A deafening silence was all I could hear between us. Silent, but loud in my ears as if it were telling me to speak up. Open my mouth and say words to her. There was nothing that could leave my parted lips besides the air from my lungs and the quiet whisper that if listened to closely sounded like, talk to me. I kept those words to myself, afraid that if she'd hear them, she'd become uncomfortable.
The silence between us was only pulling me to her more than I needed it to. It was far from attraction, in my eyes, it was only curiosity taking over me. The more I sat in quietness, the more I began to wonder as to what made her push away so suddenly. To only look my way once and merely shrug it off like we've been doing this for years—no words, not a smile, only a look.
There was no answer from a look, only a new question piling on top of the others that I had already been asking myself. Green eyes that somehow resembled a dark abyss, nothing to tell and nothing to show. It was all hiding in darkness or maybe I was oblivious to answers looming around me. Either way, I still didn't have them in my hands. So instead, I called my mother from the telephone booth.
"You never told me about her."
It was an awful way to greet my mother, and if she were in person I had no doubt my words would have been different. This is was the least of my worries when thinking about it.
I heard her soft laugh and the shuffling in the background, "Hello to you, Annalise." She sighed, "I see you've met Olivia."
Six hours ahead, it would only be morning where she was. And by this time, she's already had her breakfast and taken her shower and on her way to find a place to read—a routine she's done since I was a child. Though as she lived in Florida, I questioned if she continued to do the same things. It was three years since she's been gone, and as we may not know it, we change everyday. My mother was someone different by this morning.
My eyes focused on the telephone chord wrapped around my fingers, "Blonde hair and green eyes, am I right? She's moved into my apartment, has taken not only my bedroom, but bathroom for herself and walks around my kitchen as if she's been living here her entire life. I've most definitely met Olivia."
And as I looked at my apartment building, I thought about it all. It wasn't her sudden moving in that was causing my blood to boil, but it was her silence.
"Darling, I don't see why this has such an effect on you." She whispered.
"I don't know her, mother!"
"Which is why you get to know her, Annie."
Neither did my father understand my complaints when I talked to him today, agreeing with his wife that I was being too dramatic. It wasn't dramatizing any situation, it was coming forward with the situation at hand. They didn't see what was happening in my eyes and therefore, they wouldn't understand a single bit of how I was feeling. Forced to act like a child, yet treated like one. Being excluded from a decision that was mainly supposed to mine, had only been between them and I was to deal with whatever they'd thrown upon me.
If it were up to me, would she be here at this moment? If they had given me the chance to decide, would she be laying in bed or cooking in my kitchen at this very moment as I stared at my front door. If it were up to me, would she have gotten on a plane and flee here, would I open this door to see her?
Yes. That was all I could answer to my questions, a simple yes. If there were any explanations, I refused to know them. It'd make me come to reality that I did in fact want her around. For now, I still decided to stay in my bubble of acrimony and dislike towards her. And as I stayed in this bubble, I'll grow to want her around because it was an unknown feeling that curled in my stomach—a feeling I liked.
Today was only a smile and little eye contact between the both of us. It was almost like we were both afraid to break, to afraid. As it would be a finger touching still water and turning into ripples, then if we were unfortunate, tides. The more and more I looked at her, with my lips closed, the more and more I wanted to disturb this still water. Wave my hand through it and disturb the unknown beneath it, by then we'd have all we need…wouldn't we?
There she walked, stood, ate, and ignored me. I didn't have the power of invisibility, but that was a possibility that I was now considering. Or maybe she acted as if I was invisible, perhaps she couldn't find the words to say. How was I to tell her that she could tell me anything? A string of words that I couldn't pronounce, I'd still listen because they were coming from her mouth.
She wore dresses, the short sundresses my mother would buy me, whilst sitting on the balcony of my bedroom. When she was tired and going to bed, she wore nothing but a white shirt and shorts—the kind that outline every inch of one's body. In the mornings her blonde hair was wet and dripping everywhere she walked, but by the time the clock hit noon, her hair was dry. She hummed while she cooked, and not only for herself, but for me as well and in a way I thought of it as a thank you from her—though I still felt guilty that she was the one cooking rather than me.
And on this day of silence, she met Pierre—the boy who had my heart in his hands, the boy who loved me unconditionally. And for once, our wall of quietness was finally broken as she spoke in a soft tone.
"How long have you two known each other?"
"High school." He and I said in union.
It was all she asked for as he was here, and once she had gotten her answer, she returned to her bedroom leaving us to whisper amongst ourselves. As was confused just as much as he was, although I didn't show my confusion as much as he did. Up and walk away with a little wave of goodbye, then everything would be alright. No, everything would not be alright. I wanted things to be more than alright. Because in silence, you realize how much of a desire and want you felt to talk with that person, and as it continued, the stronger the desire had gotten. Whether Pierre was by my side or not.
But with his fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp lovingly as I laid down on the sofa, I disregarded my ache and closed my eyes, "Tu m'as manqué." (I've missed you.)
Although, my mind was far from how it usual was, he was always the one that never changed, always helping me secure my sense of normalcy. And with his dark curls sprawled against my stomach, I didn't feel the need to cast the spell of anger on my body—not at this moment.
"Ça ne fait que deux semaines, Annie." (It's only been two weeks, Annie.)
"Cela semblait plus long que deux semaines." (Seemed longer than just two weeks.)
With a tender kiss once more on my hand, he began to tell me all about his day. His hands moved in the air with each word that had left his smile and I couldn't help the smile forming on my face. I was grateful for his sudden visit, my mind was no longer lingering in the world of Olivia Rowe and was now only focused on him. Reading. Going to the market. An argument with his mother. I listened to him think out loud as his fingertips drummed against the palm of my hand.
He was gone the next morning, leaving me with a note saying: Je t'aime, Annie. Donnez-lui une chance. (Love you, Annie. Give her a chance.)
It was clear that even he thought I was being dramatic, just as parents did. If that was the case, then I'd do as they say and see if they were right all along.
I leaned on the door frame of my bedroom, staring at her as she scribbled something in that brown notebook of hers. "Care to take a walk with me, Olivia?"
Slowly, her head tilted up and her eyes met mine—blinked twice and smiled, "I'm surprised you asked, but I'd love to. I'll change."
Surprised I asked, you should consider how I feel. I was not only forced by parents to do this, but as well as myself. Something about you and I can't put my finger on it, imagine how that feels. Pushing it away was only going to make matters worse—take a step forward, shall we, not two steps behind where we'd have to begin all of this all over again. And if it wasn't that, then there would be no beginning and the silence between us now would forever be permanent until she left.
I was wrong, she didn't wear dresses all the time. In a pair of shorts and partly opened button down was how she left the apartment. "Back to our little game from the café, who taught you how to speak English?"
"Elizabeth Aubert, my mother, I'm sure you know her."
She smiled, a smile I was now familiar with, "I know her very well. Three years, Annalise." She's known my mother for three years.
"She never spoke French with all of her years living here, so when she spoke to me, she only spoke in English."
"I had always thought it was the schools that were teaching students English."
My eyebrows raised and I smiled, "No, not at all. I mean, we've learned foreign languages, but never English. Most of the time in France, you'd have to learn that on your own."
"Ah, I've learned French in high school back at home." Olivia paused to giggle, tilting her head back as she did so and giving me another glimpse of her golden necklace, "But it wasn't the French I expected it to be, it was more of just the history, not the language."
"You've always been fascinated with France, haven't you?"
"Not really, I just thought the class would be interesting." She pressed her index finger to my shoulder, "Back to Elizabeth--I hope you know how generous and kind she is. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her."
"I tell her every time we speak."
Past the Smell of Roses and weaving through the groups of tourists we walked by in the streets of Bordeaux. It was only the two of us talking that I heard in my ears, the voices of strangers muffled around us as we only listened to one another. Inside a bookstore, she stayed, her eyes scanning each title of every book she took in her hands.
It was my turn to ask her a question. "What's the best book you've ever read in all your years of being alive? That is, if you read, of course."
"I don't have a favorite book, I simply read. Nothing really gets to me, Annalise, it all just happens." She set aside the book, her focus now on me as she waited for my response.
I didn't have much of a response. "How many books have you read?"
"More than I can count."
I made my way into the isle beside us, brushing past a woman and her child, and picking up a book. I didn't read the title, nor did I care, but I made myself look as if I were busy—merely to see her reaction. If she'd let me go, or if she'd continue to talk with me. I also didn't understand as to what exactly I was doing, but I continued.
"I assume you have a favorite book."
I smiled to myself, "Um, not really." From the corner of my eye, I saw her watching me, pretending as like she was reading the lines of an unknown book.
Was it now that she had found me more interesting than before? I was only answering in the manner of Olivia Rowe, maybe that was how I caught her attention. And not only that, but she had passed the test. She didn't let me be when I picked up a random book, instead she picked up her own and continued our conversation. It was the feeling of excitement, the one unable to put in words and from what it seemed like, only her could cause it.
"But, if I had to choose one, I would say Anna Karenina." I turned her way, "It's a very good to book to read, if you ask me."
Her response was only a nod, as she bit her lip and walked away, her green eyes looking around the bookstore. Nothing else besides that, then she was ready to leave. And we walked in quietness, hearing nothing but the endless conversations and shuffling feet against the concrete. Time to time, my arm brushed against hers. Olivia didn't flinch or react, just went about her day and because of that, I did the same.
*
"Can I ask you something, Annalise?"
You can ask me anything, Olivia. A thought, an unusual one that came into my mind without an explanation, without a trace. I masked the confusion on my face with a smile, wishing she hadn't seen it. Maybe if she did, she'd assume that I was confused by her and not my own thinking. I've come to conclusion that she, perhaps, didn't deserve any of my harsh feelings towards—whether it was accidental or not. As she sat on the sofa with her knees to her chest, two feet from where I laid, I still tried to find out as to what I was thinking so suddenly. It would push away for now and later, when I was alone and lying in the dark, I would think about it. Maybe then, I might have a better chance of finding my answer.
"If you'd like to ask me a question, then ask me. I'll be listening and hopefully, I could come with an answer that won't upset you."
She smiled and shook her head, "It's for the game. What did you do when your mother left? It's been three years since you've last seen her."
Cry. Read. Sleep. Cry. Read. Sleep. Cry. Read. Sleep.
It all replayed in mind. The sight of tears running from my father's eyes. It was the first time he's cried, and if he'd done so before, it was the first time I'd seen him do so. The tears in my mother's eyes as she held me tightly before walking away. Her words, "As much as I'd like to be home soon, I hope I won't be." At that time, I was too lost in the embrace of my sadness to understand those words. That was all three years ago, when I felt like she was being selfish only to realize she was only doing good.
"I don't remember, I guess I just went along with everything happening."
I had taken too long to answer, she could possibly think I was lying for all I knew. And for a fair reason, I was. It was pain to think of it all over again, to come to a realization that I haven't seen my mother in person within these three years. Not to mention, that I refused to go see her with my father. For a good reason, I was lying.
"Tell me about Pierre." Quick to change the subject. I knew she had seen me through my lie, but I don't understand why she wouldn't confront me about it—too scared I'd overreact. "I've had many boyfriends, but he seems like the kind every girl could dream of."
"In all honesty, he truly is. I don't really have anything else to say besides the fact that I don't deserve him." Truth.
A friend before a lover. A boy who would never leave my side, walk through flames and freeze in ice, he never left. A rock that I leaned on more than I did with my parents. His embrace was always warm and had always found a way to remove the thoughtless points in my mind. With all of this going on, I would need him in life and so forth on till the day I was to die.
"And why would you say that?" I don't know, Olivia.
"Shouldn't I get the chance to ask you my question?" I asked.
She lowered her eyes, the smile still on her lips, "Ask me anything, Annalise."
I now felt guilty that I made her feel guilty. Truth is, I didn't even have a question to ask. I was doing all of this to avoid answering the ones she asked me. If only I could tell her that she wasn't at fault, that I was. Although, I had already to her once, I was sure she would think twice before believing me again.
Random, anything random to make her stay. "What do you do to entertain yourself?"
"Read. Write. Not much of a girl who watches movies on her free time. I sometimes paint." Her index finger twirled around the grey, loose thread handing from the edge of the sofa and now I wished I had bought a new one before she had arrived. "I don't do much with my life."
"I could say the same."
I've lived these past two years of my life only working in the café and seeing friends. I wasn't complaining.
Olivia's eyes looked out the window, watching everyone walk by underneath the post lights. Then, she up on her feet and out of my living room, a small goodnight she whispered into the air and closed the bedroom door behind her. Did I say something wrong? I played it repeatedly in my head, had I once said something wrong? Or was it the quietness that she just couldn't bear anymore?
If I had told her not to leave, would she have stayed?