Takes Its Toll

by Kit Graves

  They were distracted enough, though, by the night they had planned. Tiffany began braiding her hair right after breakfast, Winnie helping her between sips of coffee. Laurel finished up some homework and then began trying on every outfit she owned, insisting on Olivia’s opinion on each one. Olivia felt like she was being kind of quiet, but luckily, Laurel didn’t really need her opinions - she just needed someone to nod at every question. Did she look cute in this? How about this? She did, so Olivia just nodded from her place on the couch.

  She didn’t really feel like leaving that couch, to be honest, as she felt emotionally drained. But seeing her friends so bubbly and happy had her hesitant to interrupt that happiness. So instead she laughed at Winnie’s jokes, offered Laurel some opinions on her hairstyle, and thanked Tiffany for lending her a dress. When her hair was curled, Winnie added a small headband braid to her hair and sprayed into place.

  “There you go! Now you and Tiff match,” Winnie cooed, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

  Olivia, who had been sitting on her bed to allow the petite blonde better access to her hair, had to laugh again. Tiffany’s box braids were markedly more elaborate.

  Winnie and Laurel had gone for straight hair, and it took the four of them the better part of the day to get scented, polished, and ready for a night of fun. Of course, they dragged it out with gossip and Moscow mules, but it was all part of the ritual.

  The sun had gone down by the time the doorbell started ringing. They’d invited the whole gang: Laurel’s brother, a few of Winnie’s friends from the stables she trained at. Tiffany’s other friends would be at the venue already, as they hadn’t wanted to miss one minute of the VIP area at the show. Once everyone had had another drink, they piled into cabs and went off into the night.

  The venue was huge, and they saw it before they pulled up, its lights pulsing against the sky. It was thrilling to be ushered in past the red ropes and into the VIP area backstage. The throngs of people looking up in envy as Olivia climbed the stairs between her giggling friends felt glamorous, delicious. It had once been all she wanted. Now, even as she thrilled in it, it felt a little hollow.

  Snap out of it, Olivia, she thought to herself. Enjoy this.

  She tried. They parked themselves around a booth behind the stage, off to the side so they could see the stage and the crowd that faced it. It was blinding, beautiful. The music was loud and fast and enveloping, the dark blue lights and neon yellows adding frenetic coloring to everyone’s face. The dancing was contagious, joyful. Only the DJ, up on the stage, stood stoic as the powerful music emitted from his fingers.

  Olivia danced with Winnie, then George. George dipped her low, making her laugh out loud as her hair fell behind her. It was fun, even if she had to tug her borrowed dress down afterward.

  Some of Winnie’s guy friends wanted to dance with her next, but she demurred politely and went with Laurel to get a round of drinks. Laurel was talking about some of Tiffany’s friends they’d linked up with, debating aloud her odds of meeting and winning the heart of the DJ himself.

  Olivia’s mind was on Harlan, though. With a couple of drinks in her, yesterday’s events didn’t seem far away enough. With each sip of her sweet pink cocktail, she drifted away in her imagination. If Harlan was here, would he dance with her? Would he hold her as close as he had on his bike last night?

  Would he kiss her?

  So preoccupied was she that she didn’t even notice that she was standing on the outskirts of her friend group. They’d all been drawn closer to the stage, wildly dancing, and George had popped off to the bathrooms. So Olivia was standing alone when she saw him.

  Not Harlan. Tomer. Of course he’s here, she thought, desperately. Of course he’s at something like this.

  Seeing him in real life was so much worse than the nightmares. This was real, too real. His blonde hair caught the light from where he stood, dwarfed by suited bodyguards and the oversized shirts he insisted on wearing. His tight pants, expensive sneakers, and shining chain marked him from afar. Olivia hoped he hadn’t seen her, but she knew she stood out. She was tall, copper-haired, and at the front of a pack of the loud group closest to the DJ.

  She swallowed hard. He was about to ruin everyone’s night. It wasn’t even a question. And so, despite the swelling beat, she walked slowly away, back toward the bar.

  She barely got around the corner before feeling a hand grab her hard above the elbow. As she had predicted, he followed her, and she breathed a sigh of relief that they could at least do this away from her friends. She turned, trying to channel her inner steel, and schooled her features into an expressionless mask. It was too easy to fall back into. “Tomer.”

  “Olivia fucking Everett. It is you.” He didn’t make any move to let go of her, though, and Olivia didn’t say anything even though his grip hurt. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated from coke or molly, but not a hair of his was out of place. He looked exactly the same, picture-perfect, every detail just right. Olivia had a flashback to his closet, everything polished, everything in place.

  “It is me,” she agreed quietly. Immediately she wished she had sounded stronger. But at least she had answered. She opened her eyes; somehow they had shut on their own. His eyes, locked on hers, were full of hate.

  “Miss me?” he sneered, looking her over. Suddenly her dress felt too short, her heels too high. She felt stupid with her braided hair, the hair she’d loved so much earlier in the evening. Stupid for giving him anything to notice, to pick out and pick on. “So this is what you do now, is it? Go out to fucking clubs, probably spreading your legs for everybody?”

  “You’re here.” Olivia pointed out, in a surge of defiance. She said it quietly, but she still said it.

  “Looking for sluts! Looks like I found one.”

  “That’s enough.” Olivia felt a presence over her shoulder then, a hand coming down on it. George looked meaner than he ever had, and Olivia felt a spike of panic at his getting involved.

  “George, it’s okay.”

  “George, is it?” Tomer cackled with delight, clapping a little and staring George down. “The nerd who abandoned you? I didn’t think you had any brothers left, Olivia.”

  “Olivia, let’s go.” George’s eyes were hard, but his hand on her was soft.

  Suddenly Olivia was sick of it, sick of the hands on her, soft or hard. Family or foe. She stalked off, not listening to George and Tomer’s raised voices.

  Her friends were still dancing, so Olivia grabbed her coat and went outside to wait for a cab. She could text them once she was safety too far away to be talked into staying. It took her a few attempts to get her coat on, her hands missing the sleeves from shaking. The street was deserted but for a cluster of smokers and a security guard, a thin layer of frost starting to form on the asphalt.

  “You okay?” The door swung shut behind George. He was wearing his giant black coat again, the fur framing his face. He looked more like Thom than he ever had, the lines in his face suddenly deeper.

  “I’m fine, George,” she sighed, but let him wrap her in a hug anyway. “I’m just going to head home. I’m really sorry that our night out ended like this.”

  “I’m glad I was here,” he insisted. “I just wish I could stick around to keep an eye on you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m strong.” She tried to look it. His smile was sad.

  “I know you are, but you shouldn’t have to be a lone wolf.”

  “But the pack is gone,” she whispered automatically, voice breaking.

  “It’s just smaller,” George promised. “We’ll make it strong again.”

  She saw the shirt draped over his arm and smiled. “I guess we can do that.” She hoped so, anyway. Despite everything, somehow it seemed more possible than it had the day before.

  Chapter 10

  Olivia didn't go to work the next day. She'd slept fitfully, fearfully, haunted by half-finished dreams. She couldn't stop hearing Tomer's voice, screeching tires, amplified and echoing. Someh
ow she remembered more of the accident now that some time had passed, and the ghost of its burning scent haunted her like an otherworldly perfume. She didn't even manage to call in, instead texting her boss and a few coworkers until she could get her shift covered. It was unlike her, but her habit of covering for everyone else paid off and it didn't take long before everything was taken care of and Olivia was back in bed.

  She didn't leave it until after noon, when she tore herself out of another round of nightmares to move groggily to the couch. Winnie was at the stables, Laurel was at brunch with some of her classmates, and Tiffany was in her room working on translations. When she came out for air and saw Olivia, sunk into blankets and parked in front of a Gilmore Girls marathon that she'd thought would cheer her up but couldn't focus on, she brought Olivia water and a beer.

  "Not sure what kind of hangovers you get, but if one of these doesn't help I'm down to order a pizza," she offered, and Olivia offered her a tight smile in return. It wasn't that she didn't think she could talk to Tiffany, she just didn't want to turn the topic of conversation onto her. And maybe she was just hung over. She certainly felt hollow enough, sick enough.

  "Thank, Tiff. You're the best," Olivia said instead, and meant it.

  Olivia’s hair was tangled and her butt was falling asleep, and she still didn't move. She must have fallen asleep on the couch again, because she didn't wake up again until dinner, when the door slammed behind Laurel as she maneuvered her way in with armloads of shopping bags.

  "Are you sick?" she demanded, dropping the bags and marching over to feel Olivia's forehead. "You'd better not be, we'll all get it."

  "I'm fine." Olivia didn't sound convincing even to herself. She tried again. "Nothing contagious, anyway."

  "She's just hungover," Tiffany called, popping her head out of the kitchenette. "Hasn't eaten all day."

  Laurel tsk'ed and went to put her things away. They suggested ordering dinner, but Olivia claimed she needed to go back to bed, and they let her go back into her bedroom to hide. She curled back into a nest, but was sure going back to sleep would make her have more nightmares, so she pulled up her laptop.

  It didn't take long before clicking through her latest essay became clicking through Travis’ Instagram, and then her mom's Facebook.

  It was a sweet torture to see the time capsules that remained. Her mom had posted years of updates about the family, some achievement or another, some dinner or trip to celebrate. Young Olivia, hiding behind a book on the couch, a Christmas tree decked out behind her. George, wrestling with the neighbor’s dog. Travis, bright and alive and half-burnt on a beach vacation. Her parents at a holiday party, their matching sweaters making them look like a Hallmark card.

  Olivia looked for a long time at her mom's hair, how soft and shiny she could tell it had been that night and every other. She could smell it still, the way she'd always known it to smell, powder and Yves Saint Laurent. Viola and Olivia had constantly been compared for their hair and looks, with Travis and George taking entirely after Thom. Olivia could still feel the connection, though it hurt, looking at those copper strands of silk. They still matched her own.

  Something tickled Olivia's foot and she looked down to see her phone vibrating. It was a text from the coworker who had covered for her.

  thanks for the hours lady! btw cute scary guy asking @ u today. u should hit that!

  Olivia smiled. It felt strange on her face.

  There was a knock at the door, and Tiffany poked her head in. "Hey, saw the light on. Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Can I ask you something?" Olivia asked, on impulse. Tiffany shut the door behind her and sat on the bed.

  "Shoot."

  "I... I'm interested in this guy but I think he's super different than me."

  "Oh, that's... not what I thought you were going to say." Tiffany squinted at her. "Okay, though. New guy. What's so weird with him?"

  "He's just older. A vet. He's in the gym business? I mean, I do a free yoga class, like once a year? I just don't know, he kind of came out of nowhere."

  "But he made an impression on you, huh?"

  "Yeah," Olivia mused, thinking of being carried in his arms, imagining him wandering the streets of Rome. "An impression."

  "Well, you know Winnie's totally nuts, right?" Tiffany asked calmly, causing Olivia to choke on a laugh. It was so unlike Tiffany to say anything negative, especially about her girlfriend. Tiffany laughed a little too, but kept talking. "I mean it. You should hear her when she's talking about work. She's insane."

  Olivia nodded, starting to understand. She and Tiffany were always half inside a book, the far quieter half of their little girl gang. While Winnie spearheaded charity crusades, moving from one to another, it was Tiffany who quietly committed to them. Winnie burnt food and swore often and reveled in fighting with her brother. Tiffany translated poetry for fun, meditated, and was always trying new cookbooks.

  "Attraction isn't logical," Tiffany explained. "Except it is. Her intensity balances me out. And together I feel like we're better versions of ourselves. Plus," she added with a wink, squeezing the lump of Olivia's foot through the blanket, "you can't control physical attraction."

  This time Olivia really did laugh.

  "You wanna change your mind about that pizza?" Tiffany asked, standing up to go. "I could really go for some, Winnie usually gets tacos with the equestrian crew."

  "Yeah, cool," Olivia said, running her hands through the knots in her hair. "I could go for something good."

  Chapter 11

  It took two more days, but Olivia went back to her life. It was when Monday rolled around and she found herself missing classes, too, that she finally forced herself out of it. She still missed a lecture, but wasn’t about to let it go further than that.

  Next was work. When she was getting ready, she found herself taking more care. Part of it was the self care of ritual, of spraying out her hair with sweet-smelling wave spray, taking the time to create perfectly symmetrical cat eyes. Part of it was hope. She’d had another dream about Harlan the night before, just a brief, G-rated one, but it was a relief to have a break between the nightmares. In it he’d picked her up on his bike, driving them up and up and up into the clouds.

  She felt a little silly making sure she looked her best to go sit in her booth and make change, but it helped her feel better smiling at everyone who came through, even as they ignored her. There were tire marks on the road now, and a little bit of glass grit spread over the street, but if she didn’t look at it she didn’t have to think about it too hard. She was tired today, despite not having done much over the last few days, but she thought she was doing a pretty good job.

  So when Harlan came, she was ready. He slowed to a stop in front of her, his smile cautious. His face already looked so familiar to her, lines and freckles from the sun hiding between his scars and his beard. And somehow already her heart ached just looking at him.

  “Hey,” he greeted her, carefully. “You been sick?”

  “Just out,” she said, shrugging, taking his five and smiling back at him through her hair as she filed it away. She took a one and held it to him, trying to will herself into iron. “Thank you for the other night. I really owe you. I’d um.” He was grinning now, waiting for her to finish. “I'd love to buy you a coffee or dinner or something sometime. If you want - if you're free, that is. It's the least I could do.”

  She was babbling. She shut up. Suddenly the last of her energy seemed sapped away, and she just knew if he said no or misunderstood her shy overture, she’d want to crawl right back into bed upon his rejection. Suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

  Instead she focused on his hand, reaching up for hers. She reached back out automatically, and he grasped her hand in his for a moment. It was just a split second, but Olivia found herself feeling like holding hands out of a tollbooth with more people coming from behind him was totally normal. When he pulled his hand back, she found a card in her palm.

&
nbsp; “Here,” he said gently. “I was hoping you might need it.”

  She looked at it: bold, thick, minimal. Seemed right.

  HARLAN NASH

  MANAGEMENT + CONSULTING

  He waved as he drove away, and she typed the number into her phone.

  It turned out that Harlan was a texter, for all that Olivia couldn’t imagine his enormous fingers typing on a phone. And maybe her bar for flirting was low, but his texts warmed her belly in a way that was unmistakable.

  Hey it’s Olivia, she started with, not sure what to say and going for simplicity.

  Olivia. had been his immediate response, and her name had never thrilled her more. Is that Irish or something for Dove?

  Olivia laughed. Her shift wasn’t over yet, but she hadn’t been able to wait before reaching out to him. She’d given it half an hour before deciding he was probably at his destination and able to text again. Now she was curled up in her chair, long and fuzzy cardigan wrapped around her. She’d meant to catch up on her homework, but her school supplies sat ignored now. I wish. It’s just a girl version of Oliver. She hesitated, backspaced, then added a winky face. I wish. ;) There. Was that too much? She sent it anyway.

  Again, she could see him typing right away. It thrilled her, imagining this powerful man perched somewhere at his workplace, maybe even still loitering in the parking lot to talk to her. His biceps were probably being pressed against his ribs as he lifted the phone to text, the jacket she’d seen him in probably off - on? - no, off. She bit her lip, feeling ridiculous for her reactions to his texts, but this was the most forward she’d ever been. And he was matching her interest. More than, it seemed. Maybe he was just a player, but somehow she just couldn’t think so.

  Makes sense, came his reply. Harlan just means rocky land, before you ask. Not as interesting… unless rock get your rocks off.

  Wouldn’t you like to know. Olivia wedged a nail into her mouth, ignoring her carefully-applied American manicure. As new as this was for her, she was thrilled. Even though he’d seen her mid-panic attack, Harlan was still treating her like she wasn’t totally innocent, like she could be teased, could be treated like a woman. And no matter how much work she’d done to become an independent adult, it felt different to be seen that way by such a man. It felt good.