Page 93 of Waking Olivia

I lost her.

It’s not that I ever thought she’d be mine. I’d just refused to consider that there’d come a day when she wouldn’t be. I thought I could steal all these moments from her. At my mother’s house, on the track, climbing. Store them up as if they’d do me a damn bit of good once she’s gone.

I’ve been so selfish with her for so long. I never should have brought her to my mother’s house. I could have found another way, but I wanted it to be me who was with her, me who saved her.

Tonight, far too late, I finally did the right thing, and I want more than anything to go back in her apartment and undo it. I think of that catch in her voice when she spoke about waiting and I start to get back out of the car.

And then I stop myself.

I’m not letting her piss her future away so she can come live on a debt-ridden farm. I’m finally going to do what’s right for her, no matter how much it kills me to do it.

“Iwentto see Olivia yesterday,” my mom tells me.

It’s been a long three days. I haven’t seen or heard from her once. I just want to know how she’s doing. Okay, that’s a lie. I want to see her face, bury my nose in her hair, hold onto her and stay just like that for as long as she’ll allow.

“How was she?” I ask.

“Just like you. Doing her level best to pretend she’s okay when she’s clearly not.”

“You sound like you’re blaming me.”

“Iamblaming you, Will. You’re in love with her. Have you even told her that?”

I push away from the table. After everything I’ve done wrong, I can’t believe that I’m finally doing the right thing and she’s mad. “It wouldn’t do any good, Mom. I can’t be with her anyway.”

“Will, for God’s sake. She’s a junior. It’s not that long until the student thing isn’t even an issue.”

“Right. And then what? She comes and lives on some shitty farm, with no coach and no group to train with? Where she can’t get endorsements and doesn’t have the money to fly to big races? She gives up her future forthis?”

“You can’t know how things will play out. That’s over a year away.”

“Mom,” I say, rising to conclude this conversation, one I’ve had with myself many times. “I know the only two things I need to know. That I can’t leave and she can’t stay.”

By Saturday night, the night of the banquet, I think I’d cut off a limb just to lay eyes on her again. I crave her like a drug. It won’t solve anything and I don’t care. I just want to see her.

I’ve spent the entire week arguing with myself, and each day I grow a little more desperate, my arguments growing wilder and less probable by the minute.Maybe I couldis how every single thought begins, each one borne of desperation.Maybe I could get a third job so I could fly out to see her. Maybe once Brendan’s out of school I’ll be able to afford it.Maybe she’ll decide on her own that she doesn’t want to run after college.

It’s weakness on my part and I just need to get through this banquet without giving into it. Probably with a great deal of assistance from my close friend Jack Daniels.

My mother is already here, sitting with Peter. I have no idea howthathappened. I could have taken her if she wanted to go so badly. I trust Peter, but I hope he’s not getting the wrong idea about this.

I head to the bar. I’m going to need something, possibly a whole lot of something to make this experience palatable. I grab a beer and drink half of it before I even head to the section of the room reserved for the track team.

I’m halfway there when my eyes meet Jessica’s. I suppose she’s here in some public relations capacity, although she somehow managed not to work at it last year. She’s been leaving me tearful, angry voicemails every day since Thanksgiving. In roughly half the calls she tells me she misses me and wants to talk. In the other half, she tells me I’m going to be sorry I treated her the way I did.

Tonight, though, she’s the happy, social version of herself. She comes straight to me, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek. “Will!” she squeals. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Is it?” I ask, disengaging myself.

She laughs, linking her arm through mine. “Just because we’ve broken up doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, silly.”

“I don’t know, Jess. You said in that last message that my mother should have aborted me. I don’t say that to most of my friends.”

She waves it away. I wish she’d let go of my arm. “I was hurt, Will. You hurt me. But I’m okay now, really.”

Uh huh. “Good. Well, I better go sit.”

“Come sit with me,” she says, pulling at my elbow. “I saved you a seat.”

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