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I watch Olivia storm toward me.
She’s got a determined glint in her eye.
So, we’re really doing this. The fake fight.
I brace myself as she nears.
“Hey, can I talk to you?” she says, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads. She props her hands on her hips. “Did you really have to use the last of the toothpaste… without leaving even one drop for me? Do you realize howinsensitivethat was?”
“Uh…” My eyes hitch on hers, searching for some scrap of authenticity. The real Olivia, not this actress.
But she’s not there...
“Zerotoothpaste,” she snaps. “That’s how much I had when I got to the bathhouse to brush my teeth. You put the bone-dry toothpaste tube back in our toiletries bag. Seriously?”
She pokes a fingertip into my chest. “I’m sick of it, you know? You do it with milk, too. How many times have I gone to grab milk out of the fridge, and there’s like three drops left? A thousand times.”
Her gaze drops to my chest, and I wonder if she’s looking at my Saint Christopher medallion.
She asked me about it, when we were camping out under the stars, by that fire I built. I told her that I’ve worn this necklace every day since I graduated from pilot school. My grandpa gave it to me that day. He got it from a cowboy that worked for him, right before a tricky river crossing. Grandpa wore it from then on out as a form of protection for himself and the herd.
Her eyes get softer, as she looks at the medal.
Maybe she’s thinking about the journey we started to take, together. The tricky terrain we tried to cross.
I watch her draw in a deep breath.
When she starts up again, there’s the thinnest tremor of sincerity in her voice. “It’s not really about toothpaste or milk. It’s about us. We want different things. I think it’s really over for us.”
“Don’t say that, Olivia.”
Her shoulders stiffen. She takes another breath, and when she looks up, she’s staring past me. Not into my eyes at all. “I know this all probably sounds trivial, but I don’t care. I’ve tried, Cole, I really have. I know I have ridiculous standards, and you are a great guy, but I need more.”
Then she turns on her heel. Her chestnut-auburn hair swishes across her back.
And then… I’m alone. Standing here in front of all this unfamiliar food.
I don’t want to eat.
I want to hit a rewind button. I want to go back to a few days ago when me and Olivia were sharing inside jokes and holding each other’s hands.
In my periphery, I see Danielle sidle up behind the buffet table. She’s holding silver tongs in her hand.
“Whew. That looked rough. Is she always so demanding?” I reach my hand up in a daze and scratch the back of my head. I stare at the pavilion door that closed behind Olivia.
This was the plan.
It’s my own fault I feel like garbage right now. I let this week mess with my head.
“Uh… she’s…”
Is Olivia demanding? Yes.
She always wants the best. For others, and herself. She tries. She goes after things with tenacity. She wishes and dreams and aims for the stars. It’s not exactly practical, how she lives her life. Who expects pizza delivery at a remote campsite? It doesn’t make sense to me, but it’s also refreshing, the way she hopes for the best.
But life doesn’t work like that. For the past five days, I let myself forget that sobering fact.
Life’s hard.
