Page 2 of Time To Live Again

“So you say.” Cars ease forward. “Okay, listen. I need to go.”

“Fine,” he says, “but don’t forget to text like you promised. Me and Mom, every day.”

“Yeah. She’s going to flip out.”

“She’ll live. And so will you.”

“I know. Okay. Talk to you soon.” I disconnect the call.

I don’t like who I am now, but do I want to go back to the old me? She wasn’t perfect. Do I really expect perfection? I’m not sure what I want or need other than to be happy again. What will life be like when I return in a week? More of a disaster? Better than I expect?

The line moves forward again, still at a snail’s pace. I squeeze the steering wheel with sweaty hands—whether out of anticipation or dread, I can’t tell. My jumpy stomach doesn’t explain it either. I guess that could be the mocha not settling right, though.

I take a deep breath and say out loud, “It is time to be selfish, Olive!”

2

OLIVE

Iwalk through the automatic sliding glass doors of the Madrona Inn, stop short, and gasp. I thought the exterior was spectacular with its stunning brick-red siding and white shutters. White twinkle lights illuminated the trees and bushes around the entrance, and large wreaths accented the expansive picture windows, creating a warm welcome for guests. But this…this is spectacular. The spacious foyer is beautifully decorated for the holiday season, like something you’d see in a quaint country home magazine.

A wide, twelve- or thirteen-foot-tall balsam fir Christmas tree stands in the middle of the room, commanding attention with its abundance of white lights reflecting off delicate silver and crystal ornaments. Bushy red poinsettias fill the open space at the bottom of the tree. Evergreen garlands wrap around the wooden banisters of the staircase behind it and over the archways, adorned with silver balls, red ribbons, holly, and mistletoe. I’ll need to enjoy the festive decorations while I’m here before they’re taken down.

The smell of pine permeates the air. I take a deep breath and let it all sink in. It reminds me of my dad and his obsession with real Christmas trees. One glimpse of this place, and I’m sure he would’ve liked it here. I’ve been questioning my parents’ refusal to visit these islands since I left the ferry. The quaint villages I drove through on the way here, the natural beauty of the surroundings—this place is incredible, and it’s not summer or even sunny out. I don’t get it.

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket, and I clench my jaw. Mom won’t give up. Not that I expected anything different. I yank off my leather gloves and pull out the phone. The screen is blank. Strange.

The buzzing starts again, and I realize the noise is coming from the automatic sliding glass doors opening and closing behind me, almost clipping my big ass. I take a quick step forward and scan the area to see if anyone is around. The group of people at the far left in the reception area doesn’t seem to have noticed. I straighten my coat and lift my chin high. Nope. My cheeks aren’t sizzling from embarrassment. Not at all.

Great start.

I twitch when my phone actually vibrates in my hand. It’s been off since I drove onto the ferry. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Mom in the middle of a crowded deck. I turned the phone back on when I got here—only to find it flooded with missed calls and text messages. Some were from Andy warning me that Mom’s going bat-shit crazy because I haven’t answered her calls and angry messages.Shit.

Well, I’m here now, and there’s nothing she can do about it. I guess I’ll have to face her at some point. Check-in isn’t for another hour, but sooner would be better for this. I can’t wait until I’m in my room.

I stuff my gloves and my phone into my coat pockets and glance around for somewhere private. There’s a lounge to the right. I go over and peek inside. I’m relieved to find it empty. Our conversation doesn’t need an audience.

This room is as festive as the foyer with another gorgeous Christmas tree in front of a picture window. A plush, navy blue couch and matching armchairs, each adorned with cream-colored throw pillows, are arranged on an elegant blue and white oriental rug. The sitting area welcomes me to enjoy the warmth coming from the large, red-brick fireplace. Above the mantle, a mirror amplifies the size of the room. To the left, an expansive wooden bookcase, packed with colorful books, accents the wall.

Next to the doorway is a table with an assortment of teas and coffees for the guests to enjoy.Caffeine. My mouth waters, but I hold myself back. I might need something stronger than that after I talk to Mom. Is it too early for happy hour?

I park my large suitcase next to the couch and drape my forest green knit hat and black coat over the armrest. I drop my handbag on the couch and hold my hands out to the fire, absorbing the welcomed heat. I rise on my toes and catch my reflection in the mirror.Shit!My hair has formed an unruly halo around my head. Static crackles as I run my hand through it. Hoping to tame this disaster, I do it again, but the only thing that will help is water. With a closer look, I roll my eyes at the clear indentations on my forehead from my hat. Hey—it’s wintertime. What do people expect? Who cares anyway? It’s not like I’m trying to impress anybody here.

Once I’m warm enough, I sit on the cozy couch and let my body sink into the inviting cushions. I lift my phone out of the coat pocket and a call from Mom comes through. I take a deep breath and try to find my zone…wherever that is.

Swipe. “Hey, Mom,” I say as naturally as I can, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. But everything is different. So, so different.

“Don’t ‘hey Mom’ me, Olivia.” She only calls me Olivia when she’s fuming. It’s the same with Andy. “Where the hell are you? Our tracking system says you’re offline, and Andrew won’t tell me where you are. What is going on? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. For all I know, you’re lying in a ditch somewhere.” As dramatic as ever.

“I’m not home, and I’m obviously not dead.” Good thing I turned my tracking off when I left the house. Knowing her, she’d have followed me here.

“Don’t be smart with me. I’m sitting in your apartment with Andrew, and the only thing he’ll tell me is that you left and you’re fine.”

“He’s right.”

Most of my life she’s been a typical helicopter mom, even from a distance when I was in LA, but it’s gotten excessive since my dad died. She doesn’t know what to do with herself anymore and has latched onto me. I swear there’s a steady thrumming sound whenever she’s around.

But I am thirty as of today, not twelve. Weird, right? I do understand her need for control, but I’ve finally realized it’s not healthy. Not only because of her smothering behavior, but because I let her do it. I was never like this.Never.