Days became weeks, and just like that, the city was covered in Valentine’s Day paraphernalia.
“All this Valentine’s stuff gets worse every year,” Bernice complained as we walked out of our favorite Italian restaurant with Eric. It sat just across the street from the clinic and had already been festooned in red hearts and lights, even though Valentine’s wasn’t for another ten days.
“Agreed,” I said, leaning into the hopelessly single and childless role the universe had apparently handpicked me to play.
“Maybe we should find someplace else to eat lunch until February 15th,” Bernice groused.
“Or maybe instead of being bitter about Valentine’s Day, you two should come to my place for Lunar New Year’s Eve tonight,” Eric suggested. “Byron’s coming over, and we’re going to make Korean rice cake soup and kimchi dumplings.”
“How is watching you two make heart eyes at each other in the kitchen going to make us feel any better?” Bernice asked.
“Maybe it will inspire you to go out and find a man of your own instead of complaining about everyone else’s good time,” Eric answered.
Bernice twisted up her lips. “You didn’t find that man! That was all Olivia! There goes that Korean appropriation again. I see you, K-Pop.”
“Okay, it goes both ways,” Eric shot back. “Your thirty-something skin doesn’t look a day over 21 because you stan those Korean skincare products.”
“Also, because black don’t crack.”
“You two, please let’s not do this again?” I said, rubbing at my temples. With the rise of K-Pop to the world stage, who appropriated what had become their favorite back and forth argument.
“Korean doesn’t crack either,” Eric sniped at Bernice as if I’d said nothing at all. “But there’s a difference between not cracking and making you look ten years younger. And if you don’t back down from this racial argument we’re having in the middle of the street, I won’t tell you about this new YouTuber I found the other day—this black and Thai girl named Erin from Missouri with skin like ‘Oh, my God!’ Plus, she does all these make-up looks and multiracial hair braiding tutorials.”
“Seriously?” Bernice asked, hooking her arm through Eric’s. “Because I need some help, I can’t keep a braid in O2’s hair—wait, is that Garrett?”
We all looked up at her words to find Garrett shivering in a wool coat in front of the clinic’s door.
“Garrett?” I said, crossing the street. “What are you doing here?”
“Livvy,” he answered with a grave look. “We have to talk.”
19
Garrett hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw him at the fox hunt afterparty. Same handsome features, same swooped back hair, same Wall Street suit—no need for much tailoring. Everything fit well on his trim figure.
Yet, he felt like a stranger as we strolled side by side down the street from my clinic with no particular destination in mind.
He’d asked me to walk with him instead of meeting in my office, where it was warm. “This is a private matter, and I don’t want anyone else to overhear,” he’d explained then.
“How have you been, Olivia?” he asked now.
“I only have about thirty minutes to spare before my next patient.” I’d grown a lot less tolerant of small talk since my time with Phantom.
“Always busy,” he said with a wry smile. “I think that’s one of the things that drove us apart.”
Typically, I was all for acknowledging my part in any conflict, but in this case, I had to add. “That and Leighton’s mouth around your dick.”
Garrett winced at my language. But then, instead of defending himself, he said, “You’re right. What I did—what I let Leighton do at that party was unforgivable. And I’m incredibly sorry.”
“Okay.” I think the old Olivia would have been so eager to resolve this conflict; she would have added forgiveness or some sort of validation so the person who’d hurt her wouldn’t feel so bad.
But the new Olivia left it at that, even when the silence stretched out. Garrett was obviously waiting for the accommodating girlfriend he once knew to show up, but she was gone. And all that was left was me, wondering out loud, “Is that why you came? To say you’re sorry?”
“Yes,” he answered, smoothing a hand over his tie. “Also, I wanted to tell you that Leighton is no longer pregnant.”
That softened my shields. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Garrett. Is there anything I can do for you two? I have a lot of counseling referrals.”
An alarmed look passed over Garrett’s face as if he hadn’t quite been expecting me to respond in this fashion. “No, that won’t be necessary. Perhaps it’s for the best. I don’t want to place all the blame for what happened on Leighton or say that she tricked me, but—”
“Good, I’m glad you’re not saying that,” I answered, my sympathy switch flipping right back off. “I’m glad you’re not the kind of horrible guy who would sleep with another woman behind his fiancée’s back then claim that he was tricked as if he wasn’t there too.”