“I told you about my dad. About his heart attack last year,” Olivia said, staring down the aisle at the can. “He’s doing okay, but . . . I know he doesn’t like me to worry. But it’s not like I worry for no reason. Dad’s not always the most forthcoming. He drove himself to the hospital when it happened. He only let the nurse call me when he found out he was going to be admitted overnight.” Her voice cracked and she sniffed hard. “When he tells me he’s fine, I can’t help but worry that his definition of fine and mine aren’t the same.” Olivia gave another one of those bone-weary-sounding sighs that made Margot want to bundle her up and take her back home. It had only been a couple weeks, but already Margot’s brain had made the transition to thinking of the apartment as theirs and not just hers. “So I asked Brad to let me know if he hears anything. Dad’s still friendly with Brad’s parents. He and Dad run into each other sometimes. They go to the same football watch parties. It’s a small town. People hear things I don’t from fifty miles away.”
“Do they ever,” Margot muttered under her breath. “My dad’s the resident busybody, apparently, remember?”
Olivia cracked a smile, the first in too long.
Margot inhaled deeply and nodded slowly. “Okay. So you asked Brad to keep you posted if something happens to your dad.” She couldn’t say she agreed with that plan, but she could understand where Olivia was coming from. “But he calls you out of the blue. About garage door openers?”
“Stupid things,” Olivia agreed, head bobbing. “Like I said, I’ve asked him to stop, but it’s not worth getting upset over. I answer, I try to keep it brief. You heard. Then I let him go.” Olivia’s lips flattened. “It’s irritating, but I can’t block him. What if he calls and it’s actually something important?”
A throat cleared. The woman wearing the fur coat with the cart full of mayo stood, brows raised impatiently as she stared at the freezer behind them. “You’re blocking the frozen yogurt.”
“Shoot, sorry.” Olivia offered a smile and stepped out of the way. Rather than merely shuffling to the side, she nodded toward the front of the store. Margot followed after her, swiping the can off the floor on the way to the checkout.
“I’ll get it.” Margot waved Olivia off, paying for the cat food in addition to the ice cream, candy, and ingredients for cookies.
Olivia tucked her wallet away with a smile. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t until they were back out on the street that Margot circled back around, not ready to drop the subject. “It sounds to me like you’ve requested a boundary and Brad continues to ignore it. That’s not okay, Liv. I know you care about your dad, I . . .” Margot swallowed, the next words out of her mouth almost I love that about you.
Margot’s heart skipped a beat before crashing hard against the wall of her chest. All the blood in her head seemed to drain south, leaving her dizzy. Where the hell had that come from? She didn’t love Olivia. No. If Margot loved anything, it was Olivia’s endless capacity to care about people, strangers and friends and family and stray cats alike.
She sucked in a lungful of air. It wasn’t anything worth freaking out over. Even if she did love Liv, Margot loved lots of things. Ice cream. Tequila. Her air fryer. Her friends. No big. Olivia cared, and so what if Margot loved that about her?
It wasn’t like she was in love with her.
“It just pisses me off,” Margot said, picking up as if she hadn’t stopped midsentence and gone silent for a beat too long, too telling. “I am—I am incensed on your behalf because . . . damn it, Liv. You deserve better than Brad trying to con you into talking to him for whatever bullshit he calls you about. He is a grown-up. He can find a garage door opener without having to resort to calling his ex-wife. The ex-wife he took for granted. I guarantee you he knows why you answer, and he’s counting on that. He’s counting on you being kind. Counting on you wondering and worrying, and if on the off chance he isn’t? If he’s just selfish and oblivious? That’s not any better. That’s not an excuse. Your boundaries and your feelings and what you want matter. You deserve better, Olivia.”
By the time she’d finished speaking—ranting—she was practically panting on the street corner, her face flushed so severely that she was surprised the misty rain falling around them didn’t turn to steam against her skin.
Olivia blinked, spun-gold lashes clumping together. Light from the streetlamp reflected off her eyes, bringing out the flecks of gold in her irises and turning the center ring of deep forest green that hugged her pupil into a brighter, brilliant shade of emerald.