“You keep saying that, but why do you think it?” I asked, pulling the destroyed croissant out of Ursula’s hands so I could stuff my feelings down with carbohydrates.
“Because. You know how you always see him with a different girl? He’s always been like that. In med school, he had this beautiful girlfriend for like, a second. She had red hair, milky skin, she was smart, and the instant she said she loved him, he dumped her.”
I swallowed. “Why?”
“Because he’s a commitment-phobe! Because his mom is a cold unfeeling woman. One year Oliver got her wool socks and said, ‘too bad they don’t make these for hearts,’ on the tag.”
“Ouch.”
“Or maybe he’s a commitment-phobe because his dad died? In any case, it doesn’t matter. He is.”
“I think it’s because he has a hero complex, so he can’t be tied down,” I ventured. When Ursula gestured for me to go on, I said, “He thinks he has to save everyone, and when he does, it’s over for him. It’s uninteresting, and he gets bored, and then he moves on. He doesn’t mean to. He’s not a cheater or immoral. He just has an unending need to save the universe, and a girl who doesn’t need saving is—”
“—boring. That makes sense.”
I nodded and drank my coffee as Ursula talked. “Oliver’s a great guy, but I do not want you involved with him. Especially not after the clusterfuck known as Cliff. Go out with David. Get your mind off of Oliver. I know you like him, but trust me: don’t.”
I took a big breath. “Yeah. Very good advice. I should listen to you.”
“Maybe it’s the beginning of you being wild with your wild dreams.”
I squinted to see out the window. Not likely. My wildest dream doesn’t care if I date a passel of men.
“Speaking of advice, I’m going to give you advice for what kind of bridesmaid dress is going to look great on you,” Ursula said right as Michael and Oliver came back to the table, cheeks ruddy, both of them dripping wet.
Oliver sat beside me for the rest of brunch, stiff and cold, and I wondered if I could get some wool socks for his heart, too.
Twenty Six
Oliver
“How many times are you going to flip through all of the channels and then decide there’s nothing on?” Ursula said as she pried the remote control from my fingers.
“I’m not doing that,” I said, pulling out my phone to check it, hoping Delaney would text me on her date to come pick her up because she was having a rotten time. There were no texts. I tucked the phone back into my pocket and tilted my head back to look at the ceiling, feeling the each minute inch by.
Michael nudged my shoulder and handed me a beer. “Here, drink this,” he said, and I took it and tipped it back, drinking half of it before I righted it again.
“What the hell, Oliver,” Ursula said as I wiped my mouth.
“What?” I said.
“You’re just acting a little on edge tonight,” Michael said. “What’s wrong?”
“How much do you know about David?” I said as I rolled the longneck between my fingers.
“Oh,” Ursula said with a small smile.
“David’s great. Very smart and vigilant about type 2 diabetes. Our patients love him. He’s the most popular GP at the practice,” Michael said.
“What?” I said to Ursula, who was eyeing me with a tilted head. I went to get another beer from the fridge.
“Nothing,” she said with a wide grin, and Michael said, “I’ve known David since I started at the practice. You know that.”
“But you don’t really know him. He could be a complete asshole. Why is a guy like him single? It doesn’t make any sense,” I said.
“Why are you single?” Ursula countered and I said, “I’m different. David is the kind of guy who wants a serious girlfriend, right?” Michael nodded and I said, “Then there must be something wrong with him.”
“He has some dandruff. And he’s a terrible dresser, but he’s handsome enough,” Ursula said. “But I doubt those are things Delaney would care about. You know she’s not superficial, like some people.”
“I’m guessing from that poorly veiled hint you mean me,” I said. “And that’s a lie. Delaney is completely superficial.”
“What?” Ursula said with bulging eyes, and Michael had to put a hand on her shoulder when she stood to come over to me, her hands balled up at her sides. “What do you mean?”
“She’s completely concerned with how she looks. She thinks she looks like a leper. Can you imagine? She’s obsessed.”
Michael wrinkled his forehead. “She does?”
“She had a rough time in high school. And her mom is awful. You don’t get it,” Ursula said. I said, “Yeah, well, this isn’t high school. She’s a twenty five year old woman. She should get over being completely focused on appearances. If she did, she wouldn’t have dated Cliff. That man is a waste of space, but he’s pretty. And that’s all she can see.”
Ursula was silent as she looked at me. Then she said, “Go on.”
“Delaney is always wearing the kookiest clothes, not because she wants to look good, but because she thinks she looks so bad that she needs to go everywhere in costume. It’s a shield against people’s eyes and opinions.
“And she loves to bake, but she didn’t get an apartment with a big kitchen. She got an apartment that looked pretty, but is completely impractical for her.”
“Yeah, well,” Ursula said finally. Then she nodded and said, “You might be right. She is a tad bit obsessed.” She pulled at the waist of her jeans, which looked too tight. “It’s not that simple. She really does see people, but she thinks it doesn’t work the other way around. I do think she likes Cliff. I think she loved him, but maybe not for the right reasons. And you. It’s not like you’re not superficial.”
“Me?” I said.
“Well, you don’t exactly date women for their intelligent conversation,” Michael said.
“And,” Ursula said, leaning forward, clearly enjoying this, “you called Delaney ugly.”
“How many times am I going to have to apologize for that?” I said.
“At least once would be good,” Ursula said, no longer smiling or looking happy.
“I’ve apologized way more than once.”
“Seriously, Oliver, you really hurt her feelings. She already doesn’t think she’s beautiful. She doesn’t need you proving her fears right.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Delaney knows I think she’s beautiful.”
Michael frowned at me. “You called her ugly. Man.”
“It was right after we met! I didn’t mean it. I was in a bad mood!” I said.
“Yeah, but she thinks that about herself all the time. You’ve got to see that now,” Ursula said. “When she and Cliff were together, people were constantly asking what she did to get him.”
I sat down on the sofa and said, “That makes no sense. Delaney’s incredible. People should have asked Cliff that question, not her.”
“You think Delaney is incredible?” Ursula asked, her smile back full-force. I snorted and started on my new beer. “I’m going to text her and see how it’s going,” she said, and I said, “Whatever. I didn’t ask you to do that,” but my shoulders sagged, tension leaving them, and I sighed when Ursula pulled out her phone and shook her head as she laughed at me.
“I really had no idea, Oliver. I mean, I knew, but I thought it was just a passing interest. I didn’t know you thought she was incredible,” Ursula said. “Emily was right.”
“About what?”
“Nothing. Is she even the type of girl you might want to fix?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “There’s nothing about Delaney to fix. She’s great.”
Her mouth quirked up. “So you don’t want to change anything about her?”
“Why would I?” I took a last sip of beer.
“No reason,” she said, and started texting.
Delaney
Da
vid and I were discussing The Empire Strikes Back when my phone buzzed with a new text, which I ignored. “It’s really the best of them,” he said, “and it’s the only one that wasn’t directed by George Lucas. That’s why.”
“It’s also the one with the best romance,” I said.
“Romance?” he said with a raised eyebrow. He really only had the one dark eyebrow that went all the way across his very pronounced brow ridge. It was charming in a Palaeolithic sort of way.
“Han and Leia. And Leia’s a great heroine. Not at first with that ‘Save me, Obi-Wan Kenobi’ garbage, but after that? Her chutzpah and fearlessness? That. If only we could erase the golden bikini scene from history,” I said as my phone buzzed with another text.
“Should you get that?”
“No,” I said.
“So, Leia makes Empire better?”
“Of course.” My phone buzzed again. “Sorry,” I said, my eyes finally dropping to my purse. “This is incredibly rude of me, isn’t it?”
“I forgive cute girls many things,” David said with a wink as I checked my texts. They were all from Ursula, increasingly capsy and filled with exclamation marks.
“I’m sorry. I need to call someone. I’ll just be a minute.” I walked to the ladies’ room and said when Ursula picked up, “Tell me someone is on fire and that’s why you’re so desperate to get in touch with me.” An older woman at the mirror paused in her lipstick application to give me a withering look, and I mouthed, “Sorry,” and closed myself into a bathroom stall.
“Close,” she said. “I just wanted to know how the date was going.”
“It was going great until you called.” I spun the toilet roll.
“He’s not that good looking,” she said.
“He’s great looking. What are you talking about? He’s got the tall, dark and handsome thing going for him.”
“Oh. So you like him?” she said, somehow managing to sound disappointed.
“Was I supposed to not like him?”
“No. I just have new information.”
“Ursula, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m going back to my date. He’s great. We’re talking about George Lucas, and before that he was making puns off of the menu. He’s smart and he’s funny and he’s nerdy. Just my type. You did great,” I said.
Her voice dipped low as she said, “Did you know that Oliver likes you? Like likes you? Just the way you are?”
I almost dropped my phone into the toilet, but caught it as my heart beat hummingbird fast. “What? Did he tell you something?”
“I can just tell,” she said. “He didn’t explicitly say that.” I thumped my head against the stall door. Of course he wouldn’t say that. “But he’s moody,” Ursula added.
I sighed. “He’s always moody. He’s Oliver.”
“More so than usual.”
“More moody or more Oliver?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’m going,” I said. “Tell Michael I said hi.”
“What do I tell Oliver?” she said.
“Tell him I’m having a great time on my date and can’t wait to see David again,” I said, and then hung up and stormed back out to my perfectly great, well-matched, handsome date.
When I came back, Oliver was sitting on the top step before the landing, frowning down at me. “He didn’t walk you to your door?” he said.
“He walked me to the front door outside,” I said. I pushed past him as I made my way to my apartment door.
He ran a hand through his hair and followed me, and when I looked back at him, his hair was sticking up in all directions, dark circles under his eyes, beard unshaven. “When was the last time you took a shower?” I said, pausing with my key in the lock.
He looked down at my hand and then made his way over to me, and without warning, hugged me. He rested his head on my shoulder, and even through my jacket I could feel his prickly whiskers rub against me. I sighed. His arms tightened.
“Do you like him?” he said as he turned his mouth to my neck.
“Yes. He’s fun. Very tall,” I said. He laughed and my eyes fluttered closed. Then he asked me, “Did he kiss you?”
“No,” I said, and he said, “Good,” and then, “Can I come in?”
“I thought you were never going to get to that part,” I said, and then kissed the top of his head before opening my door. I lifted his head and kissed his ear, his neck, his chin, and then his hands were in my hair, pulling the top of my dress down, on my breasts, my hips, my back, everywhere, like he couldn’t get enough of me.
“What’s gotten into you?” I said, laughing, his mouth and unshaven whiskers tickling my now bare stomach.
“You,” he whispered. Then he pulled his shirt over his head, and even though I’d seen him so many times before like this, I lost my breath as I watched the rise and fall of his chest, his Adam’s apple bob up and down, felt his warmth as he pushed against me. “Just you,” he said and I said, “Oh,” and kissed him completely, for real, falling into him.
Oliver
“Are you going to see him again?” I said as I pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.
“Who?” she said sleepily.
“David. Are you going to see him again?”
She rolled toward me, nesting into my side, and draped one leg over mine, tucking her head under my chin. “Do you care if I go out with him?”
“Of course I care. I don’t want you to see him.”
She smiled against my chest. “Then I won’t see him again,” she said.
“Good.”
Then she said, “Oliver, are we—maybe we should tell our friends. About us.”
I ran my fingers through her hair and thought about how nice it was that it was just her and me, how we had a nice little world where we could hole up in one of our apartments and eat take out and lay in bed, and how all of that would change, and disappear, when we told people. Things would get complicated. It wouldn’t be this, what we’d had tonight, and what we’d had was somehow different than every other time. Delaney had touched me more, kissed me more, all over, like she couldn’t get enough of me. It was bliss. I didn’t want to lose that. Not yet. “I don’t think we should,” I said finally.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay.” She sat up and blinked a few times and said, “I’m going to go put on some pajamas.”
“Okay.”
“So, could you close your eyes?”
“Why?” I said, running a finger down the soft skin of her arm. She caught my hand and let it go, dropping it on the bed as she frowned, the sheet tucked all around her. I closed my eyes and she slipped away.
Delaney
When I came back to bed, dressed head-to-toe in flannel, Oliver was fast asleep. I pulled the blankets over him, kissed his forehead, and went to sleep on the sofa. My heart was broken enough, and I wasn’t going to let it go any further. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone.
Twenty Seven
Oliver
When I woke up and saw Laney on the sofa, I was confused, but I had taken up the entire bed like a starfish, each appendage stretching toward a corner, so maybe she’d gotten sick of getting slapped in the face. But when she wasn’t home the next evening after work, or the next morning or the next days, and I didn’t even hear the scratch of Jenny’s paws on the door or tiny barks, something started to work into the cavity of my chest. A dull ache grew.
Avery noticed one evening at work. “You look like hell.”
“Yeah. Well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think my girlfriend is trying to dump me, and I’m trying to get her to spend the rest of her life with me.”
“Uh. Since when do you have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. It just happened. All of this just happened.”
“What’s she like?”
“Normally? Wonderful. Right now, my worst nightmare. How do I get her to talk to me?”
“What did you do?”
&nbs
p; I ran my hand through my hair and shrugged. “That’s the thing. I don’t think I did anything.”
“You did. Or she’s cheating on you.”
“She’s not cheating on me,” I said.
“You sure?”
I nodded. Avery said, “Then you did something. Maybe it’s something embarrassing she doesn’t want to tell you about.”
“Like?”
“A sex thing she wants from you? Or something you did to her?”
I saw the entire nurses’ station leaning in, waiting for my answer. I lowered my voice, “No.”
“You have to find out. Talk to her.”
“I’m trying.”
“Well, try harder.”
“Thanks for the solid advice, doctor.”
She patted me on the back and then said, “Any time!” happily as she left, all the nurses now giving me sidelong glances and whispering.
Delaney
We sat on an uncomfortable pink upholstered sofa as Ursula stood in a chiffon tiered dress in front of the three way mirror. “You look perfect,” I said. Emily said, “Divine.”
Ursula’s mother pursed her lips and said, “I don’t know. Rita?” She turned her head to her sister, and Oliver’s mom said, “No, I don’t think so.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Claremont said. The shop girl’s face fell. This was the tenth dress they’d hated.
Dr. Webber said, “You look pregnant.” Ursula frowned and sucked in her stomach, saying, “Well, I’m not.”
“It would explain the rush for the wedding,” Rita said.
“I think we need a break,” Emily said with a clap of her hands, and we both went to Ursula to help her get out of the latest gown.
After we’d unbuttoned all eighty buttons and Ursula was slouching in only a strapless bra and panties, looking completely unpregnant, she said, “I hate this. This was supposed to be fun, but I just feel ugly.”
“You’re not. You’re beautiful,” I said.
“No, you two were beautiful in those bridesmaid dresses. I wish Michael’s sister was here to try hers on.”
“Emerald green is your color,” Emily said to me, and I plastered on a tight smile. Ursula had chosen short bodice-hugging green dresses. There was absolutely no hiding the depigmentation sprinkled on the backs of my knees. I’d begged her to pick a longer gown, but both she and Emily had insisted I looked sexy. It was like Oliver had taken over their brains.
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