by Elena Monroe
“I’ve never cheated on your mom, Oliver.”
The way he said your mom felt like he was giving me sole ownership. I didn’t know if I believed him. Richard was a snake—all the sly and unnerving qualities. “You didn’t even want me… fucking every young impressionable girl in your office could easily lead to more of me.”
Unwanted kids. Just saying it as a jab cracked another piece of my soul. There was too many unwanted, now damaged kids, all born out of mistakes. He sat forward in his seat pushing against the desk and looking at me, trying to figure something out and hoping my face would tell him.
“Oliver, I had a vasectomy when your mom couldn’t get pregnant. It was in solidarity.” He got up, making his way around the desk, sitting by me with the same type of stare. Whatever he was about to say I wasn’t prepared to hear it, and that was half the battle.
He perched on his desk, completely ignoring its fragile glass state. “I know I wasn’t the best dad. I raised you how my father raised me, and maybe that was my mistake.”
I looked away from him, feeling my eyes well up and willing my body to stay strong in his presence. I stayed silent, not daring to let any words escape from my mouth.
“She’s good for you… Layla. The Oliver I raised wouldn’t have ever came here, not even for a good reason.”
For some reason, his approval threatened the moisture in my eyes building up to drain. I held my jaw open, clenched, and my tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth still willing myself to not let one tear escape.
“You aren’t convincing,” was all I could choke out. I was lying through my teeth. This was the most honest I had ever heard him. The honesty reverberated through me like an earthquake.
His hand touched my shoulder, “I’ve known your mom since freshman year of college, Oliver. If our love had an expiration date I would think it would have happened. I wouldn’t ever do that to your mom. I’ve been working on a huge deal with Japan, waiting for the time change to align to even make calls. That’s all this is. Tomorrow the deal closes.”
I stared at the blank parts of his office, still wondering why mom didn’t merit even a photo.
“There’s no photos of mom.”
He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk again, leaning on the back of the chair. He beckoned me to stand up and come closer with a casual hand gesture. Regrettably, I did. I stood next to him sucking the tears back in making sure none of them escaped without permission. He pointed to his desk and my clenched jaw relaxed, dropping, as I saw his entire desk was my favorite baby photo with my mom. The photo top desk didn’t show from the other direction, it was just for him.
I was a toddler, standing, as she hugged me from behind, celebrating my independence. She looked like an angel, and I looked like a less pissed off version of the man I am today.
“That’s why there’s nothing on my desk, so I can see this. I’m not giving competitors or enemies any information they can use by having photos scattered around my office. I had to have this desk specially made.”
The same batch of unfiltered tears welled up in my eyes, and I looked away. I never let myself be weak in front of him. Something about letting yourself be weak in the presence of strength seemed damning. From personal experience, it was. I pushed the hood over my head, covering up the flawed parts of me rising to the surface. He grabbed my arm in a way I knew all too well.
Stopping in my tracks, I expected some snide remark to make up for the lack thereof. Instead, he pulled me into his chest. There was no more controlling the tears threatening me. The hot moisture poured down my cheeks, no doubt leaving streaks and tracks on my pale skin. His arms engulfed me, tightly keeping me to him.
He made his voice soft. “I wish you came to me sooner, Oliver.”
I stiffened as I heard his words. I didn’t say a word as the tears silently rolled down from my eyes.
He must have felt obligated to continue speaking. “I didn’t name you Oliver because you had nothing and now everything. I named you Oliver because I wanted you to have everything I didn’t. Come on, let’s get some dinner.”
I pushed myself away looking at him horrified by his confessions piling up, weighing heavily on my chest. “Why are you pretending to love me? I came here for my mom.”
I knew how I looked: a glorified mess. Wiping away the tears, he didn’t back away. He stepped into me. “You think I don’t love you?” His face broke into drooping brows, a small frown, and eyes that seemed full of guilt.
His hands gripped my shoulders firmly, as if I could forget he was there or that this was real. I shouted, “Don’t bullshit me!”
He didn’t even look around me or inspect that it went ignored. He was no longer looking at me but in me, in parts of me buried so deep I forgot they were there. “Oliver… You played with fire, and you almost died! I never stopped loving you. I mourned you, because I never knew how much longer I’d have you!”
More tears threatened to escape, except this time I let them.
“And what about before that? When you’d beat me for being a fucking kid?! Or was that just bad parenting?”
He put out a hand, stopping whoever trotted in. The sliding office door barely made a whistle. He didn’t break eye contact and simply let his head roll to one side as a silently dismissal.
“I wasn’t a good parent, Oliver! I had no idea what I was doing, so I did what my father did. I didn’t know how to be something else for you. Then you started getting tattoos, drinking, doing drugs… I didn’t know how to save you once I realized it wasn’t a phase.”
I mumbled, “…a phase that paid.”
He didn’t care what I mumbled under my breath; he closed the dead space between us and hugged me tightly, whispering, “Of course I love you, Oliver.”
I cracked under his confessions, sobbing into his pressed white button down. We didn’t move until my sobs were more controlled. He suggested dinner again, and I had no reason not to entertain this version of both of us that never saw the light of day. He worked outside of Boston, leaving the city at our fingertips.
Dinner was smooth and enjoyable, and honestly, I learned I loved him just as much—even if I did try to ignore it or cover it up with hate. He was part of the acceptance I craved in others. I never saw him contributing, but tonight I felt loved by a man I felt loathed by.
I called Layla when I got back to my place instead of using the fresh stash Jade passed off to me earlier. I tucked it away between my book pages, waiting for her to answer, but the line rang until voicemail prompted. I slammed my phone down on the bookshelf, aggravated that someone like Hunter had her attention.
My next call choice wasn’t exactly the vibe I wanted. Caden made everything into a thing that involved people, substances, and upbeat morale, when all I really wanted to wallow in self-loathing. Aspen was seemingly back to normal. I was giving it a few weeks to stick before I acted elated. Elizabeth proved she couldn’t be trusted alone. That left Hayley or Palmer—both too cool to give a shit how I felt. We could be in one room and not exchange one word. It was solely company—the effortless kind, which is exactly what I needed: people around me filling the space, but no commitment in conversations or explaining how I felt.
I woke up in my single dorm room with the light pouring in and the morning chill still lingering on my exposed arm. It was a room I worked double to manage to pay for and yet I spent little to no time in—a coveted sense of space, yet I took it for granted. I laid in bed snoozing my alarm for another ten minutes, until I felt more motivated or awake to drag myself out of it.
Today was the day I dedicated to B, to reconnect. I wanted to be wrong: That you could be this different, that you could grow and change, but remain close friends. All the movies and books were wrong.
I picked up my phone; there were calls and texts from everyone but B. Her traditional, “Morning, gorgeous” message came to a halt when she found out how long I kept that night a secret.
I understood why. I heard
her problems and saw every insecure moment and yet I couldn’t confide in her the same way. I understood more now. Oliver was locked up tight, and it didn’t matter that I broke his code before. It felt betraying. It felt like all our progress evaporated into thin air.
I quickly sent her a morning text with less enthusiasm than hers’ used to carry. We only had a few classes before our quality time started. I didn’t bother packing anything but my iPad in my purse and actually put some effort into my outfit. That was going to shine through any other effort I could have put forth. That was B in a nutshell; when we were kids and had sleepovers, she would make us over into all types of people: rockstars, brooding artists, princesses, every type of walk of life, just to say she could. She carried that tradition into adulthood. She was never sure who she was or who she wanted to be.
She wanted to be everyone, shifting like a mood ring, changing as it pleased her.
Maybe that’s what tied us together for so long: being so afraid to be ourselves.
Having accounting first really calmed my nerves. Accounting didn’t leave room for anything else. You had to be laser focused, because missing one step could result in failing at finding the solution.
My next class wasn’t even a full class. My ethics class entailed looking at a board posted outside the classroom and finding my group placement for a huge project to construct our own business, including policies, financial statements, and other details no one ever thought about when shopping at Target. I wrote down my group’s information in my journal that I carried in my bag, lacking other supplies today.
I looked at my phone, still nothing from B. All the messages were from Oliver, demanding to know I was safe after obviously skipping yesterday. I wasn’t done being angry with him for the same reason B was angry with me. I wondered how long that meant.
I made my way to the coffee shop, thinking it was as good of a place as any to wait for B to be done with class. I ordered an American0, with two pumps of caramel and almond milk, making it a creamy looking dream. I sat down in Oliver’s designated spot, just as Caden threw himself down in a way I thought my coffee would spill over, burning my hands, holding it so gently.
“What’s up? Ollie here?”
My lashes batted and my eyes were wide as I looked around the cafe in my attempt at sarcasm. He laughed in a gracious way, even though we both knew I wasn’t funny. He picked up my bagel, taking a bigger bite than was polite.
I squinted at him, deciding to ask him about B in exchange for the massive crater in my bagel. “Have you talked to B?”
His head dropped to the side against the worn in couch, clearly not wanting to answer me but my hand motions demanded him to. “Yes, we hung out last night. Why curious cat?”
Caden’s voice was always soaked in a slight mocking tone—always establishing his rank above everyone.
“She’s supposed to meet me here for girls day.
She’s late, like always, but I’m worried.”
I was worried she would bail on me, and I would be the one trying. The person who was left holding the bag became the person who never gave up, even when they should.
He laughed like I was delusional, and she had no intention of being here. “Her and Hayley’s have some shit going on all day.”
I let him take the coffee from my hands to wash down my bagel he violated, as everything in me dropped. I swiftly moved from guilt to denial, demanding more answers.
He polished off my coffee, producing more vague answers. “I don’t know. I wasn’t listening. I don’t do pillow talk.”
I texted Oliver, my one constant, both furious and hurt, equal parts. I ignored Caden’s presence completely.
B stood me up.
It seemed purposely, but I’d never know. She pulled away so far she was reduced to a blur in the distance.
Oliver appeared, pushing the door open, scanning the room. I breezed by him, squeezing his hand, hoping he knew I was avoiding him this time. This was beyond us. He didn’t shout or even say my name. He let me go, taking just the squeeze as an I love you.
My new sense of self forced me up grabbing my bag and heading in her direction, until I nearly talked myself out of it.
Maybe it would be less painful if we both stopped trying.
Maybe this was bigger than telling her about Hunter.
Maybe I was trying for nothing.
All I knew was I wasn’t honoring myself and who I was now if I gave up that easy.
The art buildings were closer together, and you could tell there was an immediate change in atmosphere. The intensity in the air gave greater importance to evoking emotions rather than passing an midterm. The air was lighter, and I could see B being at home here. I didn’t even know where her class was. Thankfully, there was a group smoking outside; I knew asking was my only hope and B was too hard to miss. Back home, everyone knew her, not just as prom queen or popular, but knew of her. Even people in other schools knew her by name and personality traits.
As I walked up to the group, I texted Oliver again, explaining why I was in such a rush. He texted back almost immediately with a vague reply that I would have to decipher what it meant later: Do you. I asked the group if they knew B and started to describe her vividly, when a girl sitting on the steps laughed. My head shot up to meet her laughter, wondering what was funny. “Do you know where she is?”
The girl took a long drag of her cigarette before answering. “That poser? Probably the photo lab, since she can’t make art.”
Her words had a bite I didn’t expect. Everyone loved B, even when I didn’t. What was this stranger talking about? Why would she use the word poser?
I held my composure asking her, “Where’s that?”
The group mocked me, all laughing, and clearly wondering what I was doing on this side of campus. I thought the artists would be less judgmental and more accepting. I found more acceptance in a group of people known as sinners than setting foot on this side of campus. I scowled at the group of them as I walked in the direction one of them lazily pointed. I wasn’t convinced it was the right direction.
Their attitudes reminded me of Hayley—all judgment and little pleasantries.
I finally found the building and prayed my keycard granted me access. I held my phone up to the card reader, with my campus ID tucked between the case and phone. Inside looked different than the rest of the campus completely—newer. All the hallways merged and scattered away from each other, like a maze. I already felt confused just attempting to contemplate which way I should go. I made sure I checked my phone in case she tried to call or text, but she hadn’t. My phone was quiet, and I actually felt the worry building. It wasn’t like her. She loved any opportunity for attention, and a day alone with me meant the spotlight would shine down on her.
I checked every room, eyeing into the small window plastered to each door, until the doors no longer had windows. After walking into a few classes and right back out with the glares of professors, I finally found B, sitting alone in a common area. She held a big sketch pad and was sitting at a table close to a window. For a second, I watched her from a distance. I couldn’t remember her looking so sad in my life.
I walked over, cautiously making sure to stay as quiet as possible. I looked over her shoulder to see the sad sketch of a girl crying. The girl she drew was beautiful, full lips, and thick tears running down her cheeks. The girl outside on the steps was clearly jealous because I couldn’t draw a stick figure and here was B doodling something so profound. My hand touched her shoulder, and her whole body shook, scaring her into a state of alert.
“What the fuck? Oh my god, Layla!”
She was rattled to her bones, still trying to catch the breath I stole from her. I sat down across from her, not sure how to be angry and let it come from a loving place.
“We were supposed to meet up…” I stopped myself from finishing that sentence. The rest of it was filled with discontent.
She let the sketch pad drop to the table with a slap, and s
he looked at me like she wanted to light me on fire. I sat back in my seat, preparing myself for whatever dramatics would spill from her perfectly puffy lips. She crossed her arms, letting me stir in my anxiety, and I swallowed hard.
“I hate it here. I have no friends. I’m not as talented as everyone else. And you’re off keeping secrets, tons of friends, not failing your classes. You’re popular.”
Her voice wasn’t sarcastic or snide, she was genuine and jealous. She went from being the center of attention to simply blending in. She hated me for doing well here.
“So, you ditch me? I planned today to be just for you. Coffee, shopping, this cool Mexican restaurant I found, and that new romantic comedy.”
I had planned out every minute of our fun except the actual fun. I pretty much planned an epic date—a bestie date.
“Layla, just go hang out with your friends. It’s been clear I don’t belong there or anywhere here.”
I watched her eyes well up and a piece of me cracked, down to the core. B wasn’t Mother Teresa, but she didn’t deserve to feel this alone.
“What are you talking about? You’re the reason I know any of them.”
She only looked out the window, no longer making eye contact. “Good job, B. They’re your friends, not mine.”
The sarcasm arrived, and I knew we wouldn’t make headway if she wasn’t really listening anymore. My anger was mounting, she stood me up over not being the spotlight anymore.
“So you’re mad at me because I’m having your high school experience in college?”
She stayed silent for longer than I expected, not bothering to reply. She was mad, sad, and everything in-between. I got up not sure how to argue through this. I gently squeezed her shoulder, saying one last thing before I left. “You’re my best friend, B. That’ll never change unless you want it to. Text me.”
She waited until I was further away to throw a last jab. “Watch out for Oliver. He’s not who you think Layla. He’s got problems.”
The hallways were empty, just like before, and finding my way out again was just as much as a chore. I felt light, like I’d float away without another person anchoring me to the ground. I didn’t let myself take her warning seriously. She was known for stealing the last word, always. I’ve known B since daycare before kindergarten, when she asked me to play, and we had been friends ever since. Her popularity never left me behind, even though I was far from popular. I was on cheer, like she was, but I didn’t party and I didn’t have boys’ attention. I was a social nightmare, but people accepted me, because I was always by her side. I knew our friendship was one sided. I knew she was dramatic. That was part of friendship, accepting someone for all they are, in all their forms.
