equally extreme. As Caleb and Lincoln talk about classes, my thoughts drift back to Olivia. When she said she was worried about losing me, there was an edge of vulnerability there that had me wanting to lean forward and kiss her because I knew words would never be able to sort out my feelings. And I almost kissed her again yesterday on the sidewalk before deciding to go to the aquarium. But I saw the hesitation, and I knew with Matt, and Ellen, and Miriam, and her dad, the last thing she needed was more decisions.
“So, what’s the real story?” Lincoln asks, bumping my elbow when Caleb gets a call.
“What?”
He scoffs. “Olivia.”
I suck in a breath that I release in a fast rush. “How’d you get past all the warning signs when you were into Rae?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t. I just started to fear not being around her more than the potential risks of being with her.”
“I am … in theory. But, I’ve also realized you don’t get a say in who you love—otherwise, life would be a whole hell of a lot easier. I don’t envy your position, especially with her being Coach’s daughter, but if you like her, then the rest doesn’t really matter.” He tips his head at me, leaving me with that sentiment before he goes to find Rae.
I get a second helping of ravioli as Caleb sits back down, and I ask him about his current videogame. Caleb is our balance—our sanity. He is the calm in every storm and is always there without ever being asked. While I was laid up after surgery, he got me food and played videogames and took a day off classes. The others banded around me as well. Lincoln moved my bedroom around so I could watch TV because with my leg elevated, it blocked half the screen. He also missed classes and binged HBO with me. And Pax drove me to every appointment and had the decency not to record me when I woke up from surgery and told him I couldn’t feel my nuts.
Caleb tells me about the game and his score, the weak points of the development and storyline, and how he isn’t sure he’s going to continue playing it while we clean up the kitchen and wipe down the counters.
“I’ll see you guys on the flip side,” I call out, heading to my room upstairs, though it’s still relatively early. I sit at my desk and call my parents.
“How’s my favorite youngest son?” Mom answers on the second ring.
I chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “Hey, Ma, how are you? I hope it’s not too late.”
“It’s not, and I’m well. How are you? How’s the knee?” Mom was here for a week after my surgery. I’d told her not to come, insisting they save the money and visit when I wasn’t laid up and sleeping all the time because of the drugs, but she insisted, saying she wouldn’t be able to rest if she wasn’t here to help. I won’t lie, I was glad she didn’t listen to me because she made me all my favorite foods and talked to the doctors, asking questions I hadn’t even considered, and once again, she was there for me—every day—sitting with me, watching TV and being present.
“I’m walking without crutches.”
She cheers. “You know, I was talking to the Greenwood’s across the street, and Kim had an ACL replacement two years ago. I had no idea. She said she had it in the winter, so she just stayed inside because she was afraid she’d fall with the snow and ice, but she said even at her age, she doesn’t have any issues with it anymore.”
“I know, but I need mine to warp speed heal. I need to be back on it in a month.”
“Don’t rush it, Arlo. You don’t want to re-injure it. Just enjoy being a college kid for once. Spend more time with your friends, get outside. You’ve got all those mountains by you, now.”
“I’m not rushing it. But it’s feeling good. My physical therapist is shocked by how fast my muscles are rebuilding and thinks we’ll be able to start jumping and running before too long.
“Just make sure it’s long enough is all I’m saying.”
“How’s Dad?” I ask, changing the subject.
“He’s fine. He and Theo have been meeting with the bank to see about opening another location.”