Page 55 of Is This for Real?
“I’m sorry I talked about your drawings; I was also mad because I’d just realized that you probably weren’t dating. But I know it’s my fault that you don’t trust me. I feel guilty that I wasn’t there for you when Mom and Dad died.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty. The reason I don’t trust you is not because you weren’t there for me when Mom and Dad died. It’s because you don’t protect my confidences.”
Olivia steps back and looks down. She then gazes at me. “I’m sorry.” Olivia hugs me. “I really am.”
“Maybe you should think of my secrets as protected by attorney-client privilege,” I say.
“I will try,” Olivia says. “But I still feel guilty. I shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. I was working and I had John, and it was easier for me to believe that. But I shouldn’t have. I mean, I knew how upset I was—that Daddy wouldn’t walk me down the aisle and Mom wouldn’t hold my babies.”
I hug Olivia as I tear up. “We have each other, at least. I knew you were working eighty hours a week. I knew you were busy. I don’t blame you. And I didn’t want you to worry. And I got through it and now I’m fine.”
“Except that you’re faking a relationship,” Olivia said.
“Touché. But my feelings for Rory run deeper than my feelings for Michael. The relationship is not for real, but the feelings are.”
“Oh, Penelope, do you think he feels the same way?”
“I was going to ask you, Ms. Perceptive.”
“I don’t know him as well as you.” She scrunches up her face and then nods. “He might. I’d say he was on edge, too.” She suddenly hugs me. “I can’t believe you told me how much you like Rory.”
I can’t believe I did, either, and it worries me. I say, “So, I’m trusting you again, but please don’t tell anyone else.”
Olivia says, “I won’t tell anyone else.”
John pokes his head in the kitchen. “Ready to go, Olivia?”
She kisses me on the cheek. “Thanks for babysitting. And thanks for forgiving me.”
“It’s fine. Unless you tell Theresa and Jamie. You promise not to tell them, right?”
“I promise.” She tears up.
We hug tightly, and then she leaves.
I bring the plates to the dining table, telling Thomas and Amber that we have about five minutes until dinner. I can’t believe we didn’t fool Olivia. I thought we were convincing, given that I keep falling for it myself. She is more perceptive regarding me than I give her credit for. Myrtle and Bernie seemed to believe it, but they don’t know us as well. Maybe Jamie was so forward because he didn’t believe it, either. It’s a bit depressing if no one believes it—as if I really am not Rory’s type.
Telling Olivia how much I like Rory made me feel better. A little. I was hoping she’d seen some sign that Rory felt the same. But no. Operation Mundane Misery is still a go.
Chapter sixteen
Roryisdrivingourrental car out to Fire Island as rain pelts the front window. It’s cold. It’s definitely an auspicious start for a disastrous time. This should definitely kill my feelings for Rory. We left late, and there is only one last ferry to Saltaire. Rory even suggested we leave tomorrow morning instead, but I said we should go.
Rory is concentrating hard on the road, as visibility is limited. I feel bad now that I’m putting him through this. On the Cross-Island Parkway, it’s bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Google Maps suggests alternate routes. We discuss it and decide to try it—even if it does look like it’s a bunch of back roads. Normally, my preference would be to stay on the known main route and just sit in the traffic.
My parents often fought while driving; they’d yell at each other for not communicating driving instructions clearly. Once, my dad pulled over and refused to drive farther unless my mom figured it out. Maneuvering through back roads should be a good test, but also, if we sit in traffic, we definitely won’t make the last ferry. And although I have a contingency plan, it involves a two-mile walk in the rain from the public beach parking lot. A bridge connects Fire Island to Long Island, but cars are not allowed past that parking lot unless they have a full-time resident permit. As the rain pelts down, even I’m not willing to do that for the sake of Operation Mundane Misery.
The wipers swipe back and forth as we turn off and head down a series of winding roads. I direct Rory, following the directions on my phone. It’s hard to see ahead, but Rory is not complaining. I am impressed.
“I’m sorry. We should have waited to go in the morning,” I say.
Rory glances at me. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, too.” And then after a beat, “So, did you volunteer for this, or did Jamie talk you into it?”
“It was all my idea.”
Rory connects his phone to the car, and the mood changes from dark and depressing to intimate as he plays the “All In, All Good” party playlist. He smiles at me. And I give him a huge, grateful smile back. We’re in a snug bubble, and the warmth fills my heart. He makes me so happy.
I look out my side window at the gray, coursing rain.
