Idle Bloom

Chapter Thirty Yep

Vivian

Another Monday, another school day, another day to miss Oliver. It’s been six weeks since he boarded the plane to Portland, six weeks since we made love until the sun peeked over the horizon, six weeks since he soothed me to sleep in his arms, and six weeks since he left me asleep in our bed and walked out the door without a goodbye.

After he agreed to go back, for me, I had two more requests. One, that he’d make love to me until we both fell into a post-coital coma, and two, that he’d leave without a goodbye. Missing him is like a dull pain; when I’m studying or sleeping, I don’t notice it so much. But the goodbye … it’s a slow, cruel torture.

We talk and text every day, even if it’s just a quick I love you. Oliver has been working for the firm during the day and visiting Caroline in the late afternoons into early evening. Her progress is slow but noticeable. They’ve changed her medications and she and Oliver have been able to have random conversations about the food she’s served or a show that’s on the television at the hospital. Neither have talked about Melanie or the events that led to that tragic day.

I still go to Oliver’s parents’ every Saturday night, and sometimes my parents drive out to join us. While Hugh is out rowing on Sunday mornings, Jackie comes over for coffee. This is when we have our heart-to-hearts about Oliver. She assumes Caroline is talking through Melanie’s death with the doctor in her private sessions and discussing her ongoing struggle with depression in group sessions. Oliver still refuses to see anyone or even talk to Jackie about any of it. I fear he’ll start to slip away from me and everyone else who loves him if he doesn’t.

“My mom wants to get these wedding invitations mailed out, but you haven’t given me Oliver’s address in Portland.”

“Just send it to his house. I’ll relay the details.” I set down my menu. Alex and I discovered we both have a break between classes on Mondays that hits right around lunch time. I’d planned on using it for study time at the library, but she insisted we use it for wedding planning over burgers and fries … okay, salad for her. Although at this point there’s not much left to plan.

“My mom thinks that’s poor etiquette, since he’s basically living in Portland.”

“Well he’s still making the mortgage payment here and I hope to God he still considers this home.” I slap her hand. “Why do you order a salad and then steal half of my fries. Just get the freakin’ fries.”

“Can’t. I have to fit into my wedding gown.”

“Sooo … my fries are void of calories?”

“Yep. They only have the power to make the person who ordered them fat.” She pauses mid-chew with half the fry still sticking out of her mouth. “Shit! Look at you, Flower. You’re a junk food addict with a bony ass. Everything in the universe has to find balance. So if these fries aren’t making you fat then…” she spits out the fry “…dammit! I’m not going to fit into my dress and it’s going to be all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Yes, you’re a terrible influence on me. Would it kill you to get a salad once in a while? Skinny people die too, you know?”

“I eat salad.”

“When?” She stabs a piece of lettuce like she’s spear fishing.

“Almost every day.” I laugh. “When you don’t finish yours because you eat too many of my fries.”

She wrinkles her nose and squints at me. I giggle and take a huge bite of my hamburger, ketchup and grease dribble onto my plate.

She grabs her phone and snaps a picture.

“What the heck?” I protest through a mouthful of sandwich.

“All you celebs forget the paparazzi is just waiting to capture your embarrassing moments.”

“Are you seriously still sending pictures to Oliver?”

She smirks. “I am now.”

As I trench my way through all the required reading for this week, I get a text from Oliver. I was expecting a call or even better, some Skype-X.

Oliver: Having dinner with Brice & Mitchell. Talk to you tomorrow.

Me: I’ll be up, call me when you’re done.

Oliver: It’ll be late your time. Tomorrow. Night, my love.

And there I go … deflating like a leaky balloon. It’s one night, I know that. However, lately our phone conversations have been cut short, usually by Caroline’s parents or one of Oliver’s clients. Our messages have been less consistent, and Skype-X hasn’t happened for several weeks. Next week is Thanksgiving and Oliver has yet to purchase a plane ticket.

I have zero leverage to be angry with him or even to have a pity party for myself. Oliver is in Portland because I told him to go. I imagined him sorting through his issues with Caroline and her family, or visiting Melanie’s grave. The naive but hopeful part of me dared to imagine him getting some help for himself too. But what I didn’t envision was dinner with the partners, lunch with clients, and less and less communication with me.

Me: Love you <3

Wait.

Wait some more.

Needy.

Nervous.

Going crazy!

I read two more chapters then check my phone. Nothing. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Nothing. Then just as I crawl in bed with Rosenberg and my English assignment, my phone vibrates.

Oliver: Yep!

Yep? YEP! His response to I love you is yep?

I’m angry … really angry. Swiping my finger across my phone screen, I contemplate calling Alex, but I know she’s at Sean’s tonight. Then I consider calling Jackie. She told me to call her any time about anything. But what would I say? Hey, sorry to wake you, but Oliver said “yep.”

Yeah, she might start charging me if that’s the type of craziness I start calling her about.

This morning calls for extra coffee. I really need to treat sleep like it’s of vital importance to my body. Maybe I can catch up over the holidays. Yeah right, dealing with Bridezilla and a bachelorette party. Sounds like I’ll be getting lots of sleep.

I take Rosenberg out once more before I head off to class. Grabbing my bag, I notice I missed a text from Oliver this morning.

Oliver: Good morning. Watching the sunrise and thinking of you.

Ugh! I ignore his message until I can decipher if my mood is forgiving and cheerful or begrudging and spiteful. As I head out the door, messenger bag slung over my shoulder and my insulated cup of coffee in the side pocket, I decide to be somewhere in the middle.

Me: Okay

My unstoppable smirk shows my inward satisfaction.

Oliver: Are you in class?

Me: Nope

Oliver: Are you okay?

And here comes payback …

Me: Yep

My phone rings.

“Hi.” I answer in the most diplomatic voice I can muster.

“Have I done something wrong?”

I answer without answering. My hesitation says it all.

“Am I supposed to know what I did?”

I look ahead. My building is approximately fifty yards away, so I can either lie and play the immature relationship game—hang up and be pissed all day … still immature—or lay it all out in plain sight.

“I was disappointed when we didn’t get to talk last night, which I can live with. But then you said yep.”

“Yep?”

“Yep.”

“You said yep to me this morning.”

I sigh. “Because you said it to me last night. I was making a point.”

“When did I say yep to you last night? And what point were you trying to make?” I feel the exasperation in his voice.

“I said I love you and you texted yep. My point is that nobody likes to be told yep!”

“It’s just an informal word for yes!”

“Well it was the wrong response, Oliver! I love you is a statement, not a fucking question!” I cringe the moment I realize people are staring at me. I’m really not the girl who throws around f-bombs in public. Veering onto the grass, I hide behind a large tree trunk.

“Vivian I … I’m sorry. I was in the middle of dinner last night and trying to text you while fielding questions from Brice and Mitchell. I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop.” I blow out a long breath. “It’s not your fault. I overreacted. I’ve been a little stressed lately and I just …” I’m dying to say the words I feel, I miss you, but I don’t. “I’m sorry. I have to get to class.”

“Vivian?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

I smirk and roll my eyes, feeling embarrassed, ridiculous, and in spite of my scholarly surroundings, a bit stupid.

“Yep.”

Oliver releases the most genuine and spontaneous laugh that erases all the tension from the past five minutes.

At five thirty there’s a knock at the door. It’s a delivery guy from my favorite Indian restaurant, compliments of Oliver. An hour later there’s another knock on the door: a flower delivery guy. I set them on the counter and read the card.

I read that fifteen roses means “I’m truly sorry, please forgive me.” So I sent you eighteen because three means “I love you.”

~ Oliver

After the initial ah-I’m-the-luckiest-girl-ever moment fades, I chastise myself for my childish, insecure, teenaged girl behavior. He has to wonder if he’s trading one completely unstable woman for another. I pray to God he hasn’t told anyone about our argument and his guilty need to apologize. I can just imagine that conversation.

“Hey, Oliver, why the grand gesture?”

“I texted Vivian the word ‘yep.’”

If that doesn’t say psycho alert, then I don’t know what does.

I know he’s probably with Caroline, but I can’t resist shooting off a quick text.

Me: I’m not worthy.

I’m surprised by his immediate response.

Oliver: Tell me about it. I just got the photo. You have some serious explaining to do!

My breath catches as my mind reels with confusion.

Me: What photo?

Oliver: We’ll talk later.

His left-field comment makes it impossible for me to think about anything else. Photo … what photo? I’ve been out to the bar a few more times with Chelsea, Felicia, and Tess, and we all took goofy pictures with our phones, but I was never with another guy or doing anything that should upset Oli.

Time drags on while I reread the same page in my book over and over. Finally, like a stay of execution, my phone vibrates. Oli sent me a photo … the photo. Then it rings.

“Oh my gosh! You shit, I thought you were mad.”

“I am mad.”

I put him on speaker and stare at the photo that Alex took of me at lunch yesterday—the one that makes me look like a rabid animal attacking a hamburger. It was so good, but even I have to cringe looking at the ketchup-laden grease dripping from it.

“You do realize my dad’s a cardiologist, right? If this got out it would be such an embarrassment to our family.”

I laugh and even though he can’t see me, my face flushes.

“I think it was a turkey burger.”

“Vivian.”

“At least that’s what I ordered, but come to think of it, the waiter may have mixed up my order and I didn’t have time to wait for him to correct it—”

“Love, you can’t lie worth shit.”

I laugh.

“You asked me about Thanksgiving a while back. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to come home. I’m really sorry.”

He just stole the smile he put on my face ten seconds ago.

“Why not?”

“Doug and Lily think my absence on the holiday would be bad for Caroline, and the workload I’ve taken on is more than I expected.”

“How are you doing, Oli?”

“Me? I’m fine, why?” The confusion in his voice is disheartening. “I mean, sometimes it’s frustrating waiting for Caroline to make a noticeable improvement. Her parents say they see it, even her doctors say she’s doing better, but I don’t see it. I just wonder how long it’s going to take.”

“How long what’s going to take?”

“For her to understand.”

“Understand what?”

I hear the frustration in his sigh. “To understand the ramifications of what she did and that she needs to let me go!”

My body goes rigid. His icy voice holds so much bitterness and unleashed anger.

“I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to—”

“Oliver, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. The whole reason I’m here is to protect you from all of this shit. That’s why I never mention it.”

“But if you want to talk about it—”

“No! I don’t want or need to talk about it. I just … I just need you. I need you to tell me about your day and Rosenberg, and the wedding plans that are driving you crazy. That’s the life I want and if I can’t have it right now, I at least want to imagine it, if only for a little while every night on the phone with you.”

I wipe the tears he can’t see. He doesn’t want my pity. I get that. I’ve been there. But Oliver is stuck. He’s in this dark hole and he can’t find his way out. And it doesn’t matter how many helping hands reach down to pull him back into the light, because he can’t see them either. So I do all I can. I give him a glimpse of the life he’s chasing.

“I don’t think my English instructor’s first language is English. I mean, really? Shouldn’t that be some sort of requirement? Rosenberg has taken a real liking to your old running shoes. How crazy is that? Aren’t dogs supposed to have a heightened sense of smell?”

Oli laughs and if there weren’t thousands of miles between us I’d swear he’s laughing through his own tears.

“Alex is the typical Bridezilla, only to be trumped by her mom’s wedding OCD behavior. Which, by the way, if you’re an etiquette snob then you might as well know now that your invitation is being sent to your house here.”

I pause. He doesn’t respond.

“You’ll be at the wedding, right?”

“I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss seeing you dressed to the nines for anything.”

“Well, Mr. Konrad, the feeling is mutual. You flew off with all your sexy suits. I have yet to see you wearing one. I’m wondering if it will replace my leather work boots fantasy.”

“Fantasy? You can’t call it a fantasy if you’ve lived it. And as I recall, I made that fantasy a reality.” His voice drops a notch to fuck-me-against-the-truck sexy, and I have to squeeze my legs together.

“Yes, you certainly did. Goodnight, Oli. Love you.”

“But we were just getting started.”

“Exactly. If I don’t go now, I’ll never get this chapter read.”

“Cold shower it is. Goodnight.”