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OLIVIA
For a man I’m not in a relationship with, Reese has me wired for when he’s going to be around.
And also when he’s not.
More often, it’s the not. He’s either at practice or on the road. When he is home, it’s late in the night, well past the time I put Violet to sleep.
“Stop caring about where the man is or isn’t, Olivia,” I mutter as I aimlessly walk the empty house. “It doesn’t matter.”
I know I saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes when I came in on him holding Violet. That sparkle that happens in a parent’s eyes when they finally connect to their child as a person they love and need to protect.
I don’t know why Reese seems so opposed to staying in those moments. Why he runs from them. But I want to help him get comfortable with it.
I need to take my mind off Reese. I may have doubled down and committed to staying here, but that doesn’t include dedicating my waking hours to him like that. He already owns so much of my life; I don’t need to give him the deed to my mental real estate, too.
I plop on my bed and whip out my phone. Quinn is just a button press away.
Ring… ring… ring…
It goes straight through to voicemail. Bummer.
I try not to let myself get too down about it. It’s just a little weird, that’s all. Lately, she’s taking hours to respond to my texts, if she responds at all. I can’t be mad; she’s probably busy. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.
A few minutes later, a message pings my phone. It’s a string of four emojis that tell a very specific story: tongue-out smiley, water droplets, eggplant, peach.
In short, Quinn is getting laid.
I laugh. Fair enough. That’s a good reason to miss out on a call. Things must be going well with her coworker.
Onto Plan B then. I can call Mom and talk to her for a little. Unlike Quinn, Mom answers her phone on the second ring.
“Via?” She sounds tired.
“Hey, Ma.” I sit up, thinking maybe something is wrong. Her tone worries me. “You okay over there?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Just tired, dear.” She yawns. A million questions fly through my head. Was it weariness from her fall? Are the meds too strong? Has she eaten enough?
But she hates when I do my “Spanish Inquisition,” as she calls it. So I stick to just one question. “Do you need me to take some extra time off soon?”
“Oh, heavens no, Via.” Her voice perks up like she knows I’m reading into it. “I’m fine. I promise. Like I said, I’m just a little tired.”
“Alright. If you say so.”
Our conversation is short after that. I cut it off early so that she can get some decent sleep. It’s hard for her to get that these days.
That’s why you’re doing this, Olivia. For her. Don’t forget that.
Restless and unoccupied, I head back downstairs. Aimless snacking might help me get a grip on my brain. Before I make it to the kitchen, though, something catches my eyes.
It’s a box that’s been by the front door for a few days. It’s half-closed, with what looks like a duct-taped tree branch sticking out of the top of it. I’ve ignored it—housekeeping isn’t a part of my job list. Not outside of Violet’s general care, that is.
But now, in search of something to distract me, my brain latches on. Why is it still there? What is it?
I detour from the kitchen route and go to the box. Squatting beside it, I come to realize the branch is haphazardly taped to another one to form a crude hockey stick. The handle is duct-taped, too, and I can see sweat stains soaked into the material from endless repetition.
Is this Reese’s?
I get weirdly giddy. Ma has boxes and boxes of memories. She calls it “wealth that money can’t replicate.” If you know where you come from, you’re the richest person in the world.
