Separate Like Stars Page 16

  “Do you think she’s in danger of relapsing?” I ask just before Marie comes around with coffee and water refills. Why Olivia’s wellbeing is the first thing I think of is beyond me. “Thanks, Marie,” I acknowledge before she can walk away.

  “Anytime. Your food should be out soon,” she says before moving on to the next table.

  “I think she’s fine on that front. We talk every day, and I’ve asked her. She’s promised to call me if she feels even slightly tempted.” Am I a little irritated that my mom is talking to my ex-girlfriend every day? Yeah, I am. But I’m also grateful that she’s willing to be there if Olivia ever needs to talk. Yes, I’m starting to feel like a walking contradiction. “Did you want to continue?”

  “You obviously know we slept together after Mrs. O’Connor died,” I begin, followed by a frustrated sigh. I do not feel like trudging through this again. “Olivia told me she still loved me that night. I offered to go back to Paris with her,” I confess, mom’s face immediately reflecting the fact that she didn’t know. “She refused my offer. She told me that I had to finish school. I knew we weren’t back together when she left, but I still tried to keep in touch with her. Only she disappeared again. She called me a few months later and told me she wasn’t in love with me anymore and to get lost. There was another woman with her,” I trail off, still remembering how gutted I felt after that call. “I offered to give up everything for her on two different occasions, and she ignored me the first time and crushed me the second.”

  “Twice?” mom asks as we lean back in our seats to allow Marie to deposit our meals. I should just get a box for mine. I’m not feeling particularly hungry anymore, but I’m on my bike and have plans to go to the florist and Mrs. O’Connor’s grave before I return home.

  “Yeah. I offered to move to Paris on the inside of the advanced copy Mrs. O’Connor sent to her. I would have skipped grad school and given life in Paris with her a go.” I pick at my omelet as I think about the past, a past that I’ve tried so hard to forget about. “Now she’s back, and she’s finally filled in the blanks. I have no idea how I’m supposed to feel about any of it. I’m still angry that she treated me the way that she did, but I feel sorry for her too. Then I’ll feel bad or wonder if I had pushed harder to go back to Paris with her if she could have skipped that whole period of her life. Then I go back to wishing I’d never seen her or would ever have to see her again.”

  “You know what they say about wishing,” mom reminds me, trying to lighten the mood.

  “A fat lot of good it’d do me anyway,” I mutter before taking a bite of my omelet. “I don’t know how I can be around her without feeling this confusing whirlwind of emotions. Or how I’ll handle them when they come on. I don’t want to be that person who lashes out at her, but I’m not sure it won’t happen.” I put my fork down and take another calming breath. “Mom, I don’t know how to be her friend,” I finally conclude.

  “After everything, I’m sure that’s not unreasonable,” she answers as she reaches across the table with her free hand to squeeze mine. “Do you want to be friends with her?”

  “That’s the thing. I have no idea. I think I’ve gotten so used to not thinking about her that now that I need to, my mind is fighting me to not think about her.” I pause as I try to replay that last sentence in my head, but end up confusing what I think I said. “Ugh, did that even make any sense?” I ask and manage a half chuckle when my mom laughs. “What I mean is that I packed everything from her or that reminded me of her away, both physically and mentally. It was the only way I was going to make it through that last year of school. Do you know that I think I somehow managed to teach myself to not even look at her house? How else can I explain the fact that I didn’t even notice a car in the driveway or any activity at all? She has a puppy! A puppy that she has to walk and let outside. How could I not notice that? Or not even look at the house when I run past it pretty much every day?”

  “Was any of that rhetorical?” she asks, her fork hovering over the last bite of her waffle.

  “Not if you have answers,” I say, noticing the slight curl at the corner of her mouth. “You may laugh if you’d like to.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just refreshing to see you getting worked up about something. You’re always so calm, even when I don’t think you should be.” I bristle knowing what my mom is referring to, wishing she’d leave my relationship alone. “I promise, I won’t laugh,” she adds, knowing she just pushed one of my other buttons.

  “Hey, you laugh or you cry, right?” I pose the question she asked me countless times when I was growing up. It took me half my years to finally comprehend that was her way of trying to teach me that life isn’t fair, but you get to chose how you react to it.

  “Sometimes,” she answers before eyeing me for a few seconds. “All right, how have you managed all of that? Maybe at first, you did what you had to do because you were determined to keep your life together. After that, I imagine it became a habit for you to not think about her.” I allow Marie to refill my water again as mom puts her hand over her coffee cup indicating that she’s done. “I’m not sure you have a choice anymore though. You’re going to have to deal with this.”

  “I know. I am dealing with it. It just isn’t as black and white as I hoped it would be,” I lament before taking a bite of my toast. “Anyway, I didn’t meet you to talk about Olivia. How is everyone?”

  “They’re good. Busy, but good. The girls are just wrapping up their travel softball league, have become clothing snobs overnight, and are going boy crazy. They might end up being the death of me,” she adds with a slight shake of her head.

  “That bad?” I ask with a small smirk and an elevated brow.

  “You have no idea. The year-round sports are fun. They’re a bit exhausting at times, but always a good time and we’ve made some great friends at the tournaments. The boys and the clothes though…I have no idea,” she says with a half-hearted chuckle. “I always feel like I have to walk a fine line because I’m not their mother. I don’t know. I feel like I’m at a loss sometimes.”

  “From what I’ve heard, it’s harder being a teenager now than it was when I was one,” I offer, not that I have any experience or expertise outside of surviving my teenage years.

  “Maybe. Scott keeps asking me for advice. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him it was never this difficult with you.”

  “To be fair, there are two of them that you’re dealing with this time around.”

  “I know, it’s just things were so different with you. You never really cared about the label on your clothing, I never really had to fight with you to get you to do your homework or chores, you were never into sports, you—,” she stops speaking mid-thought, leaving me hanging on what other differences exist between the teenage version of me and the twins.

  “I was never into boys,” I offer, trying to figure out what suddenly distracted my mom.

  “Olivia,” she says, her eyes shifting back to me.

  “Yes mom, Olivia. I didn’t date anyone else until well after her,” I irritatedly add.

  “No. She’s here,” she informs me, flicking her eyes toward the door and flashing a smile in Olivia’s direction. Dread fills me when mom gives her a wave, indicating she should join us. “Good morning,” mom greets Olivia as I watch her slide out of the booth and pull her into a welcoming hug.

  “Hello Dana,” I hear Olivia’s returned greeting, her eyes fixing on me from over my mother’s shoulder. “Hey Jordan,” she acknowledges me as she releases my mom.

  “You should join us,” mom extends the invitation as she slides back into the booth.

  “Oh,” she exclaims as she eyes our plates. “It looks like you’re almost done. I was going to get something to take to the new space anyway,” she answers, her eyes shifting to me. I catch mom’s expression from the corner of my eye and know if I don’t invite Olivia to join us, we’ll be having another discussion later.

  “It’s better when it’s fresh,�
� I weakly offer, wondering if it sounds as lame to them as it does to me. The better question might be why I’m struggling so much with this. How is it that I’ve been unable to come to some resolution when it comes to Olivia?

  “Okay,” Olivia wearily agrees, her eyes never leaving me as she slides into the booth next to my mom. “Have you been here long?” she asks as her eyes shift from my half eaten omelet to mom’s empty plate.

  “No, I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was,” I answer before mom has an opportunity to let Olivia in on what spoiled my appetite.

  “Hey kiddo,” Marie greets Olivia. “Coffee?”

  “Not today. Orange juice, water, and a spicy breakfast burrito would be great though,” Olivia requests as she slides out of the booth to give Marie a hug. I always forget that Marie is Katie’s aunt. Honestly, I don’t even know if Olivia still speaks to Katie, given that they had gradually grown apart in the years we were together.

  “You got it,” Marie answers as Olivia slides back into the booth. “I saw the article on your new place this morning. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “That’s great news, I suppose. Hopefully the buzz will sustain itself until we open. We still have a lot of work to do before we’ll be ready,” Olivia shares, unable to hide the exhaustion in her eyes behind her smile. Maybe I’m the only one who sees it though.

  “I doubt there will be much else in this town to eclipse your opening between now and then,” Marie assures her with a smile. “Unless they decide to do an article on the dynamic duo being back together,” she adds, smiling as she glances from Olivia to me.

  “Back together?” I question.

  “We’re not,” Olivia protests at the same time. I catch the soft sound of my mom suppressing a giggle on the other side of the booth and spare her a quick look of disapproval before looking back to Marie.

  “I’m still with Addison,” I quickly inform Marie.

  “Oh,” she says, her brow creasing slightly as she ponders this information. “We just haven’t seen her here in a while, and well, you know the papers—.”

  “She’s been on location, working on her next movie,” I cut Marie off. “As for the tabloids, you shouldn’t believe everything that they report. A majority of it isn’t true.” I hear my mom’s muttered rebuttal and watch as Marie parts her lips to argue with me, but thinks better of it and closes her mouth. I know she would have likely mentioned the pictures, just like I know that once again I’ll have to fly out to Vancouver to do some damage control. But I don’t feel obligated to explain or defend my relationship to anyone, not even my mother.

  “Of course it isn’t,” Marie attempts to placate me with a smile. “I’ll bring your drinks right over,” she says to Olivia. “Still good on coffee Dana?”

  “Still good,” mom quickly answers before the three of us watch Marie retreat from our booth. I make the mistake of not looking down before turning back to face my breakfast companions and end up looking right at Olivia. I can’t decide if the prevailing emotion her eyes convey is pity, sympathy, anger or concern; but they are all there, staring back at me.

  “So how are things coming at du Pays?” mom asks, drawing Olivia’s attention away from me.

  “Things are coming along nicely,” Olivia answers with a smile. “I’ve enlisted all the renovation work to be taken care of by local companies, I’ve sat down with several local produce suppliers and worked out a calendar of what is available and when it would be available, I’ve met with the butcher shop and worked out a supply deal with them,” she adds with a shrug. “You should come by after breakfast, I don’t think you’ll recognize the space anymore,” she offers, glancing back at me. Memories of Olivia and I frequenting the shop after school flash through my mind. I remember the ornate silver ring we found there and how Olivia fell in love with it. I also remember surprising her with it for her 18th birthday. I glance at her hands but don’t see the ring occupying any of her fingers, not that I’m surprised.

  “Why did you name it du Pays?” I ask, needing to forget about the ring. “It’s a curious name, especially taking on the French moniker in a small town.”

  “Well, one reason is that Véronique’s last name is Payseur. The concept of the restaurant is to utilize as much locally grown, harvested or raised product as possible. In French, du pays can mean local or homegrown, but it also works as a shortening of Véronique’s last name. So the multiple meanings, as well as the fact that it sorta rolls off the tongue, made it an easy choice,” Olivia answers, her eyes full of passion.

  “I’d love to see it, but I’m beat after last night,” mom says, drawing Olivia’s focus away from me. “Another time,” she adds. “I’m proud of you,” she says, wrapping her arm around Olivia’s shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze.

  “Thanks,” Olivia acknowledges, sparing a quick glance in my direction. “I made a triple berry cobbler and some homemade ice cream for dessert tonight. Can I bring anything else?”

  “No, you’re already bringing too much,” mom gently scolds her before turning to me. “Dinner at the house tonight at six. Olivia is meeting Scott and the girls for the first time,” she explains to me. “Now let me slide out of here so I can get home and go to bed,” she orders Olivia. Olivia obliges, nearly bumping into Marie, who has returned with Olivia’s burrito. I pick at my omelet as Olivia and mom share a hug while Marie deposits Olivia’s meal. “See you tonight,” mom says as Olivia slides back into the booth, picking up her fork to dig in. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight too,” mom informs me as I rise to give her a hug. “It’s a family dinner,” she adds before I can protest. “Your uncles will be there,” she says as she wraps her arms around me. “Olivia is family, whether you’re together or not,” she whispers in my ear.

  “Okay,” I whisper back, knowing that there’d be no point in arguing. Mom waves goodbye to us as I slide back into the booth, leaving Olivia and I awkwardly staring at each other as Olivia works to chew the latest bite of her food.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she says when she’s managed to swallow. I think about leaving for a few seconds, but know that I’ll have to sit across from her again tonight. Everyone would be better served if this awkwardness ended here instead of spilling over to dinner tonight.

  “I know,” I answer, trying to figure out how to continue. “Look, I know I haven’t gotten back to you yet, and that you probably assumed that meant something, but honestly, I haven’t managed to figure anything out.”

  “Oh,” she murmurs as those blue eyes I once loved examine me. “I just figured since you told me that you hoped you’d never see me again and I hadn’t heard from you that you were done with me,” she adds, her eyes momentarily pinned to mine before she shifts her attention back to her burrito. “What do you need from me?” she asks before stuffing another forkful into her mouth.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “For starters, I need you to be honest with me,” I add, watching as Olivia’s jaw freezes mid-chew as her brow creases. Her perplexed look remains in place as she resumes chewing, quickly swallowing and chasing the bite with a drink of water.

  “I’ve never lied to you,” she protests, her slate blue eyes pinned to mine, silently challenging me to look away.

  “See, now either you lied to me before, or that was a lie,” I argue, feeling my ire beginning to stir anew. Olivia’s fork clatters onto her plate as her lips part to argue. “You claimed you loved me, then you called me up to tell me you didn’t love me, and then you claimed that you loved me for years. At least one of those was a lie,” I argue, watching her like a hawk for her reaction.

  “I freely admitted to you the worst part of me, and you still believe I’m lying? The person who made that phone call, that wasn’t me,” she protests. “Fine, it was me, but it wasn’t me in my right mind,” she amends when I shoot her a look of pure skepticism.

  “You can understand how it seems in my head, can’t you?”

  “I suppose so. I’m so very sorry, Jordan. I ca
n’t do anything more than apologize to you though.” Olivia sighs as I watch her, trying to assess her sincerity. “Look, I know that I was an asshole and that I hurt you, I admit that. But…I don’t know…do you think maybe you could try having a conversation with me? We haven’t seen each other in over a decade, and now we’re neighbors again. I’d like to be friends, if it’s possible. We were best friends once,” she needlessly reminds me.

  “Fine,” I concede with a frustrated sigh as I allow my eyes to close before rubbing at my temples. Honestly, I feel cornered by my mom and Olivia. I can’t exactly show up to dinner tonight and not be civil. I open my eyes and catch Olivia’s triumphant grin before she quickly drops her gaze back to her burrito. She takes her time adding more salsa before stuffing another bite in her mouth, her gaze settling back on me as she works toward swallowing.

  “Dare I ask if you’re okay?” she asks, as she reaches for her juice, her grin fading.

  “What do you mean?” She sighs as she places her empty glass back on the table, her eyes scrutinizing me for something.