he didn’t deserve everything you threw at him—he sure as hell did. But I am saying he is absolutely so in love with you that he’d try to show you and everyone who knows you he’s trying to become a better man, just for you.”
Olivia thought about that for a second, then flicked the TV off.
“That’s what my sister says, too.”
Alexa had been trying to get her to give Max another chance, with some bullshit about how she couldn’t give up on love at the first sign of adversity, and that she was clearly miserable without him, and that sometimes relationships took hard work, and no, their fight wasn’t a sign that she never should have dated him in the first place. First of all, yes it was a sign, and secondly, how did her sister know her so well?
“And that’s nice and all, but unless he says any of that to me, it doesn’t really matter, now does it? I haven’t heard from him since I told him to stop sending those cakes. Granted, I’m not sure if any of it would matter at all—I still think we’re too different, no matter how much we both love each other. Maybe if we’d met when we were in our twenties, we’d be able to figure all of this out together, but as it is, we’re just both too old, too set in our own ways to change for other people. And when you add his job to all of that . . . it seems impossible.”
Jamila took a bite of Olivia’s favorite spicy curry and her eyes widened. She jammed her fork into the pile of rice on her plate.
“I’m just saying, don’t be too definite about that, okay? And please stop acting like you’re some old crone, too old to change—you just moved across the country this year! You’re not all that set in your ways!”
Olivia tossed the remote to Jamila.
“And I started watching a show I’ve scorned for years, and now I’m addicted to it. Find it for us, please.”
Jamila apparently got the message that Olivia was done talking about Max, because she scrolled through the channels and found Housewives for them without another word.
When the episode was over, Jamila got up.
“I should go home, I have an early day tomorrow.” She raised an eyebrow at Olivia. “That is, unless you need me? I can stay if you want to talk, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted that.”
Olivia shook her head.
“No, you go home. But . . . I might take a rain check on that? Thanks for dinner. And for coming over.”
Jamila grinned at her.
“You’re welcome. And you can have that rain check anytime.”
After Jamila left and Olivia had put the leftovers away, she got back on the couch and pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her email.
Draft contract was the subject line of the email that popped up. Olivia went to click on it, but stopped, confused. What contract? Was this some sort of spam?
Then she looked closer, and froze. After a few seconds, she opened the email.
I thought about what you said. I thought about it a lot. First, I owe you a huge apology—you’re right that I was using you and our relationship to try to make that crowd like me. That sucked. I didn’t do it consciously, but I did it. I’m angry at myself for that, and so, so sorry I did that to you. I hope you believe I will never do anything like that again. Second, you’re right that we’re very different, and you’re right that if we go on like this, it won’t work. But I love you too much to give up on us. I think—I hope—that I can make you happy; I know you can make me happy. And the great thing is, we can make our own rules for our relationship, and we can figure this thing out together, if we want to. And I really want to. And I really, really hope you do, too. So I thought I’d start. Let me know what you think; you know how to reach me. I miss you.
Love,
Max
That all sounded good—sounded great, even—but she was scared to believe it. Scared to open herself back up again. Scared to get hurt again. She let her finger hover over the attachment.
Then she closed out of her email, dropped her phone and hid it in the couch cushions, and went to bed. No. She couldn’t do this