He opened his eyes. “You’re still here, Ollie,” he said with a yawn. “I knew you would be.”
“What year is it?” she demanded.
“Two thousand twelve,” he said. “Happy New Year.”
“Thank you, God.” Her eyes watered, and she snuggled against his chest to dry her tears. Everything that she’d been too scared to count on—the bright lights of her future—hit her with the blinding force of a thousand headlights. All the battles that she had fought and won last year would not have to be fought again.
She knew exactly how she wanted to spend the first day of her brand-new year—with the people she loved at her mom’s New Year’s Day party. She wanted to see her mom, Christopher, Verona, even Harry. She hoped Sherry would be there. She was worried that Sherry hadn’t graduated into 2012, or perhaps even worse, that she had, but that her health was now fading fast.
Her mom and Harry were surprised when Olive and Phil were the first ones to show up on the dot at noon, bearing a tray of vegetables and dip they had picked up at the grocery store on the way. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” they chimed as Olive and Phil stepped into the house.
The Pintos from next door and Christopher and Verona were quick to arrive next, and the party was in full swing by the time Olive’s aunt Laurel showed up and cornered her in the kitchen to congratulate her on getting back together with Phil. “I always knew you two were perfect for each other,” Laurel said and squeezed Olive in a bear hug. “Do I hear wedding bells?”
Olive spied Phil through the doorway in a conversation with her brother. He was laughing.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I really hope so.”
She excused herself and gravitated toward the picture wall, which had been the cause of so much revelation one year ago today. Here was the photo she had been looking for, but with a slight, yet significant, change. Six people barefoot on the beach this time. She looked up to see her mom watching her with a broad smile.
The house was not timeless, as she had once thought. The paisley print couch still hunkered in the living room, somewhere under the dining room table was a crayon scribble of a dog that Olive had drawn when she was six, the deck her father had built continued to hug the side of the house—even the New Year’s Day party tradition had been revived—but the house was not the same. Many of the same people were here today, celebrating all the possibilities and the potential for change that the new year offered, and while it could’ve been almost any year—1982, 1997, 2005, even 2011—Olive appreciated the importance and magnitude of 2012 like no one else in the house. She didn’t know what this year had in store for her, but instead of feeling scared and directionless, she felt refreshed and exhilarated because she knew Phil and her friends and family would be by her side.
The noise of the party surged around her like a symphony. Her mom’s laugh, Harry revealing the secret ingredient in the salsa, Phil and Christopher talking about dogs. Amidst this babble, she thought she caught the tones of a proud, familiar voice. She whirled around, and sure enough, Sherry Witan was standing in the foyer.
Sherry wore a vibrant, bright orange wig, cut into a chic bob with bangs. Her face was pale and drawn, but she looked more animated than Olive had ever seen her before. Sherry must have felt Olive’s eyes on her, because she suddenly turned toward her and held out her arm in a sweeping gesture as if she were the hostess, welcoming Olive to the party.
The Repeat Year Page 34
