“What will it take for you to understand that I’m fine being single?” She turned and faced her aunt. “I don’t need a boyfriend or a husband to have a fulfilling life.”
“Like going to the movies by yourself?” Aunt Bea put her hands on her ample hips.
Olivia shrank back. “I can focus on the movie better.”
“How about taking college classes you don’t need?”
She glanced at her black flats. “Education is never wasted.”
“You spend long hours at the library—”
“It’s an all-encompassing job.”
Aunt Bea threw up her hands. “You’re lonely, Olivia. I can see it. Even your uncle Bill has commented on it.”
Olivia stilled. “You’re both making assumptions.”
“Are we?”
She met Aunt Bea’s eyes, surprised at the mix of frustration and concern she saw in them. “This is because all my friends are married, isn’t it? You figured I had to be depressed because I’m the odd man—odd woman—out.”
“I never said you were depressed.” Aunt Bea moved closer and took her hand. “I’ll admit that I don’t understand why you’re not interested in dating. You’re nearing thirty years old, and as far as I know, you’ve never been on a date.”
Ouch. Hearing her aunt say the fact so plainly pricked at her ego. “You think there’s something wrong with me?”
“No, sugar. Of course I don’t. But I do think you might be afraid.”
Olivia let go of her hand. “Of what?”
“Taking a risk. Being spontaneous.” Compassion filled Aunt Bea’s eyes. “Getting hurt.”
Too late for that.She’d taken a risk twice and fallen flat on her face—twice. She refused to go through that again. “I like my life the way it is,” she said, stepping away. “Uncomplicated.”
“And maybe a little boring?” Before Olivia could respond, her aunt continued. “Sweetie, I love you. You are as dear to my heart as if you were my own granddaughter. No, scratch that. My own daughter. And you might be okay with things the way they are right now—”
“I am,” she said firmly.
“But when you get older, you might not be. You might wish you’d done things differently. Made different choices. I don’t want you to have regrets.”
Olivia frowned. “Where is this coming from?”
Aunt Bea sat down at the table. Olivia joined her.
“Genes are a funny thing,” her aunt said, touching the blue cap of her mushroom-shaped saltshaker in the middle of the table.
“What do you mean?”
The older woman looked at her. “This may surprise you, but you’re a lot like me.”
“But you’re so bubbly and social,” Olivia said. She was nothing like that, and she didn’t want to be. Being as outgoing as her aunt was like squeezing herself into a square hole. Uncomfortable, and eventually untenable.
“I didn’t used to be. I was very timid when I was young. Scared of everything, believe it or not. During my school dances I stayed at home and read books.” Her aunt pushed away the saltshaker. “I convinced myself that reading classic literature was more fun than slow dancing with Bill Farnsworth.”
“You had a crush on Uncle Bill when you were in school?”
“Heavens, yes.” Aunt Bea smiled. “He was the nicest and best-looking boy in my class. Granted, we had less than fifty students in the whole school back then, but he surpassed all the young men.”
Olivia smiled. Aunt Bea enjoyed reminiscing, something her parents never did. They focused on the present, dipping into the past only through their research. But this was the first time her aunt had revealed something so personal.
