Count Your Lucky Stars: Chapter 5

Olivia took a seat on the free cushion beside Margot, tucking her legs under her. On the television, an old episode of Three’s Company cut to commercial.

Margot held her laptop steady atop her knees as she leaned forward, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and muting the television. “One sec. Let me tweet this . . . and done.”

“If you’re busy, that’s fine,” Olivia said. “We can talk later.”

“It’s all good. See?” She swiveled her laptop so Olivia could see the screen. Her browser was open to Twitter.

Olivia took a closer look.

“Content creation for Oh My Stars,” Margot explained.

“I always kind of wondered how you came up with these.”

“It’s basically distilling whatever the list items are to their main properties. So, with television shows, it would be the theme or the relationship between the characters or . . . vibe.” Margot cracked a smile. “It’s not an exact science.”

Olivia grinned.

“Then I match them to the zodiac signs based on their most significant traits. I’m not saying if you’re a Gemini your favorite TV show featuring a roommate relationship is The Odd Couple, I’m just positing that it’s the show that most closely captures the traits of that sign.” Margot shrugged. “And if it doesn’t feel like a good fit, you should check your rising sign. Same goes for horoscopes. You’re actually better off checking your rising sign since that’s what determines the houses in your chart. Your horoscope for the day or week or month or whatever time frame takes into consideration the transits of the planets and how they move through the different areas of your chart. Your rising sign gives you a more complete picture.”

She scanned the list, stopping at Libra. “The Golden Girls. Fair enough.”

For some reason, Margot laughed. “Sorry. That’s just, um, a very Libra reaction. Fair enough.”

She’d missed Margot’s laugh, how it started in her chest and seemed to burst from her lips, throaty and smoky. “Question—I’ve always wondered, how does compatibility work? With astrology?”

Hopefully that was much smoother than what’s your sign? Besides, she already knew Margot was an Aries.

Margot’s brows rose. “Synastry? That’s . . . Well, there are a few aspects you can look at. Aspects are the angles between planets and other celestial bodies and points of interest in a chart. There are hard aspects, which can pose a challenge, and easier aspects, which are . . . harmonious, I guess is the right word. With synastry, you can overlay the charts or there’s software that does it, and you can see how person A’s planets aspect person B’s and what houses of the chart they activate and vice versa.”

Olivia kept her eyes on the screen. It felt like her heart was going to punch through her rib cage, but hopefully her voice wouldn’t warble. “So, say, Aries and Libra? What kind of aspect do they make? Are they, um, compatible?”

Margot shrugged. Shrugged. Olivia bit off her sigh before it could escape her.

It wasn’t so much that she cared about their astrological compatibility but that she’d hoped the question might serve as a stepping-stone of sorts. That Margot’s reaction might give Olivia a hint at what was going on inside Margot’s head, not just now, but years before. Why everything between them had been so good, brimming with possibility, a whole future ahead of them, until Margot had pushed her away.

All Olivia wanted was a little clarity. She’d call it closure, but something about that word put a terrible taste in her mouth.

“They’re directly opposite to one another, which can bring balance to a relationship since each sign possesses qualities the other lacks. But it’s a bit more complicated than that. Everyone thinks of sun-sun compatibility, but that’s a tiny, tiny piece of the puzzle. There’s sun-moon, moon-moon, Venus-Mars, moon-Venus—it all depends on what you’re looking for. Good communication, similar values, interests. The seventh house is where we tend to look for information on partnerships like marriage, but the fifth house is about passion—not just sex, but that, too—and the eighth house rules sex as well, but in a transformational, even transactional sense? There’s a lot to look at.” Margot pursed her lips. “But compatibility isn’t my area of expertise.” She cringed. “Astrological compatibility isn’t my area of expertise.”

Olivia crept even closer to the edge of the couch until her knee gently butted up against Margot’s right arm. “You explained it really well.”

Margot turned her head, and, without makeup on, Olivia could make out the tiny spray of freckles on the bridge of her nose. The left corner of her mouth rose in a half-hearted smile. “Thanks.” She lowered the screen on her laptop before setting it on the coffee table. “All right. Roommate logistics.”

“Right.” Olivia nodded. “I made a list.”

Margot’s brows rose. “You made a list?”

“Just to organize my thoughts. I didn’t want to forget anything.” Olivia smoothed the edges of the paper against her bare thigh. “I haven’t had a roommate since freshman year of college—I lived with Brad, but that was different—so this is all kind of new.”

Margot folded her arms atop her knees. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but can I ask you a personal question?”

Something about the way she’d phrased that, straddling the line between bluntness and propriety, made Olivia laugh. It was so perfectly Margot. “I think we passed personal a while ago, don’t you?”

It was only after the words were out that she realized how Margot might take them. Olivia had only meant with the whole plucking Margot’s vibrator up off the floor after her cat had tried to maul it thing. Not I know what face you make when you come personal. But that, too.

Margot’s tongue swept against her bottom lip. “You and Brad wanted different things. What does that mean?”

Olivia dragged her eyes from Margot’s mouth before she got caught staring. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Margot’s expression shuttered. “If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No, that’s not it.” She didn’t relish talking about it, no, but more than that she didn’t know where to start. It was a mess. A drama-filled mess. “Long story short, Brad wanted a baby and I didn’t.”

Children had never been and would never be what she wanted, and she’d told Brad that from day one, but then she’d turned twenty-six and he’d started dropping hints. He’d called them jokes at first, and she’d rolled her eyes and laughed—her mistake. But it kept happening. And then one day Brad had asked her point-blank when they were going to start a family. The saddest part was that all along, she’d been under the impression they already were a family.

Margot frowned. “You never wanted kids.”

“He thought I would change my mind, I guess.”

Olivia had budged on practically everything else; Brad had assumed this—a baby—would be the same.

“Brad thought you would change your mind.” Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Or he thought he could change it for you?”

Olivia forced a laugh past the lump in her throat. “Am I really that transparent?”

She’d always admired Margot’s quiet confidence, how Margot knew what she wanted and she didn’t let anyone stop her from going after it. How easily she could tune out other people’s opinions of her or her dreams. Olivia wasn’t built that way, wasn’t brave like Margot was, didn’t know how to live by do what you love and fuck the rest. It took Olivia forever to make decisions, and she cared too much about what people thought. It wasn’t anything for her to be proud of, but she’d never felt quite so ashamed of it as she did now, Margot looking at her like she felt sorry for her.

“I guess I just know you.” Margot rested her head against the back of the couch. “Or I did.”

Did. Olivia hated that, that the entirety of their friendship existed in the past tense. Back when they were in school, she never would have imagined the possibility that a week would go by without her speaking to Margot, let alone years. But of course she wouldn’t have. No one ever dreams of their problems when they think about the future.

“Anyway, Brad wanted a baby and I didn’t, and when I made it crystal clear he seemed to accept it. Or I thought he did.” For a split second, her chest constricted, making it difficult to breathe. “I hadn’t told my dad the specifics, but he knew things between Brad and I weren’t great and I wasn’t happy. He suggested we go to couples counseling, which we did, once. It didn’t do much because Brad was different there . . . more open, but less honest? If that makes sense.”

Margot nibbled on her lip, listening intently.

“After that didn’t work, Dad finally told me if I wasn’t happy, I should . . . consider my options. Which was surprising, because Dad always got along with Brad. I mean, they still get along, which is good. I’m glad Dad has someone in town who he could call if he needed something. Anyway, I didn’t want to. Consider my options. I made a commitment. I figured every couple has a rough patch.” Olivia picked at her nails. How was this still difficult to talk about? “Then Emmy Caldwell—you remember her from school, right?—showed up at my front door to tell me she and Brad had been sleeping together for the past six months and she was pretty sure she was pregnant with his baby.”

“Jesus, Liv,” Margot murmured. “That’s . . . shit.”

Olivia sniffled then laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. It was either laugh or cry and she’d cried enough over Brad to last a lifetime. “It was pretty awful. I was shocked? I don’t—maybe I shouldn’t have been. There were probably signs, and the fact that I’d missed them speaks to how bad things between Brad and me had become. Anyway, I moved back in with my dad and I filed for divorce and we didn’t have many assets—we were renting the house from his parents—and he didn’t contest the filing, so it all moved pretty quickly. Within six weeks, we were divorced.”

“Damn, Liv. I don’t really know what to say.” Margot reached out and squeezed Olivia’s shoulder.

Olivia didn’t mean to, but she swayed into Margot’s touch, into the warmth of her hand seeping through the thin cotton of Olivia’s T-shirt.

She’d received plenty of warnings and advice before moving to Seattle, from Dad and from the internet. No one had ever warned her of the very specific loneliness that came with living in a city where you knew no one, how easy it was to become touch-starved. Of course she leaned into Margot’s touch. She was honestly surprised she didn’t climb into Margot’s lap and purr.

“There’s nothing to say, really. It was a mess.” She snorted. “Want to know the real kicker?”

Margot dropped her hand and cringed. “Do I?”

“Turns out, Emmy wasn’t even pregnant. Total false alarm. She found out and didn’t say anything to Brad because she was worried he’d . . . I don’t know, change his mind or something.” Which he had. He’d called and left voicemails and finally knocked on Olivia’s front door, begging her to come back, alternating between issuing apologies and being irate when she didn’t swoon. It was too late for that. “Long story short, I married the wrong guy. Wrong person.”

Her heart stuttered when all Margot did was stare.

“Anyway, enough about me.” Olivia curled her fingers around the edge of the list of roommate logistics she’d compiled, leaving damp fingerprints behind that turned the paper translucent. “I’ll just start at the top here. Laundry.”

“It might help if I told you where that was, huh?” Margot rolled her eyes at herself. “It’s in the basement, which is significantly less creepy than it sounds. Promise. You’ve got to use your key—the one for the outside door—to get inside, so it’s pretty secure. The lighting’s a fluorescent nightmare, but they put in new washers and dryers last year. Everything’s high-efficiency, so you don’t have to worry about wasting umpteen quarters to make sure your shit’s dry.”

She was just happy there was laundry on-site. “I think I might run a load of darks before bed. I can throw yours in with mine, if you want.”

For some inexplicable reason, the tips of Margot’s ears went pink. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind.” Laundry was one of those tasks she actually enjoyed, unlike washing dishes, which she did, but not without massive amounts of internal grumbling.

Margot nibbled on her lip for a moment before laughing under her breath. “You know what? Sure. You handled my vibrator, like, ten minutes ago. I guess touching my underwear is pretty tame by comparison.”

Handled wasn’t quite the word Olivia would have used. In a perfect world, her ideal scenario of how she might handle Margot’s vibrator would’ve included far less clothing.

“All right.” She forced herself to focus back on the list instead of the fantasy playing out inside her head. “Let’s see. I, uh, kind of googled a list of crucial conversations to have with a new roommate, but some of these sound silly since . . .” Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. “Like you said, we know each other. Unless you developed any allergies I don’t know about . . .”

“It would be news to me.”

Olivia smiled. “I guess we don’t really need to talk about pets, since you’re already well aware I have a cat.”

Margot snorted. “I don’t know. I asked Cameron what I needed to know about cats. He didn’t give me much to work off, but something tells me nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened in the hall.”

At least she was able to laugh about it. This would’ve been painfully awkward had Margot been pissed.

“How are your brothers, by the way?” she asked. “Cameron’s working as a vet, right?”

If Margot’s earlier statement hadn’t been a clue, Olivia was pretty sure she’d seen his name added to the sign outside the animal clinic a few years back.

“Mm-hmm.” A soft smile crossed Margot’s face. “He is. And Andrew’s down in San Diego, working on his master’s in marine biology. They’re both good. My parents, too.”

Even if they’d spent more time at Olivia’s house growing up, Olivia had always liked Margot’s family. They were loud and expressive and had always made Olivia feel welcome. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“My mom actually asked if I’d heard from you. I told her you were living here now.”

Not for the first time, Olivia wondered whether Margot had told her family, anyone, what had happened between them. Even leaving out the specifics, just that something had happened. It was unlikely. “Bet that took her by surprise.”

Margot shrugged. “Kind of? I think she thought you were still married. I know Cam thought you were. Dad knew.” Margot’s nose wrinkled. “He’s such a damned gossip.”

Olivia chuckled. “Is he still teaching?”

“Nah. He retired . . . two years ago? Being home all the time is driving him nuts, so says my mom, at least. So what does he decide to do? He joins the HOA and this local book club full of grannies. I swear, you can’t sneeze in that town without my dad knowing about it.”

Olivia clapped a hand over her mouth. “I think I know the book club you’re talking about. Brad’s grandmother—the one who actually liked me—is a member.”

She was pretty sure they didn’t even read the books they selected, they just got together to drink and dish the dirt.

“And that would explain how he knew about you and Brad.” Margot shut her eyes and laughed softly. “Leave it to my dad.” She opened her eyes, hair sweeping against the sharp curve of her jaw when she tilted her head to the side. “How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

“He’s good.” Olivia swallowed hard. “I mean, he’s doing better now. He, um, he had a heart attack at the same time I was going through the divorce. So, almost a year ago?”

“Jesus, Liv.” Margot’s brow puckered. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

Talking about this put a lump in her throat she hadn’t expected, but maybe she should’ve. Margot was the first person she’d told, the first person she’d talked about this with outside of doctors and nurses and hospital staff and Brad. Her friends from school had all moved away, and the ones who had moved back or never left had all acted like divorce was contagious. They’d all been polite, but that was it. An act.

Margot had never been like that. With Margot, what you saw was what you got, and Olivia had always been a fan of what she’d seen.

“Thanks.” Olivia tucked her hair behind her ears and scratched the side of her neck. “It was mild. As mild as a heart attack can be, I guess. I had planned on moving to Seattle right after the divorce was finalized, but then that happened, so I stuck around for a few more months until Dad practically pushed me out the front door. Told me I was hovering and driving him nuts.” She picked at her cuticles. “I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving town had his bloodwork been anything less than stellar.”

Even then, a tiny voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Brad still whispered that she was selfish for leaving, for putting herself first, even though Dad was fine.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” Margot said.

“Me too.” They shared a smile before Olivia dropped her eyes, scanning the list again. “Communal spaces. How do you want to handle the vacuuming and that sort of thing?”

“I try to vacuum and Swiffer at least once a week. Same with cleaning the bathroom.” Margot ran her hand down the front of her shin, tugging the fabric of her leggings smooth. “We could trade off?”

“I’ll clean the bathroom this week and you can do the floors and then next week we’ll switch. Does that work?”

“Sure. Sounds good to me.” Margot drummed her fingers against her legs. “Also, I’m sure you already saw, but there’s a whiteboard on the side of the fridge in case we’re out of something. Milk or whatever. I mean, we can text, obviously, but sometimes it’s nice to have a reminder right there in the kitchen.”

“Perfect.” Olivia snagged a pen off the coffee table and jotted down a quick note. “Whiteboard for notes. Got it. Okay, let’s see . . . trash. Is there a chute or do we need to haul it down to the dumpster?”

“There’s a chute. Down the hall, to the left.” Margot rested her chin on her knee.

Olivia dropped her gaze back to the list. “Do you have any pet peeves I should know about?”

“That you don’t already know?” Margot huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. None come to mind.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

Margot shrugged. “I work from home—well, sometimes I’ll go to Elle’s, but usually I’m here—and I’m not very easily distracted. I don’t need complete silence to focus or anything. I do occasionally record for our video series and sometimes I’ll hop on Instagram Live for Q&As, but I do that in my room, so as long as you don’t crank your music ridiculously loud, it’s fine.”

“No blaring music, got it.”

“How about you? Any pet peeves I should know about?”

Olivia smirked. “Somehow I don’t foresee you leaving the toilet seat up, so not really.”

Margot cringed. “I feel like there’s a story behind that.”

Unfortunately. “Brad was constantly forgetting to put the seat down. I got up to pee in the middle of the night and fell in. I’m talking legs up in the air, ass all the way down in the bowl.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It was awful. I had one of those Ty-D-Bol cleaner tablets in the tank, you know, the ones that turn the water blue? It stained my skin. I walked around looking like a Smurf from the waist down for two days before I got to the store and bought a better loofah.”

Margot clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her chuckle. “It’s not funny. It’s just . . . the visual.”

“It’s a little funny,” Olivia conceded.

“Not that I picture it being a problem, but note to self, never leave the lid up. Anything else?”

Olivia folded her list in half and ran her nail down the seam, forming a sharp crease. “Should we talk about bringing people home?”

Margot fumbled her phone. “What?”

“If I wanted to have a couple friends over.” She didn’t have many close friends, not anymore, but she’d had Kira over for drinks once or twice, and Margot obviously had a tight-knit circle of friends.

“Friends.” Margot nodded quickly. “Oh yeah. That’s—that’s totally fine.”

“Cool. I would text you first, if you weren’t home. You know, so you wouldn’t walk in and wonder who these strange people were in your apartment.”

“Same.” Margot blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs, the flush along her cheeks not quite fading. “I’d, um, do the same. If I have my friends over.”

She kept underscoring that. Friends as opposed to some alternative—

Wow. Okay, Olivia could see where her initial question might’ve been open to interpretation. Not that she planned on having dates over. Olivia had done casual exactly once, and look how well that had turned out for her. Not that she’d known it was casual at the time. Not that it mattered. The point was moot.

She wasn’t going to be bringing anyone home unless they were friends, and what Margot did was her business. Olivia didn’t need to know, and she wasn’t about to ask.