mixture of flavors and toppings with endless possibilities.
I feel Olivia’s eyes on me as I study the choices. “Should we split one?” she asks.
It’s a smart question. A mature one. The sundaes are huge, with enough sugar in them to overload our stomachs. And they’re not cheap. She knows I’m paying—a gentleman does not make a lady pay for her own birthday ice cream, especially on a date, which to me, this definitely is.
“If that’s what you want,” I answer.
On the other hand, Olivia and I agreeing on the same flavor, never mind toppings, would be a miracle. I know I can devour one of these sundaes on my own, and with the way Olivia’s eyeing the pictures on the menu board, I don’t think she wants to share, either.
I’ll do whatever she says she wants, but I silently will her to demand her heart’s desire. To choose the thing that will make us both happiest, not the thing she thinks is the responsible option.
“Well…” she says slowly, watching my face as if for a clue of how to decide.
I keep my expression purposely impassive.
“You probably want some sort of fruit-flavored sundae, and I need chocolate.” She bites her lip, and inside my head, I urge her to say what she wants.
“But let’s get one to share. It’s a lot of sugar. ”
“Are you sure?”
She nods once, and I hide my disappointment behind a wide smile. “What flavor? Birthday girl’s choice.”
Olivia orders a sundae that’s a hodgepodge of unnecessary compromise—three scoops of various chocolate flavors and three scoops of fruit flavors, topped with peanut butter and hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles and cherries.
But why do either of us need to settle when we both want exactly the same thing in this situation? Why won’t she admit what she really wants?
In the back of my mind, a voice quietly asks, Why won’t you?
And yeah, I guess I could have said, “Hey, I don’t mind paying for two, and I really want my own.” We would each have gotten our own sundaes.
And I guess I could always say, “Olivia, I don’t want a temporary fling. I want a real relationship with you that lasts forever.”
But is it too much to ask that she knows that’s what I want without me having to tell her, and that it’s what she wants, too, and she never leaves me because she loves me enough to stay forever?
Oblivious to my mental upheaval, Olivia keeps up a steady chatter on the drive from the creamery to the park with the carousel.
She’s having fun on the birthday outing I planned for her, and I’m glad, but suddenly the expiration date for this summer fling is looming heavy on my heart.
Despite the reckless optimism that led me to go along with Olivia’s plan at the beginning of the summer, I don’t feel much closer to convincing her to make this a real relationship. I’m running out of time.
We have today, then tomorrow morning, and then kids arrive for the final week of camp. By Friday night, the summer will be over, other than the final cleanup Linda will have us help with next Saturday.
Do I think Olivia loves me? I do. I really do.
But something is still stopping her from opening up to me fully. And I don’t know what it is.
I could ask her. Tell her I love her and let the chips fall where they may. But I’m afraid I won’t like where those chips end up.
Olivia’s voice filters back into my consciousness as I pull into the parking lot at our next destination.
“I’ll have to take you to this milkshake place in North Austin for your birthday in September. They have milkshakes with entire cupcakes or slices of cheesecake on top.”
I put the Jeep in park and swing my whole head to stare at her, slack-jawed. “What did you say?”
My birthday is two months away. Definitely beyond the expiration date she insisted on.
When she realizes she implied a future for us together beyond the summer, her face turns red. But she doesn’t take it back.
My heart pounds as I wonder about the implications of her slipup. I play it cool, forcing a smile and holding eye contact. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Olivia’s words are the encouragement I need to get out of my head and enjoy the day with her. Maybe this is progress, after all.
Still, it’s on the tip of my tongue all afternoon.
As we sit side by side in the gondola chair on the carousel, my arm around her shoulders and her body tucked tightly against mine.
As I spread the picnic blanket in a shady spot in the grass.
As we lie holding hands looking at the clouds.
As I kiss her good night outside her cabin later that night back at camp.
Three words, four if I include her name.
I love you, Olivia.
Olivia, I love you.
I love you.
Simple words, but so difficult to say. I’m not sure if I'm more afraid of her saying it back or of her shutting down, shutting me out again. If she says it back, it makes this thing between us real and gives her the power to crush my heart. But if she shuts down, I’ll be instantly crushed.
Either way, speaking the words in my heart will change everything, so I'll leave us floating here in the nebulous realm of make-believe, playing at being a couple in love but without the responsibilities.