Page 73 of Olivia's Only Pretending
“You two back there whispering in your own little bubble? It’s rare I see my big sister acting like a dorky teenager. I don’t think you even acted like that when you were a teenager, so credit to Victor for bringing it out in you.”
“Well, I’m glad you find my complicated, messy situation with Victor entertaining,” I said.
“It’s not that complicated. Take it from a girl in a very complicated situationship.” Gracie pulled up in front of my house, putting the car in park. “What you and Victor have is pretty simple—you’re justmaking itcomplicated.”
I swallowed. “Easy to say from the outside looking in.”
“What, are you embarrassed or something that he’s younger?”
“No, not at all,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. “I’m scared because he’s never had anything serious before.”
“Just because something wasn’t long-term doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in love.”
“Gracie, he’s never even said theLword,” I said. “I heard his mom and sister talking about it. It would be so new for him, but we’d be serious right away. There’s no getting around it.”
“Well, what’s so bad about it being new for him?” Gracie grabbed her plastic cup from the cupholder.
“I don’t want to be his first love and lesson learned, while he’s the one I’ve been waiting for,” I said, my voice breaking on the last words. “I’ve been through some heartbreaks, but I don’t think I could recover from that.” Tears burned at the images playing out in my mind of letting myself love Victor, letting him in, bravely naming what it was between us … then losing him. Knowing exactly what I was missing out on.
“But who says his first love can’t last forever? What makes you think it has to end?” Gracie asked as I reached for the door handle. “And hey, maybe it’ll be the first timeyoufeel love that big, too?”
Twenty-One
When I got home, Gracie’s words lingered in my mind.
I’d voiced my worst fears out loud—the fear I’d let myself love Victor just to watch it fall apart the way first loves often do.
But, instead of agreeing or commiserating, Gracie looked at me with hope in her eyes. An earnest, contagious kind of hope I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in so long.
When she asked what made me think first love couldn’t last, a door in my heart cracked open, just a little. Enough to let the hope in.
The wind was blowing hard outside my window, bringing in a fall cold front. As I wandered into my kitchen in the dark to turn on my kettle, trees clattered against the window. I pulled my robe’s sash tighter, leaning against my kitchen counter as I waited for the water to boil.
I looked down at my fuzzy socks. They were the pumpkin ones from Victor. The night he gave me these, I thought how he was so different from the other men in my life—men who let me down, who didn’t show up, who walked out the door.
Victor showed up. He was something sturdy I could rely on.
A couple of weeks before Ryan showed up on campus, Victor and I had been putting the finishing touches on my downstairs bathroom renovation. I was in overalls and a burnt orange tank top, with my messy ponytail coming undone. Victor was in a black T-shirt and ripped-up jeans. Both of us were a mess, crouching down on the bathroom floor, trying to put the finishing touches on my new sink.
Victor was digging through his toolbox. “Oh, man. I left the wrench we need at my place.” Victor’s place was a quaint brick townhouse on the other side of downtown. He had an attached garage and a cute front stoop. I knew this because I’d picked up Watson at his house many times but never been invited inside.
We’d spent so much time together, but never once had I seen Victor’s house. His bachelor pad, as my mom would’ve called it.
“I’ll need to run over there. It’ll be like twenty minutes,” he said, standing up.
“I’ll come, too!” I bounced up.
He shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. It’ll be quick.”
“I want to come,” I said, trailing behind him out of the bathroom.
He was looking around for his wallet and phone. I grabbed them from the entryway table, placing them in his hands. “Oh, thank you,” he said, looking down at his hands, then his eyes lifted to mine. “You sure you want to tag along?”
“I’m sure,” I said, slipping my feet into my sandals. “It’s about time you show me your place.”
He had plants on his front stoop, and I liked imagining him thoughtfully watering them throughout the week. Victor barefoot on his front porch, checking the soil in the pot.
While I was looking around, Victor unlocked the front door for us. “Well, here it is. My house.”
