“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.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Phone Sex

Oliver

I’m in Hell and I can’t tell anyone. So if I don’t make it out I hope Vivian knows that this was how far I was willing to go for her. My time with Caroline is accomplishing nothing, except feeding my hatred for her. How can she be so self-absorbed? Her refusal to make real progress is just for the attention. She probably knows I’m leaving as soon as she’s stable again, which means I’m not the incentive to get better that her parents think I am.

The job is the only thing that’s saving me right now. But even it’s starting to wear on me. Too many people know about my past. It didn’t make national news, but it was a big deal around here. I have clients with their own problems, who think their four-hundred dollar an hour time spent with me should be used to console their wounded attorney. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Brice and Mitchell are giving me all the female clients just to see if I break.

Today, the day most people pause and give thanks, I’m with Caroline, Doug, and Lily. Nothing beats Thanksgiving during visiting hours at a mental hospital. Caroline looks quite pleased that I’m here and in turn, so do Doug and Lily.

“How are Mom and Dad?” Caroline asks.

I look at Doug and Lily then back at her. She must be digressing, delusional again, because she can’t recognize her own parents.

She stares at me. “Oliver, your parents, I asked how they’re doing.”

My fingers dig into the arm of the chair as my jaw clenches. I’m used to people baiting me. I’ve experienced it with my job. Hell, I’ve counseled clients on how to stay calm on the witness stand during cross-examination, but all that knowledge and self-control is lost. I can’t find it in the very moment I need it most.

“Mom and Dad?” I grit through my teeth.

“Oliver—” Doug stands.

I hold up my hand to stop him.

“When you gave them a grandchild, my mom said you could call them that.”

“Oliver,” Lily pleads in desperation.

I ignore her.

“But I’m pretty damn sure that you lost that privilege when you suffocated their granddaughter with a fucking pillow!”

My chest heaves with contempt as I stand over her. Caroline brings her knees to her chest and cries, breaking the silence I caused among the other patients and visitors. The more she cries the less I hear. The blood pulsing in my ears is deafening.