Chapter 9 Olivia
Olivia
“Whatever happened to your hands Olivia? You look like a washerwoman or something.”
I sent an apologetic look to the staff person serving us dinner, then turned to my mother.
“I’m doing demolition work on an old house Mother, remember?”
“How could I forget?” she sniffed. “Imagine, assigning a Laurent to do manual labor! All because of a little misunderstanding.”
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding Mother, I took a tire iron to Matt’s Maserati, completely tearing up the body and shattering his windows. Then I threw it at him and sent it sailing through the front window of his house, remember?”
My father mumbled something at the other end of the table that sounded like, “You should have thrown it at his fat head”.
My mother and I both glared at him, but he just looked at his plate.
“I’m lucky the judge didn’t make me spend some time in jail,” I continued. “Also, I don’t mind working on the Victorian. In fact, I kind of like it.”
My mother looked horrified. “Laurents buy real estate, we don’t repair it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hard work.”
“There is when your hands look like that,” my mother responded. “I’m going to see if the salon can send over a manicurist this weekend.”
“There’s no reason to do that Mother, my hands will just get torn up again working this week.”
I poked around at my salad, longing for real food. It had been a long day and after eight hours of manual labor I was starving. I’d have to sneak back into the kitchen later and get something else to eat. Maybe some of that bread and cheese my father was enjoying at the other end of the table.
“After I’m finished with my community service I’m going to find my own place,” I announced.
My mother’s fork hit her plate with a clatter. “What? Why? There’s plenty of space here. Why would you leave the family home?”
“Because it’s weird for a thirty-four year old woman to live with her parents.”
“Since when?” Mother asked.
Since we’d had a conversation at the Victorian about where we all lived and everyone looked at me like I was a freak when I said I still lived with my parents.
I’d never given it any thought before. I had my own wing, so it wasn’t like I lived on top of my parents or anything.
But once the idea was in my head, I knew I needed to move out.
I was way too old to be this dependent on my parents.
And I was way too old for my mother to be policing my food choices and fingernails.
“Please pass that bread and cheese, will you Dad?”
My father raised his eyebrows but passed the platter without a word.
I grabbed two slices of the crusty French bread, covering one with goat cheese and the other with a slice of cheddar while my mother looked on in horror.
“Eating like that will make you fat, Olivia,” she scolded.
It was the worst thing that could happen to a woman in her mind, other than getting divorced.
“Mother, I’m a grown adult. I’ll eat what I want.”
She looked surprised at my rebuke, probably because it happened so rarely. Usually it was just easier to go along with my mother. I’d been going along with her for my entire life though, it was time for me to cut the apron strings and make my own decisions like a real adult.
My mother daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin, then pushed away from the table. “If you two will excuse me, I think I’m getting a headache.”
My father and I exchanged a look. Once my mother was out of earshot he finally spoke up. Like me, he’d learned to avoid my mother’s wrath.
“I think it’s a good idea for you to live on your own Olivia,” he said. “It’s important for a person to learn to take care of themselves.”
“Thanks Dad.”
He watched me take a bite of bread and cheese.
“Maybe getting arrested was good for you,” he mused. “You know, I worked construction during the summers in high school. It taught me a lot about the value of hard work.”
My father words meant a lot to me. And they helped me come up with a plan.
If I was going to get Sam to take me seriously as a potential girlfriend, I needed to get her to take me seriously as a temporary unpaid employee.
No more goofing around with the guys. No more doing the easy jobs.
Come Monday, I was going all in and once I’d dazzled Sam with my competence, I could dazzle her with something else.
I arrived at the job site fifteen minutes early and as usual, Sam was out front waiting for me.
She was wearing tan carpenter pants with a form-fitting black tank and her black work boots.
As usual, her hair was braided on either side of her head, but today she had her braids pinned up around her head.
“Good morning,” I said brightly.
“Hey Livi,” she looked around to make sure we were alone. “I just wanted to apologize again for what happened Friday night. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“I wish it would happen again,” I said lightly.
I’d never meant anything more.
“Plus, I believe we’ve already established that I started it.”
“Regardless, I’m sorry.”
I wondered if she’d worried about it all weekend. I had the feeling she had. Where I’d been daydreaming about kissing her again, Sam had clearly been beating herself up.
“Please stop apologizing,” I said with a deep sigh. “You’re making me feel bad. It happened, we both enjoyed it, but I hear you saying that you don’t want it to happen again. I get it.”
It was painful to say, but I could tell she needed to hear it. We were both silent for a few seconds before we heard another car driving up, breaking the staring contest we were having.
“You’re with--.”
“I know. Barney.”
She nodded. “Okay, see you later.”
I followed her into the Victorian, in search of Barney. He was setting up to re-plaster some walls.
“Hey Livi, today you can help Jose pull tile in the bathroom.”
“Can I help you instead?” I asked. “I’d like to learn to build something, not just tear it down.”
He looked surprised. “Okay, grab a trowel and I’ll show you how it’s done.”