Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

“Can’t. I have to fit into my wedding gown.”

“Sooo … my fries are void of calories?”

“Yep. They only have the power to make the person who ordered them fat.” She pauses mid-chew with half the fry still sticking out of her mouth. “Shit! Look at you, Flower. You’re a junk food addict with a bony ass. Everything in the universe has to find balance. So if these fries aren’t making you fat then…” she spits out the fry “…dammit! I’m not going to fit into my dress and it’s going to be all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Yes, you’re a terrible influence on me. Would it kill you to get a salad once in a while? Skinny people die too, you know?”

“I eat salad.”

“When?” She stabs a piece of lettuce like she’s spear fishing.

“Almost every day.” I laugh. “When you don’t finish yours because you eat too many of my fries.”

She wrinkles her nose and squints at me. I giggle and take a huge bite of my hamburger, ketchup and grease dribble onto my plate.

She grabs her phone and snaps a picture.

“What the heck?” I protest through a mouthful of sandwich.

“All you celebs forget the paparazzi is just waiting to capture your embarrassing moments.”

“Are you seriously still sending pictures to Oliver?”

She smirks. “I am now.”

As I trench my way through all the required reading for this week, I get a text from Oliver. I was expecting a call or even better, some Skype-X.

Oliver: Having dinner with Brice & Mitchell. Talk to you tomorrow.

Me: I’ll be up, call me when you’re done.

Oliver: It’ll be late your time. Tomorrow. Night, my love.

And there I go … deflating like a leaky balloon. It’s one night, I know that. However, lately our phone conversations have been cut short, usually by Caroline’s parents or one of Oliver’s clients. Our messages have been less consistent, and Skype-X hasn’t happened for several weeks. Next week is Thanksgiving and Oliver has yet to purchase a plane ticket.

I have zero leverage to be angry with him or even to have a pity party for myself. Oliver is in Portland because I told him to go. I imagined him sorting through his issues with Caroline and her family, or visiting Melanie’s grave. The naive but hopeful part of me dared to imagine him getting some help for himself too. But what I didn’t envision was dinner with the partners, lunch with clients, and less and less communication with me.

Me: Love you <3

Wait.

Wait some more.

Needy.

Nervous.

Going crazy!

I read two more chapters then check my phone. Nothing. I brush my teeth and wash my face. Nothing. Then just as I crawl in bed with Rosenberg and my English assignment, my phone vibrates.

Oliver: Yep!

Yep? YEP! His response to I love you is yep?

I’m angry … really angry. Swiping my finger across my phone screen, I contemplate calling Alex, but I know she’s at Sean’s tonight. Then I consider calling Jackie. She told me to call her any time about anything. But what would I say? Hey, sorry to wake you, but Oliver said “yep.”

Yeah, she might start charging me if that’s the type of craziness I start calling her about.

This morning calls for extra coffee. I really need to treat sleep like it’s of vital importance to my body. Maybe I can catch up over the holidays. Yeah right, dealing with Bridezilla and a bachelorette party. Sounds like I’ll be getting lots of sleep.

I take Rosenberg out once more before I head off to class. Grabbing my bag, I notice I missed a text from Oliver this morning.

Oliver: Good morning. Watching the sunrise and thinking of you.

Ugh! I ignore his message until I can decipher if my mood is forgiving and cheerful or begrudging and spiteful. As I head out the door, messenger bag slung over my shoulder and my insulated cup of coffee in the side pocket, I decide to be somewhere in the middle.

Me: Okay

My unstoppable smirk shows my inward satisfaction.

Oliver: Are you in class?

Me: Nope

Oliver: Are you okay?

And here comes payback …

Me: Yep

My phone rings.

“Hi.” I answer in the most diplomatic voice I can muster.

“Have I done something wrong?”

I answer without answering. My hesitation says it all.

“Am I supposed to know what I did?”

I look ahead. My building is approximately fifty yards away, so I can either lie and play the immature relationship game—hang up and be pissed all day … still immature—or lay it all out in plain sight.

“I was disappointed when we didn’t get to talk last night, which I can live with. But then you said yep .”

“Yep?”

“Yep.”

“You said yep to me this morning.”

I sigh. “Because you said it to me last night. I was making a point.”

“When did I say yep to you last night? And what point were you trying to make?” I feel the exasperation in his voice.

“I said I love you and you texted yep . My point is that nobody likes to be told yep!”

“It’s just an informal word for yes!”

“Well it was the wrong response, Oliver! I love you is a statement, not a fucking question!” I cringe the moment I realize people are staring at me. I’m really not the girl who throws around f-bombs in public. Veering onto the grass, I hide behind a large tree trunk.

“Vivian I … I’m sorry. I was in the middle of dinner last night and trying to text you while fielding questions from Brice and Mitchell. I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop.” I blow out a long breath. “It’s not your fault. I overreacted. I’ve been a little stressed lately and I just …” I’m dying to say the words I feel, I miss you , but I don’t. “I’m sorry. I have to get to class.”

“Vivian?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

I smirk and roll my eyes, feeling embarrassed, ridiculous, and in spite of my scholarly surroundings, a bit stupid.

“Yep.”

Oliver releases the most genuine and spontaneous laugh that erases all the tension from the past five minutes.

At five thirty there’s a knock at the door. It’s a delivery guy from my favorite Indian restaurant, compliments of Oliver. An hour later there’s another knock on the door: a flower delivery guy. I set them on the counter and read the card.

I read that fifteen roses means “I’m truly sorry, please forgive me.” So I sent you eighteen because three means “I love you.”

~ Oliver

After the initial ah-I’m-the-luckiest-girl-ever moment fades, I chastise myself for my childish, insecure, teenaged girl behavior. He has to wonder if he’s trading one completely unstable woman for another. I pray to God he hasn’t told anyone about our argument and his guilty need to apologize. I can just imagine that conversation.

“ Hey, Oliver, why the grand gesture?”

“I texted Vivian the word ‘yep.’”

If that doesn’t say psycho alert, then I don’t know what does.

I know he’s probably with Caroline, but I can’t resist shooting off a quick text.

Me: I’m not worthy.

I’m surprised by his immediate response.

Oliver: Tell me about it. I just got the photo. You have some serious explaining to do!