Olive places a hand on her chest. "Oh, no. Good gravy. I didn’t mean me." His eyes dart in my direction. "Nope, not her either. I have a sister-in-law who is adorable. I’d love to set you up sometime… as friends, of course."
He beams. "Yeah, that’d be cool. I’ll write my number down for her." Pulling a notepad out of his apron pocket, he scribbles on the sheet, then tears it off and hands it to Olive. "What would you ladies like to order?"
We agree on sharing a couple of appetizers instead of getting our own meals: steamed shrimp, hush puppies, and calamari. And for drinks, she orders a Pellegrino with lime, while I opt for one with fresh pineapple. Manny swaggers away—a little more pep in his step than when he approached, if I’m not mistaken.
"Not going to lie, I wasn’t sure where you were going with that whole thing for a minute," I say, pulling my sunglasses on.
"He’s perfect for Nora."
"I thought so too, just from an objectively everyone has to be better than Thad perspective."
She throws her head back. "Ugh, I know. Mabel won’t let any of us say anything, but I literally want to shower after being around him just to wash the ick off."
We tumble into a fit of laughter—one that feels easy, like I've known her forever. Manny drops our drinks off, smiling at both of us.
Olive straightens as we gain control of ourselves. "I have a bone to pick with you."
Having just taken a sip of my drink, I nearly spit it out. "What did I do? I barely know you."
"You told me you were going to tell me a secret." She points her finger at me. "And I thought it was going to be about themagical puzzle book. Since you basically let Ariella do all the talking and assuming yesterday."
"She is good at assuming, isn’t she?" I snip, watching Olive’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline.
That may have been too far. I meant what I told Max. She grew on me yesterday. I just want my cousin to be happy, and it seems like she’s not going to give him that.
Olive pats my hand across the table. "I know she’s annoying you because of How. It bothers me too, but everyone has their own path. Would it be easier if I told you what happened to me last year?"
Well, I guess that resolves that. Max must have shared that he told me.
"Sure, I’d love to hear your take on it."
Olive recounts the whole thing from beginning to end, without sparing a single detail. I’m in awe of her. My situation, it’s something I can avoid or refuse to look at. I can’t imagine having my feelings in an ever-changing tattoo on my arm. I also didn’t ask for this and am not quite convinced it’s not all just a ruse. My mind could be playing tricks on me, the same way a magician does a sleight of hand. Maybe I’ve imagined things happening that aren’t really there.
"And now it’s just there permanently? Your love story?" I pluck a shrimp off the platter that Manny delivered mid-story and pop it into my mouth.
"Yep. But it’s sort of beautiful, right?" She twists her arm, pointing to the swirling colors embedded in her skin.
"It’s stunning. I have only one question." I sip my drink, washing down the bite I finished chewing. "Do you regret it? Asking for help like that, then being given something so life-changing? It had to be confusing."
"No." Olive picks her fingernails. "I did. I wanted nothing more than to be done with it, done with Irina. But in the end, thegift she gave me is the one that led me to Sam. I don’t know if we would be where we are today if I hadn’t learned the lessons I needed to learn."
Her answer is poetic yet again, vastly different from my experience. I have learned nothing from the clues—nothing of substance, anyway.
"That’s beautiful." I scooch back from the table. "I’ll be right back. I’m going to use the restroom." Standing, I walk toward the glass door that leads inside, but Olive slides up next to me.
"What? I have to go too." She shrugs, pulling open the door.
"And our table? We could have taken turns." I slip past her, headed for the back of the restaurant.
She laughs. "I reserved it for the afternoon. No one is stealing it."
I guess she expected this conversation to take a lot longer than it has. We push into the two-stall bathroom, each taking one. When I’m three-quarters through relieving myself, a voice rings out, one I don’t recognize.
"Hello, Olivia. It’s been a long time."
That’s weird. I didn’t hear her exit the stall. I shift forward, looking at the ground under the wall to my left. Her feet are still there—painted toenails, brown sandals. The room is painfully quiet, as if Olive froze in place.
"Stop it, Irina. You guys made up. You’re not toying with her," Beth’s voice rings out.