Olivia hovered in Margot’s foyer, Cat mewling softly from the carrier at her feet. Poor thing was probably confused, not understanding why she’d been shoved inside a carrier, put in a car, and driven across the city. Olivia crouched down, slipping her fingers through the plastic grate. Cat leaned in, sniffing her fingers before rubbing her face against them. “I know. It’s been a long day.”
And it was nowhere close to being over.
Margot stepped out into the hall, Elle trailing after her. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I didn’t know where the best place was to put to the litter box. The bathroom’s too small, so I set it in your room.”
Olivia’s room. Her room in the apartment she now shared with Margot, for the foreseeable future. Somebody pinch her.
Olivia stood, earning an aggrieved-sounding meow from Cat, who was probably sick of being cooped up in her crate, roomy though it was. “Thanks. I’ve got a mat that goes under it so she won’t track litter.”
Elle ducked low, peeking inside the carrier. It was difficult to see inside, with Cat tucked up in a tight little ball of dark, fluffy fur and glinting green eyes. “What’s her name?”
Olivia blushed. “Cat.”
Elle cocked her head, clearly confused. “How long have you had her?”
“Um.” She did the math. “Almost eight months.”
Elle frowned. “So . . . it’s not just a placeholder? Cat?”
Margot huffed out a quiet laugh and Olivia’s stomach somersaulted at the sound. “It’s from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Holly Golightly names her—well, it isn’t hers, that’s the whole point. She names the cat Cat.” Margot’s lips twitched. “I’m assuming that’s where you got the name.”
It was Olivia’s favorite movie. No matter how many times she watched it, that kiss in the rain still made her shiver and Paul Varjak’s speech about belonging putting an ache in her chest that persisted long after the credits rolled. It was the same ache she’d felt when she thought about Margot over the last decade.
Olivia wasn’t surprised Margot caught the reference. She’d forced her to watch the movie a dozen times, easy.
“I found her by the trash outside my apartment the week after I moved here.” They were both alone in the big city, and Olivia had figured they could be alone together. “It seemed fitting.”
Margot’s lips quirked. “You can let her out of the cage, if you want.”
Olivia cast a glance at the open door that led out into the main hall. Brendon, Annie, and Darcy had made one final trip out to the parking lot, offering to grab the last of Olivia’s boxes, most already stacked in her new bedroom.
“Here.” Margot flattened her palm against the door, shutting it with a soft snick. “No chance of her making a run for it.”
“Thanks.” Despite her squat little legs, Cat was wily. She had a tendency to explore, no space off-limits as long as she could fit. But even that was open to interpretation because Olivia had once found her wedged between the refrigerator and the wall. Cat was better at getting herself into trouble than out of it. Olivia could relate.
She dropped to her knees and unlatched the door to the carrier. Cat unfurled herself and crept closer. She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed, then sneezed. The smell of patchouli was faint, a stick of ashed incense poking up from a ceramic holder shaped like a lotus. Cat took a tentative step into the living room, appraising her new surroundings.
“This is where we live now.” Olivia stroked the fur between Cat’s ears. “You like it?”
Cat mewed softly and circled Margot’s ankles before slinking deeper into the apartment. She leaped onto the sofa and batted at a bright blue beaded accent pillow.
“I hope that’s okay,” Olivia offered belatedly, cringing slightly. “It’s hard to keep her off the furniture.”
More like impossible. Cat did what Cat wanted to do. Olivia could fuss, but Cat had no keeper.
Margot shrugged. “It’s fine with me.”
The front door swung open and Brendon stepped inside, cardboard boxes stacked two high in his hands. Annie followed, carrying Olivia’s vase of flowers. Olivia had drained the water, but the purple variegated carnations were fresh, purchased just yesterday. It had seemed a shame to throw them away. Annie set them atop the breakfast nook and smiled. “That’s the last of it.”
“Thank you so much.” Olivia tucked her hair behind her ears. “I—I really appreciate you all helping. You didn’t have to.”
“You’re helping make the wedding of our dreams happen, and in under a month.” Brendon shook his head. “Hauling a few boxes a couple of blocks is the least we can do.”
“I mean, that’s my job.” She laughed. They were paying her to help. Well, they were paying Lori, and Lori was paying her, but same difference.
“Still.” Brendon rocked back on his heels. “Any friend of Margot’s is a friend of ours.”
Margot averted her eyes.
Friends. So that’s the story Margot was going with. All right. Nice to know.
“Well, thank you.” She drummed her fingers against the outsides of her thighs. “Really.”
Brendon smiled, eyes crinkling. He turned to Margot. “We should probably get out of your hair. Let you settle in.”
“It’s been a long day,” Annie said, nose wrinkling softly in sympathy.
“You have lots of catching up to do,” Elle added. “Even more so now, considering . . .”
They were roommates.
Funny how years ago—before they’d grown apart and long before they’d fallen into bed—they’d talked about what it would be like, living together. It had been the plan. Graduate and move to the city, together. Margot had painted a pretty picture with her words. Late nights and libraries and watching the sunrise from rooftops, of all-night diners and coffee shops, parties that offered more than beer and Everclear. A city where all their dreams could come true. Olivia still had a corkboard hidden away in her closet back home, covered in purple-and-gold UW paraphernalia.
Olivia had never dreamed they’d live together under circumstances like these. It would’ve required her, at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, to have imagined a future where she didn’t get that scholarship she needed, where she went to WSU instead so as to not burden Dad financially, where she and Margot stopped speaking, where she married Brad and spent a decade stuck in neutral, spinning her wheels before divorcing him, moving back home—a million bad decisions she tried not to beat herself up over because the past was the past.
Everyone slowly migrated in the direction of the door.
“See you for the cake tasting,” Brendon said.
Olivia nodded. “Looking forward to it.”
Elle waved as they disappeared down the hall. Margot shut the door, fingers lingering on the lock, her back to Olivia. Reality set in, and along with it, an oppressive shroud of silence. For the first time in eleven years, she and Margot were alone together. Really, truly alone. No one to barge in, no interruptions.
Olivia cleared her throat. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”
“No big.” Margot slipped past her, arms brushing. “You want something to drink?”
She could use a margarita the size of her head right about now, but she wasn’t about to make requests. Hard alcohol was probably a bad idea. It might’ve taken the edge off, but the last thing Olivia needed was to feel more unsteady than she naturally did around Margot. “Sure.”
Olivia hovered in the doorway of the kitchen while Margot ducked inside the fridge. Margot shut the door with her elbow, a beer held in each hand. “Here.”
Olivia stared at the bottle of proffered beer, its neck dangling from between Margot’s fingertips, her nails short and neat, painted a shade of red so dark Olivia had first thought they were black. If her hand shook when she reached out to take the bottle, it was only because it had been a long day and the adrenaline was wearing off. “Thanks.”
Margot lifted her own beer to her mouth, tipping it back, throat jerking when she swallowed. She lowered her bottle, tongue darting out against her bottom lip. A smudge of ruby lipstick lingered on the mouth of the brown glass.
Margot jerked her head to the right, hair swishing against her jaw as she disappeared around the corner into the living room. Olivia followed, stumbling on the tangled fringe of a threadbare rug that bore a single singe mark near one corner. She clutched the sweating bottle between her palms and made a sweep of the apartment, taking in the details she hadn’t noticed when she first walked in.
Like the embroidery hoop on the sliver of a wall by the kitchen that contained a cross-stitched phrase she had to squint to read. Behold! The field in which I grow my fucks. Lay thine eyes upon it and see that it is barren. Funny. She chuckled under her breath and turned on her heel, cocking her head, studying the framed paintings hanging from the exposed brick wall. Her jaw dropped.
Wow. Georgia O’Keeffe’s flowers looked downright subtle by comparison. These drawings were . . . realistic and—Olivia squinted harder, face flaming. She considered herself pretty darn flexible, but her body didn’t bend that way. Olivia perched on the couch beside Cat and pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to cool it off, her fingers damp with condensation from her beer bottle.
Margot’s brows ticked upward, the corners of her mouth twitching as she watched Olivia.
“Your art . . . it’s really . . .”
Margot smirked.
Olivia flushed, floundering for the right word. “Erotic?”
That was it. Erotic. Broad black brushstrokes kept the art from veering into vulgar territory.
“They’re a relatively new addition. I bought them to make Brendon uncomfortable after Elle moved out and Annie moved in.” She shrugged. “You stop noticing them after a while.”
How much sex did someone have to have to become desensitized to paintings of other people having it? More sex than Olivia was having, clearly. She ducked her chin, trying to will her blush away, her cheeks so hot she could’ve sworn there was steam coming off of her. Olivia stole a surreptitious peek at Margot from the corner of her eye, watching as she tilted her head to the side, considering the series of sketches on the wall. Margot’s slender fingers skimmed the front of her throat, lingering on the hollow between her collarbones, dark nail polish and the sharp cut of her hair stark contrasts against her pale skin, making her look a little like one of those canvases come to life.
Margot turned, catching her staring, and Olivia’s heart tripped over the next beat, speeding, sending another wave of blood rushing to the surface of her skin.
“So.” She wheezed out a laugh. “This is awkward.”
The proverbial elephant in the room had tripled in size.
“Don’t see why it has to be.” Margot set her beer on the table, sans coaster, and kicked her feet up beside it, ankles crossing, the picture of chill. Everything Olivia wasn’t. “Like I said. It’s ancient history, Liv. I’m over it.”
Over it. Olivia frowned. What was that supposed to mean? Over what? What did Margot have to get over in the first place? Olivia was the one who’d had her hopes dashed and her heart broken by Margot, not the other way around.
Or maybe it was her fault. After all, she’d been the one to kiss Margot.
Olivia couldn’t say with any degree of certainty when exactly her feelings for Margot had changed. It wasn’t like she’d woken up one morning and suddenly found herself wanting her best friend. There was no grand movie moment where their eyes locked and Olivia’s breath caught and a lightbulb went off inside her head. It had been gradual, so slow that her own feelings had crept up on her. Little touches had started to make her blush and then Margot’s gaze had gained a new dimension. It wasn’t something Olivia could touch but she could certainly feel it traveling along her skin, tickling the space between her shoulder blades, raising the hair on the back of her neck, narrowing her throat and damming up words that before had always come so easy. Awareness. Followed by confusion and uncertainty, not only that it was Margot but that, wow, Olivia was significantly less straight than she’d previously thought. She’d driven herself crazy questioning whether the way Margot’s hand lingered on her leg was intentional, reading into every look, every touch, every text. Wondering if just maybe what she felt was mutual.
But Margot—who’d been openly bi since ninth grade, two years later clarifying that if she had to stick a label on herself, pansexual was a better fit—had never said anything, and Olivia had been too afraid to say something, to risk ruining their friendship.
Until spring break senior year.
Brad had broken up with her before he left for Cancún—one of the many offs in their on-again, off-again relationship—and Margot had come over with junk food and a bottle of vodka she’d swiped from her parents’ liquor cabinet. They’d had the house to themselves, Dad out of town on a fishing trip. Emboldened by a few too many sips of liquid courage and the way Margot’s eyes lingered on her lips, Olivia threw caution to the wind and kissed her and—Margot had kissed her back. One kiss led to another led to their clothes coming off led to sex. Great sex and laughter, and for the first time Olivia hadn’t had to stop herself from doing all the small things she’d ached to do, like tangling their fingers together or brushing her lips against the ball of Margot’s shoulder. She could stare at Margot openly, happily, hungrily, without fear of what would happen if she got caught. If there was such a thing as a perfect week, that had been it.
But reality had come crashing down on her the following Monday. Brad wanted to act like their breakup hadn’t happened, that it was more of a pause than a full-stop split. When she didn’t immediately fall into his arms, he’d had the audacity to seem confused. She’d texted Margot. Can you believe it? What should I tell him?
Olivia had expected Margot to tell her that Brad could go fuck himself. That he was delusional. She’d wanted Margot to tell her Brad couldn’t have her.
Don’t worry about me saying anything to anyone. What happens on spring break, stays on spring break, right? ☺ Margot had texted instead.
After that, they didn’t talk about it, what happened between them that week, but Margot always had an excuse when Olivia asked to hang out, usually that she was too busy studying for finals. Brad hadn’t let up, blowing up Olivia’s phone with a constant barrage of texts, begging her to take him back. Two weeks later, she did, and a week after that, she received a letter from the financial aid department at UW notifying her that her scholarship application had been rejected. Graduation came and went, Margot moved to Seattle, and the rest was history.
In the end, it was Olivia’s fault for assuming their week together had meant something. Regardless, Margot was right. That was then and this was now, and rehashing old hurts wouldn’t help. It would only make her feel sorrier for herself. “Right. You’re totally right. We should leave the past in the past. Let sleeping dogs lie.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and laughed. “We had sex. Big deal.”
As soon the words were out, Olivia cringed, heat wrapping around her neck and spreading up her jaw. Okay, so maybe there was such a thing as being too candid. At least she hadn’t tacked on the bit about it being the best sex of her life, true as it would’ve been.
“No big.” A muscle in Margot’s jaw ticked when she smiled. “Trust me.”
Olivia’s whole body burned. Okay, ouch. “Right.”
Margot lifted her beer by the neck and tipped it back, draining it in one swallow. She stood, perfectly steady, and stretched, her pants riding indecently low, and Olivia was treated to another hint of that ink creeping up Margot’s hip. She backed up a step before turning and heading in the direction of the kitchen. The sound of rummaging and then a drawer sliding shut followed. Margot returned, brandishing two shiny keys. She set them on the coffee table, side by side. “Silver one’s for the door to the building, and the brass key is for the apartment.”
Olivia reached forward and ran her finger along the teeth of the closest key. Something about having her own key made this real. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Margot tucked her thumbs in her pockets and cast a sweeping glance around the apartment. “I’m going to head to bed, but we should find a time and . . . I don’t know, talk about . . . Jesus, I don’t know. Logistics.”
Right. Logistics. If they couldn’t keep this strictly professional, it would at least be best to refrain from bringing their past into play. To limit their interactions to their shared interests—Brendon and Annie’s wedding—and communal space. Boundaries. No more bringing up their week together, Olivia’s feelings. Keep it polite and distant.
Distance was absolutely paramount.
Olivia bobbed her head. “Sounds good. Tomorrow?”
Margot nodded. “Sure. I’ve got a meeting in the afternoon, but I should be back in the early evening.” She cast a glance in the direction of the kitchen. “Feel free to raid the fridge, if you want. We—Elle and me, and Annie, too—were pretty easygoing about sharing food and splitting the grocery bill, but if you have a problem with that . . .”
“No.” She shook her head. “All good with me.”
Margot cracked her knuckles. “The shower’s kind of finicky. You have to pull the knob before you turn the water on if you want to take a shower. If you try to do it the other way around, the knob sticks.”
“Good to know, thanks.”
All she wanted right now was to fall face-first into bed. She’d only gotten a brief look at her room, but the mattress was a clear step up from the pullout she’d been ruining her back on for the last eight months. Her old apartment, while nearer to ECE’s office, offered little in terms of space. Her living room tripled as a bedroom and personal office. Margot’s apartment—hers now, too—was downright roomy by comparison.
“Tomorrow, then.” Margot backed slowly toward the hall.
Olivia waved and immediately wished she hadn’t. How utterly dorky. “Good night.”
Margot’s lips twitched upward in a barely-there smile before she turned and disappeared down the hall. Her door shut, and Olivia slumped back against the couch.
What a day.
Not that it had been all bad. It certainly could’ve been worse. She and Cat could’ve been sleeping in a hotel or a sleeping bag on her coworker Kira’s floor. Even her car. She would’ve only been able to swing any of those options for a few days while diligently hunting for a new apartment. Had that not panned out . . .
She probably needed to let Dad know that she was living somewhere new. Not that he was likely to mail her anything, but he might. Stranger things had happened.
“Livvy, hey,” he answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Dad.” She picked at the label of her beer. It was soggy, easy to peel at the corners. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?”
Dad huffed. “Never.”
A pleasant ache radiated behind her breastbone. In the background, she could hear what sounded like the television. Football, probably. “So. Do you remember Margot?”
“Margot?” He hummed quietly. “Used to eat all our food?”
“Dad.” She laughed.
He chuckled. “What about her?”
She nudged her beer bottle further from the edge of the table and leaned back against the couch, tucking her feet under her. “I’m kind of living with her now?”
“How do you kind of live with someone?”
She rubbed her eyes. “It’s a . . . It’s new. I was just calling to let you know I have a new address. I’ll text it to you, okay?”
“Is everything okay, Liv?”
Her throat chose the worst possible moment to grow impossibly tight. “Mm-hmm. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Dad went quiet. “Are you okay on money, because I don’t have much, but I can send you—”
“No. I’m good. It’s just been a long day. There was a plumbing problem at my old apartment; that’s why I moved. I’m—I’m really fine. I promise.”
Dad hmmed over the line. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She forced a laugh. “I’m actually doing really well, otherwise. Lori’s letting me take point on a wedding, and it’s—it’s a really big deal, Dad.”
“Good for you, Liv. I’m sure you’re going to be great.”
Cat hopped off the other end of the couch and stretched, letting out a sweet, contented-sounding meow. At least one of them was feeling right at home.
“Enough about me. How are you? When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”
“Next Tuesday, I think. Or Wednesday, maybe? I’ve got it written down somewhere.”
Written down somewhere. All she could do was shake her head. “Speaking of writing things down, how’s your food diary going? You are still keeping up with it, right?”
Dad grunted. “Mm-hmm.”
Yeah, that sounded promising. “Dad.”
“I am. Honest.”
“And you’re filling it out properly?”
Left to his own devices, Dad would subsist on a diet of pork rinds and TV dinners laden with enough sodium to float a brick.
Dad chuckled. “It amazes me how you manage to hover from a hundred miles away. It’s a talent, really.”
“You’re exaggerating.” She smiled. “It’s only fifty miles.”
“I’m fine. I’m doing everything the doctor asked me to. And I’m even working fewer hours, okay? You worry too much.”
She worried the right amount. A heart attack was nothing to joke about, even a mild one.
“I’m glad you’re working less. That’s a relief. Stress isn’t good for you.”
Dad gave a soft grunt. “Why don’t you leave the worrying to me, okay? That’s my job. I should be worrying about you.”
“And like I said, you don’t need to worry about me. This wedding could be huge. If I pull this off, Lori’s going to promote me. That means a raise and more events and—this is what I came here for.”
Event planning. Turning other people’s dreams into a reality, bringing them to life. That was what Olivia wanted.
“How’s everything else going up there?” He coughed. “You, uh, meet anyone?”
“Dad.”
“I just want you to be happy, Livvy.”
She could be—she was. She was doing just fine on her own. Just fine. “I’m good.”
“Must be nice at least, having a familiar face around now,” Dad said. “Margot.”
Nice wasn’t quite the word she’d pick. Dizzying, maybe. Definitely surreal.
“Mm-hmm.” She pulled her phone from her ear and checked the time. “Look, I should I let you go. I’m pretty beat.”
“All right. Love you, kid.”
“Love you, too, Dad. Talk soon.”
