Olivia 12

A little lighter on the I/T than most! Thank you for reading!

-

It's a warm and stormy summer night when Olivia shows up outside my door, shivering and sopping wet with a wild look in her eyes.

"Omigod, Jack." I stumble backwards from the force of her launching herself into my arms. I'm still half-asleep, having drug myself out of my bed from the pounding at my door.

"What--" I don't know what to say to her. There's no question I can ask that would clear my confusion were she to answer it, and so I just wrap my arms around her as she grips onto my shirt.

"What's wrong?" I say at last, my voice muffled by her hair.

"I walked here as fast as I could. I'm so glad you're awake."

As gently as I can, I untangle her from me and push the door closed. "Yeah, you're going to have to tell me something about what's happening. It's like, two in the morning. Do I need to call the cops or something?"

She shakes her head, biting her lip.

"Come on, let me grab you a change of clothes."

By the time I come out of my room, she's sat down at the table in the living room, already stripped down to just her underwear. I try not to stare at how thin she is, her rib bones sticking out of her skeletal frame.

"Thanks so much." She mumbles, taking the stack of clothes from me. She quickly puts them on, a pair of sweats that completely swamps her. I hand her a towel, which she takes from me and slowly starts to squeeze around her hair. She has tears in her eyes. "I, uh-- my mom kicked me out tonight."

I raise my eyebrows. "Shit, are you serious?"

She laughs, but it sounds hollow. "I feel like I shouldn't be. Or like, it doesn't feel real, you know?"

"She having an episode again?" I keep my voice low. None of us like talking about Aunt Melody's problems. Mom says it's probably undiagnosed bipolar, and dad just calls it batshit crazy.

"I'm sorry," she says, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. "I just, I didn't know where to go. I saw your location and I just hoped you were home and not somewhere else--"

"Relax, string bean. We shared location for safety, remember?"

Olivia takes a deep breath, careless mopping at her tears with the back of her hand. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. It's just been a crazy night."

"Yeah." I stand and uncertainly run a hand through my hair. "You want me to get you something to eat or drink? Or you want to sleep?"

"A water, maybe?" She says, and my heart clenches at how small and lifeless she looks. As I go to get it, she speaks again. "I don't know if I can sleep yet. Can you just... sit with me a while? I'm kind of shaken."

I set down the glass of water in front of her, which she takes but doesn't drink from.

"Yeah. 'Course. Wanna tell me what happened? Or do you want me to distract you?"

She frowns, her overplucked brows drawing together. "I just... I wish my mom was like yours."

"My mom?" I crack a smile. "She's a cheesy old woman. What's so great about her?"

"Are you kidding me? She like, always gave me crackers and fruit. The coolest aunt ever." She ventures a smile, even though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Alright, let me expose how uncool your aunt is."

"You could never!"

"This was like, ten years ago. Or maybe thirty. You know, before you were even born, back when the world was black and white--"

Olivia laughs. "You're not even that old."

"I was still in elementary school, had the fattest crush on one of my classmates. Emily Philson. I think my mom overheard me talking to my friends about it or something, because she went full on investigative mode. Learned about Emily's parents, figured out who Emily was in my class--and then one day, when she was picking me up, she saw me talking to Emily. Came up to us and started talking to Emily with the most dramatic mom energy, started trying to be my

wingman

--"

"No way!"

"--and I'm just about melting into the blacktop the whole time. The thing is, the next day, she came up to me and said we shouldn't be friends anymore because my mom is cringe."

"She cockblocked you?" Olivia brings her knees to her chest, eyes glittering.

I shake my head. "The worst part? I went home and told my mom--I was livid, if I remember correctly. She just tutted and said, 'She's not good enough for you anyways, sweetheart.'"

"Alright, that's pretty bad." She smiles, and this time her eyes crinkle in the corners.

"Thought so." I grin at her, and her smile falters. I sigh. "Alright. Lay it on me."

Olivia puts her feet back on the floor and looks away. At this angle I can see her pert nose sticking up in the air, the fullness of her lips. Her straight mousy hair lays limply against her shoulders, leaving small damp spots on my sweatshirt. It strikes me just how much older she feels from when we were younger; we're only a few years apart but she's always felt like a baby to me.

"I always thought when I finished with high school I'd be able to escape. Because like, I could go to college and have a good time. Party it up, or whatever. But then when I only got accepted into SCC, I knew I'd be stuck for another couple of years until I can get credits and then transfer elsewhere. And so I've been biding my time and being as patient as I could, all year long, but it's just been getting worse. It feels like she sees me growing older and becoming an adult, and it makes her want to control me even more."

She finally takes a sip of water.

"If you didn't live here, I'd probably be hiding in one of my neighbor's yards and hoping no one finds me."

"You should've talked to me sooner." I frown. I know it's not the right thing to say, and it's probably only going to make her feel worse, but I can't help the thought. We all knew Aunt Melody wasn't the best mother, but it must have been way worse than I ever knew if Olivia's getting kicked out in the middle of the night.

"I guess I just held out hope things would get better." She said, still not looking at me.

"Yeah, but no." I say. Her face sours and I immediately backtrack. "I just care about you, Olive. You don't have to worry about being a burden, or anything. Maybe you should move in for a bit."

"I--" I can tell by the way her eyes go between me and the water in her hands that she wants to refuse but can't. "Are you sure?"

"If you'd told me earlier, I might've been able to find somewhere with a bigger mirror."

"That's your takeaway?" She grouches at me, but her face has relaxed somewhat. She looks lighter.

"Seriously. This place is great, but the mirror? It'd only show like, half of your huge forehead."

She claps a hand to her forehead, her mouth falling open. "You did

not

just say that."

"Spoken like someone who can fit all ten fingers below their hairline."

"Maybe I should've called Abby, instead." She laughs, but that makes my chest tighten.

"You're still seeing her?"

"Oh, um... I don't know." She tucks a piece of half-dry hair behind her ear. "Not really. She texted me recently, kind of out of the blue."

"Olive, I know it's not really my business but she's bad news. You deserve way better."

"Maybe it's just like--first love things, or something like that." She's mumbling now, ducking her head so she doesn't have to look me in the eyes.

"That's a shitty excuse to let yourself be treated like shit."

She shifts uncomfortably. "Maybe you shouldn't be swearing so much in front of your baby cousin."

I roll my eyes at the deflection, but don't press the issue further. "Baby cousin? If you're old enough to vote, you're old enough to hear a couple of bad words."

"Whatever." She stands up, tossing her hair. It's wet, though, so it just dully slaps against her back. "Now. Do you have any extra toothbrushes? Or a brush? Or do you even have conditioner or any other girl stuff?"

"Would it make you feel worse to know that I have all of those things?" I say, standing up too. She looks at me with confusion, not saying anything. Until a few seconds passes and then she screws up her face.

"Oh, ew!"

I shrug, turning my back on her to go get her an extra toothbrush. I call back to her over my shoulder. "You asked, string bean."

She's standing outside the bathroom with crossed arms when I hand over the fresh toothbrush. "I'm not a

bean

, Jack. That nickname's gotten old."

I pick up the sleeve. Her hand limply dangles out of the end. "You still look plenty stringy to me."

"And you still look..." With a sudden burst of effort she slams the bathroom door shut and calls through the door. "Like a jackass to me!"

I laugh out loud, even as the shower turns on. It's not original, but I've never heard it from her before. I'm still smiling to myself as I grab my extra set of blankets and spread them out on the couch. I sit on top of them and scroll on my phone until Olivia emerges, her cheeks red from the shower.

"Thanks."

I know from how she sounds shy that it's not just for the toothbrush or my sweats. I give her a stiff nod.

"No worries. Just, uh... let me know if you need anything, yeah?"

She gives an enthusiastic nod. "I'll try not to be too much of a bother."

I get up to give her room, but then linger right outside the bedroom door. "Unless, would you feel more comfortable on the bed? I don't mind being out here."

"No, you should... you probably need the best rest you can get, since you have work in the morning and all." She presses her lips together. "I've kept you up long enough, anyways."

I look at her sitting on the bed, swamped in my clothes and her bare feet poking out from underneath her. And I give her a smile.

"Alright, then. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight," Olivia says, starting to worm her way underneath the blankets.

I close the door and get back into bed. I stare up at the ceiling, unsure of what I needed to do--I should probably tell my parents, maybe figure out what was happening with Aunt Melody--but I'm tired enough that I almost immediately fall asleep.

My alarm goes off at six in the morning, and a yawn fights its way through me as soon as I open my eyes. When I cross the hall to go to the bathroom, I peek at Olivia, stifle a smile at the way her head is halfway hanging off of the cushions. And then I get ready for work, splashing cold water on my face and shaving and brushing my teeth and--some people complain about the routine, but I'm all about it. I'm glad for something to ground me in normality, because for all that I don't mind Olivia's presence, I know I'm going to be thinking about it all day.

Either way, my typical morning carries me to the kitchen, where I grab a granola bar, and to the car, so I can start my commute. It circles my head as I drive, stuck in traffic on I-5.

The current picture of Olivia, a tired and half-broken young woman, mingles with the image I still have of her, a quiet little girl who rarely ever smiled at anyone. I don't know what to do about her. Or if I even need to do anything about her.

It kind of sounded like she just needed some place to stay, to live while she keeps going to class. I can't deny that I kind of like the idea of someone else being at home, but if it's Olivia... for some reason I've always felt extra protective over her and I know I'll constantly be worried.

Somehow, miraculously, I make it through my day. It probably helps that one of our clients calls for an emergency meeting about one of their portfolios and the whole workday erupts into chaos. When it's finally time to go home, my manager claps me on the shoulder.

"Get some rest, J. Tomorrow's a new day!"

"Thanks, Andrew." I give him a tired smile. It feels like my bones creak when I sit down in my car. My stomach growls.

Typically, on a day like this, I'll heat up one of those frozen microwave dinners and call it good. But now I have Olive to think of, so I feel like I need to figure out something a bit more substantial. I wonder if she went to class today--she never texted me asking about getting back into the unit or anything like that, so I'm assuming she stayed home.

I sigh. My head is all over the place. That client took more out of me than I thought it would.

I almost make it all the way home without making a decision, but I make a quick turn into the parking lot of QFC. I don't cook, never had a knack for it nor the interest, but I should try to grab something. I wander up and down the aisles without really looking at anything, picking out the first things my hand gravitates towards.

It's more pathetic than I want to admit: a frozen lasagna, salad mix, and some dressing. I don't know what Olivia likes, so I get Italian and ranch. But before I get lost again, I check out and leave.

I put my keys in the door, and before I can even turn it the door yanks open.

"Hey." Olivia says, giving me a bright smile. "Welcome back home."

"Thanks," I say, feeling self-conscious about the paper bags I'm holding.

"Ooh! What did you get?" She grabs one of the bags from me and rummages around in it as we both walk inside. "Is this seriously all you eat?"

I stop right inside the door. "Have you been cooking?"

"Yeah," she says, putting the bag she stole from me on the counter. "I wanted you to come home to a nice meal! But you basically have nothing."

"So then what are you cooking?" I ask, slipping off my shoes and walking in. She has the one beat up pot I own on the stove, steam rising from it as it bubbles. There's sizzling from a pan behind it.

"Um... butter pasta with vegetables, I guess?" She turns to me, wrinkling her nose. "All you had were frozen vegetables, hidden behind the mountains of Stouffer's in the freezer."

"I think my mom bought that last time she visited, actually."

She laughs out loud, then, having looked in the bag I just set down on the counter. "Why did you buy two different dressings? Are we having salad every night?"

"A growing girl needs to eat her veggies, okay?" I put my hands up in mock surrender.

"You can't say I'm not your baby cousin anymore and then turn around and be such a

dad

." She sticks her tongue out at me and turns back around, stirring what's in the pan.

"Dad? You keep that up and I'll ground you."

"Okay, dad. Go wash your hands so we can eat, alright?"

I shake my head, going to do exactly that. I change into something more comfortable and re-emerge. In that short amount of time Olivia's put the pasta into bowls and then placed them on the table. My stomach growls again as I look down at the bowls.

"Come sit, daddy!" She says brightly, and it takes everything in me not to show anything outwardly. I know it's normal, that she didn't mean anything by it, but hearing daddy come from her lips is almost enough to make me weak. The last girl I was seeing was into calling me that, and it'd unlocked something in me--something that I didn't want to bring into my relationship with me cousin.

I can feel that my cheeks are a little warm and hope she doesn't notice as I scoot in. As I run my eyes over the food, my inappropriate feelings fades away. Instead, my heart pangs, because I can't remember the last time someone's cooked for me. I never moved back home after graduating a couple of years ago, and working in finance keeps me busy enough the whole year that I haven't properly gone back home to visit.

"It looks delicious, Olivia," I say, and I mean it.

"It's nothing." She sounds embarrassed, covering it up with a bite of her food. I dig in, too, making a sizeable dent in my portion before she speaks again. "I had to learn how to cook for myself. For when the times she disappeared. Or forgot. Or decided I didn't deserve to eat."

I put down my fork. "For fuck's sake, Olive. Seriously, why didn't you tell anyone?"

She shrugs, continuing to eat. After a moment I follow suit, but my heart's not in it anymore. My mind wanders, thinking about the signs. Not that there was that much--I grew up a couple hours away, so it wasn't like we were seeing Olivia and Aunt Melody every day--but there was enough. And even now, thinking about how we called Olivia string bean, after how thin she became after she grew tall, felt worse, too. Because maybe she actually didn't have enough to eat at home.

"We can have the lasagna tomorrow, if you really want it."

"I'm not some fiend for frozen food, alright? It's just easier." I feel like I need to justify myself against the teasing judgment in her voice, and briefly I wonder how she does it, oscillating between normalcy and revealing the most upsetting things in the most offhand way.

"Yeah, well now you have me. So rejoice, Jack's body! Nutrients at last."

"I thought you were cool once." I say, finishing up the last of my pasta.

"When you weren't watching me play in the dirt as you smoked your pipe on the porch?" She sniggers.

"I can make fun of my age but you're not allowed to, you infant."

"Infant?" She laughs.

I pick up my plate and head to the sink. There's a small mess of dirty dishes and utensils stacked atop a cutting board I didn't even know I owned.

"I'll do it," she says, getting up from the table. "You should rest."

"You're not even done eating." I look at her half-eaten pasta. "You make dinner, I do dishes. Good? Good."

"Just leave it for me to do." She pouts, but sits back down and starts eating again.

Even though I don't cook, I've always been great at doing the dishes. I'm almost done by the time she sidles up next to me and slides her plate into the sink.

"Thanks." She says, getting on her tiptoes to press a kiss against my cheek. I suppress my smile, and then bump her with my hip so she goes flying to the side. "Jack!"

I laugh as she swats my arm.

The rest of the evening is quiet. In my room I put a show on, angling my computer's monitor towards the bed, how I usually do after work. Olivia pads in and sits next to me, picking up the beat up teddy bear that sits next to my pillow.

"I didn't think you'd keep dolls on your bed." She says.

I pluck it from her and put it in my lap. "Don't insult Geoffrey like that. He's not a doll, he's a ferocious bear."

She wrinkles her nose. "You're acting like you're not like, twenty five years old."

"Twenty three," I correct her, and give Geoffrey back to her. "And what's wrong with a little bear?"

"Nothing, I guess." She's quiet for a while, hugging Geoffrey to her chest. "Did you buy Geoffrey?"

"He was a gift. From an ex-girlfriend."

"You're kidding," she says, sitting up. "I didn't even know you had any girlfriends at all."

"She was my girlfriend in high school." I crack a smile. "Besides, some of us have the luxury of keeping our love lives private."

"Yeah. My mom kinda freaked after she found out about Abby."

"I would've freaked too, if you showed up at my house with her. Not the gay part. More the full sleeve tattoos and dirty attitude part."

"I'm not gay, I'm just..." She trailed off, and then stuck Geoffrey back in my lap. "Anyways. Is Geoffrey's mama the reason you haven't dated since?"

"I have dated. Just, you know. Casually."

"Ew." She said. "On second thought, give Geoffrey back to me. Can't have him knowing his dad is a womanizer."

I laugh off her comment and we return to watching the show. Or at least, we 'watch' it. She scrolls through her phone and I try to let my brain mellow. Between not getting enough sleep last night and dealing with the pandemonium at work, I'm exhausted, and that's how I fall asleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night. My first thought is that there's another body in the bed. The second thought, which comes more slowly than it should, is the realization that it's Olivia.

I don't remember how I fell asleep, but it certainly wasn't like this, with Olivia's back pressed against me and my arms around her waist. My nose is buried in her hair, too, and it smells like a cross of the bottle of barely-used conditioner in my shower and her scent.