Separate Like Stars

by Diana Kane

  “Okay, I don’t think this is going to be an easy conversation for either of us. Can we sit down? I promise you can ask me anything and I’ll answer you honestly.” I nod in response, because I’m already uneasy, and the prospect of having answers isn’t helping. I follow her into the dining room and sit across the table from her, wondering where I should start. “May I say something before you ask me a question?” Again I nod, because I still don’t know which answer I want most. “I promise I never lied to you. I may have flaked out and disappeared, but I never lied to you about my feelings for you.” That doesn’t make me feel better at all. I got a pretty clear picture of how little I meant to her the last time we spoke.

  “Then tell me why,” I demand.

  “What would you like me to explain?” she calmly asks, her tone and demeanor a stark contrast to mine.

  “I’m not in the mood to play 20 Questions, Olivia! Just explain it all, why you handled everything the way that you did, even though to this day you claim that you loved me.” I’m struggling to keep some level of calm, despite feeling like Olivia is toying with me at this point.

  “All right,” Olivia sighs before rubbing the back of her neck. “I underestimated how angry you are with me,” she says, in what feels like an effort to stall.

  “Start talking, or I’m leaving, and I very much doubt I’ll be back,” I practically hiss, tired of this already.

  “Sure,” she quietly answers, eyeing me warily. “I don’t have a good justification for why I disappeared. I was in Paris; you were in Chicago. I missed you so fucking much,” she pauses and takes a sip of her soda, daring to meet my eyes. “I was going to leave Paris and return to Chicago. I missed you so much that it felt like I couldn’t stay in Paris any longer. I still loved the opportunity I had there, but I loved you as well. How was I supposed to choose between the two things I loved most in the world? I tried talking to my mom, but she refused to tell me what to do. So I had to talk to the people around me. But they were the wrong people. They didn’t know you, had never seen us together for an extended time. Jordan, I listened to the wrong people and started to pull away. Then I just kept pulling away. By the time I realized how badly I had screwed up, I assumed it was too late. How could I just reappear in your life like I had done nothing wrong? Hadn’t I indirectly picked Paris over you when I started pulling away? Handling it the way that I did was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. The only excuse I have is that I was young and stupid.” She pauses, whether to collect her thoughts or allow some response on my part, I’m unsure.

  “I meant what I said to you after my mom died. I did love you and missed you even then. But my world fell apart. I saw the hope in your eyes that morning. I knew that I was hurting you again, but I could barely function from day to day. I couldn’t have made you happy, even if I had agreed to you coming back to Paris with me. So I ignored your calls and messages, thinking it was the best thing for you in the end. Did you think we were back together when I left?”

  “No,” I emphasize with a shake of my head. “I knew we weren’t, that the Olivia I was in love with wasn’t in there anymore. I was okay with that. I thought that maybe when I finished school, we could see where things were, especially since you said you loved me. I just wasn’t prepared for the brutality of that phone call three months later,” I finish, shifting my eyes to the window, hopeful that they aren’t taking on a glassy sheen.

  “What phone call?” Olivia asks, her eyebrows knit tightly together.

  “Really? You don’t remember calling me at what must have been two in the morning there?” I don’t bother trying to disguise the skepticism dripping off of each of my words. Of all the things she did, that phone call was by far the worst.

  “Jordan, I don’t remember it. But given your expression, I’m guessing it must have been bad. What did I say?”

  “I remember it vividly. I was so happy when I saw it was an international call. I hadn’t heard from you since you left and suddenly you were calling me. When I answered all I could hear was some music in the background. I had to say hello a few times before you finally answered. You didn’t even bother saying hi. You just informed me that you didn’t love me anymore, then reinforced it by telling me you were over me. I begged you to talk to me, but some woman in the background asked if you were coming back to bed. You told me to fuck off before hanging up on me.” I try to sniffle quietly as the raw pain that call caused me comes back to the surface. “After everything, I couldn’t understand what I did to deserve such callous treatment. You made me question everything we had from day one. How could you be in love with me three months before that, then treat me the way you did with that call? The only answer I had was that you had to have been lying to me about everything. Your feelings, about there not being anyone else, about missing me…all of it.”

  “Shit,” Olivia curses under her breath as tears slip out of her eyes. “Jordan, I don’t remember making that call. I would never do that to you…only I must have.” She sighs as she wipes away her tears, taking a moment to finish her soda before continuing. “After I returned to Paris, I started drinking and partying every night. Jordan, I was out of control. The alcohol and the drugs. It went on for a long time, yet the people who I told me not to leave Paris, none of them said a word. Or maybe they did, and I told them to fuck off as well. Véronique stepped in once I woke up in the hospital. I was loaded up on alcohol and coke. I had no idea how I got there or where they found me. I later learned that I was found unresponsive in the club. Véronique paid for my inpatient rehab. She said the choice was I could go and make an effort to get better, or I could figure out someplace else to work. Paris had already cost me so much, I didn’t have anything left here to come back to. So I went to rehab, and after the third hardest year of my life, I slowly got better.” I stare at her from across the table, wondering how the girl who couldn’t stand smoking pot fell so far down the rabbit hole. “Jordan, I swear I don’t remember making that call. But it seems I need to make amends. I’m very sorry for the things I said and even more sorry that they hurt you. I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I really am sorrier than you can imagine.”

  “Cocaine?” I eventually ask, unsure how I’m supposed to respond to her apology.

  “Yeah. The only times I felt alive were when I was having sex or high. I’m not proud of any of that, but it’s what happened.” We sit in contemplative silence, Olivia likely reliving her past while I try to digest everything she’s revealed. “Jordan, I never would have made that call sober because it wasn’t true. There was never any overlap between you and anyone else. It won’t sound good, but anytime I woke up in bed with someone, I always silently hoped it was you before I would open my eyes.”

  “How are you now?” I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with those last bits of information, so I file them away for later, electing to focus on Olivia for the time being.

  “I’ve been clean for nearly 13 years now,” she quietly informs me. I quickly do the math in my head and realize that means she was out of control for two years.

  “Two years? I wish I had insisted on going back to Paris with you.”

  “I’m glad that you didn’t see me like that. I doubt that I would have been kind to you, not that I needed to be physically near you to be cruel.” A fresh tear trails down her cheek as Lexa pads into the room. As if possessed by some sixth sense, she immediately sits next to Olivia and rests her head in her lap.

  “Even so, you were alone at a time when you shouldn’t have been.”

  “You had your last year of school,” she counters as her hand drops down to Lexa’s head.

  “It could have waited. I was serious when I made the offer. That morning when you walked away from me, I saw it in your eyes, you weren’t there. That should have been the sign I followed.” Silence ensues as I wonder how differently things could have been had I insisted I return to Paris with her.

  “We can go around and around about this all night, but it won’
t change how things are now,” Olivia informs me as she stands up and heads into the kitchen. “Are you still good with just water? Do you want something to eat?” Olivia calls from the kitchen.

  “I’m fine,” I call back, trying to come to terms with what I’ve learned so far. I came here because I needed answers, now I have to figure out what to do with them.

  “You need time to think, don’t you?” Olivia asks. I look up to see her leaning against the counter watching me. “I know you, Jordan,” she answers the unspoken question I asked with a glance.

  “You think you know me,” I answer, even though she’s right. “Why are you back?” I’m not sure where the question came from. Maybe somewhere in my subconscious, I need the answer.

  “I’m opening a restaurant with Véronique, and once that’s done, I’ll be her US consultant as we continue growth and development. The restaurants will focus on small towns, work with farmers markets, utilize fresh seasonal ingredients for soups, salads, sandwiches, and other traditional fares. Véronique will train the chefs for each venue, while I’ll oversee the location here and assist in the establishment of other locations.” She stops and looks at the slightly amused expression on my face. “You didn’t want to know all of that, did you?”

  “That is what brought you back, but why here out of the millions of small towns in America?”

  “It’s home,” she says with a shrug. “Look, I understand that you need time to think, but I really would love a chance to catch up with you properly. I’ve been forced to rely on tabloids and social media since you never answered any of my messages.” I open my mouth to speak as my eyebrows knit together. “I know, I deserved that much, especially after that phone call,” she adds before I can speak, her hands held up in a gesture of submission.

  “I was going to ask what messages,” I calmly inform her, knowing I never ignored anything from her.

  “After rehab, I sent a message to your email and your My Space accounts, but gave up when I never heard back from you.”

  “I had to relinquish that email and all of my social media stuff to my media girl. I have a different email account for private use. The volume of correspondence on top of all the other stuff would keep me too busy to actually write.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” she says quietly with a frown. “Anyway, would it be all right if I stopped by soon? Or I’m going to be trialing some recipes and could always use another opinion. Maybe you could come here one afternoon and give me a hand.”

  “Perhaps,” I evasively answer.

  “Take the time you need to think. I’ll leave you a note the morning I decide I’m going to trial a few items. No pressure to show up.”

  “Thanks,” I say, giving her a weak smile as I rise to leave. Lexa leaves Olivia’s side and approaches me, a hopeful look in her eyes.

  “We’ll go in a minute,” Olivia says to Lexa. “We go for an evening walk around this time,” she says to me as means of explanation. At the word walk Lexa trots out of the dining room and returns seconds later with her leash in her mouth.

  “Smart dog,” I say to Olivia with a chuckle.

  “She has her moments,” she answers with that look of pride that parents often have when they discuss their children. “Maybe we could walk you home?”

  “Sure,” I answer as I squeeze past Olivia to put my glass in the sink. I watch Olivia leave the dining room, Lexa close to heel, as she heads towards the front door. I steal a few seconds to take a deep breath before following them. We walk to my house in a mostly comfortable silence, both of us with plenty to think about.

  “You can’t know how grateful I am that you stopped by,” Olivia quietly shares as Lexa walks a few feet ahead of her. “I know you probably have more questions, but I hope you were able to get something you needed from our talk.” I nod slightly in response, not entirely sure what to take away from our conversation.

  “In the interest of full disclosure, I had hoped that I’d never see you again. After that call, I found some way of hiding all of my feelings involving you into some dark corner of my mind. Now I have a lot to sort out.” I catch the slight slumping of Olivia’s shoulders and her eyes as they fall to Lexa.

  “I’ll give you whatever time you need and respect your decision. I’m fortunate that I even have a chance of calling you a friend again. Please stop by If you have any other questions you’d like answered. I’ll be here.”

  “I appreciate that,” I let her know, trying to give her even the smallest of smiles. I catch her gaze flicking away from me and turn to follow it over my shoulder, where I spot Artemis and Apollo sitting in the front window, looking out at us.

  “They’re beautiful,” she informs me when I turn around in time to see Lexa nudging Olivia’s hand in an effort to get her moving again.

  “Thanks. Addison gave them to me for my birthday last year.” I still remember Addison unexpectedly showing up that day, surprising me with the rambunctious pair. “They’re Bengal siblings,” I add, even though I’m sure Olivia knows what they are.

  “I’m willing to bet you’ve given them appropriate sibling names, haven’t you?” Olivia flashes me a smile, daring me to tell her that she’s wrong.

  “Artemis and Apollo,” I inform her, watching her grin grow from challenging to triumphant. How many times over the years did I bear witness to that transformation? I shake my head before turning to head up my front steps.

  “I still know you,” she gloats as I make my way toward the front door. You may still know me, but do I know you at all? I wonder as I open the door.

  “Goodnight Olivia,” I dismiss her without turning around, feeling the weight of uncertainty starting to bear down on me.

  “Bonne soirée,” she calls back, so ensconced in the French way it seems. Should I have expected anything else?

  Chapter 14

  “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” mom asks as she slides into our usual booth. We’ve established a standing date of sorts, where once a week I meet her at the diner for breakfast after one of her shifts.

  “It seems to have people talking,” I reply as I fold the paper and lay it down. “At least that’s all I’ve overheard people talking about,” I add as Marie approaches with mom’s coffee. “How was work?” I ask as Marie sets the steaming mug down. I take a moment to order my usual veggie omelet and side of whole grain toast while mom opts for the Belgium waffle with strawberry topping. I know from her order that she’s had a rough night.

  “Difficult,” she answers as Marie walks away. She adds a splash of creamer and two ice cubes to her coffee before taking a tentative sip. “We were down a nurse and had a patient that coded three times,” she says, slightly shaking her head. “But we weren’t talking about that. What do you think about Olivia’s new restaurant?” she asks, motioning to the front page of the local paper. The headline Hometown Woman Returns to Start Local Venture stares back at me from the corner of my eye, as does the photograph of Olivia and Véronique standing outside the building that once housed the antique shop.

  “I think it’s wise they are using Olivia as the face of it instead of Véronique. Otherwise, I hope it works out for them,” I dismissively reply as I flip the paper over, so Olivia’s smiling face isn’t looking up at me.

  “I thought the two of you talked,” mom says as she carefully sets her coffee cup down, her eyes not failing to give me that look that conveys I’d best not give her any bullshit.

  “And I thought you were on my side,” I fire back, tempting fate and her temper.

  “Jordan,” she says, her voice full of warning she releases an exasperated sigh. “I am on your side. I’m trying to get you to talk to me.” Her eyes soften as a touch of resignation seeps into her voice. “We’ve always been close, but she’s the one topic you’ve ever refused to talk about.”

  “So it’s more about the fact that I won’t talk to you about it?”

  “No, it’s that I don’t know how to help you because you adamantly refuse to discuss th
is with anyone.” The sound of my mom slapping our tabletop silences my next sarcastic retort as the eyes of the other patrons shift in our direction. The people in this town all know who I am, and are relatively great about respecting my privacy, but I’m always worried that one day the wrong townie or tourist will see me having a moment and it’ll end up all over the internet or on the front page of some tabloid magazine. I run my hand over my face as I take a deep breath and slowly release it as I silently wish my mom would just let this drop.

  “What do you know?” I ask, giving in way too easily to be happy about it.

  “Olivia hasn’t told me much. I know about what she went through after her mom died,” she quietly adds as she looks around. “She also said you spoke about a week ago, but you haven’t since. She seemed pretty down about it, but admitted that there’s a chance she doesn’t deserve your forgiveness and that she’ll have to learn to live with that.”