Page 111 of Waking Olivia

Peter, Brendan and Erin all join us that night at the farm, where Dorothy has made every food she knows I like. I don’t mention it to them, but it’s the first time anyone’s celebrated my birthday since I was 10, which makes even a small gathering feel a little overwhelming. I swallow hard and dig my nails into my hands to avoid tears when Dorothy comes out of the kitchen carrying a cake with my name on it, singing “Happy Birthday.” Sure, maybe I can cry now, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to start crying when I’mhappy. Dorothy gives me another dress, and Will gives me my favorite gift ever—new racing flats.

“How did you know?” I ask. I hate the shoes the school provides, but it’s something I’ve never mentioned to him.

He laughs. “You scowled every time you put them on. It was hard to miss.”

Much later, after we’ve come home and celebrated in other ways, he lies, sated and sleepy while I trace small circles on his back. His back fascinates me, still tan and all muscle. I’ve seen guys pose in a gym and look less cut than he does at rest.

“We just moved in together,” he says out of nowhere, turning to face me, “and we’ve never actually been on a date.”

I shrug. “We’ve eaten in a restaurant together.”

“With mymom. Usually fighting.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” I say, studying him. “Does it bother you?”

He rises up on his forearm, lips brushing one temple, and then the other. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You remember that dress you wore on Thanksgiving?” he asks. “I spent the entire meal imagining you in that dress on a date with Brendan and it made me crazy that it couldn’t be me. And now it can be.”

I smile at him. “I’ll put the dress on right now if it means that much to you.”

He grins. “It’s not just the dress. It’s also that you haven’t ever really dated—”

“I’ve been on dates.”

“With someone youliked?” he asks. “Someone you planned to keep seeing?”

“No,” I sigh.

“Then you should probably try it while you have the chance, Olivia,” he says softly, his mouth pressed to my ear, “because I’m going to be the last guy you ever date.”

I want to not smile at that but I can’t help myself. “Thelast, huh? Pretty sure of yourself.”

He rolls us over until I’m on my back and looms over me, clearly no longersleepy. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

And I’msure about him too. But the very next day, when he tells me he’s going to the farm and doesn’t ask me to come with him, I grow a little less certain.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. The days leading to the move were crazy because I had so much catching up to do at school, which makes this only our second full day together. Does he already needspace? It hurts.

Part of me, the old me, wants to say “Fine,asshole. Go.”

But the other part of me, the newer one, trusts him enough to ask the question. “You don’t want me to come with you?” I venture hesitantly.

“Yes, I do,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. “But you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m taking you out tonight and I want it to feel like a real date, not one where we’re in the bathroom at the same time while we get ready, and then end up having sex and never leaving.”

“Why?” I ask. “I like staying in with you.” It’s comfortable. It’s what I know.

“Because I’m wooing you.”

“I’m already wooed,” I say. “Take off those jeans and I’ll show you just how wooed I am.”

For a single second he glances at me, his resolve faltering a bit, but then he grabs his T-shirt and pulls it over his head. “I’ll pick you up at 5:30.”

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