Mr. Wrong Number(64)
I was figuring out how to answer, when loud barking interrupted us. We both turned around, and a huge furry dog was running across the parking lot toward us at full speed, his owner yelling after him over and over. The dog’s tongue was lolling out of his mouth and he was clearly playing, but this mutt made a German shepherd look dainty.
Before I could move her out of the way, Liv let go of my hand and dropped to a squat, laughing and coaxing him with her arms as the monstrously large dog ran toward her.
“Liv—”
She screamed when he knocked her over, dissolving into cackles as he licked her and jumped all over her with his enormous paws. The dog’s wagging tail kept smacking her as he attacked, making her laugh even harder.
“Finneas!” The owner finally caught up and reached for the dog’s collar, yanking him off Olivia and leaning down to grab the leash. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry.”
Finneas whimpered, sad to be pulled away from his new friend, but sat obediently when his owner told him to.
I helped Olivia to her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes were still squinting with laughter, and she dusted off the front of her skirt, looking down at the dog instead of at either of us. “He’s just the cutest thing.”
The dog owner and I shared a look, both of us wondering how she was so unfazed, before looking at Olivia, who was still cooing at the dog. She only had heart eyes for that dog.
Even in the waning evening light I could see muddy paw prints on her outfit and a hole in the right leg of her tights. She had to have seen them when she’d dusted herself off, but she apparently didn’t care.
Seeing a cute dog was worth it to her?
I tilted my head and watched her as she baby talked to the dog. She was so alive, bursting with happy energy, that it was impossible not to smile. I felt like this moment with the dog explained a lot about her “bad luck.”
She’d always put herself in ridiculous situations, but was it stupidity or more of a sucking-the-marrow-out-of-life kind of thing? When I’d gotten dumped in college, I’d swallowed the pain and moved on, suffering in stoic silence. But when Livvie got dumped, she had a ceremonial letter burning. It hadn’t ended well, with the fire and subsequent homelessness, but I imagine it must’ve felt cathartic as hell to revel in that moment of pain.
Finneas and his owner left, and Livvie’s smile wavered a little bit as she looked at me. “If you want to skip dinner, y’know, since I’m a mess now, I totally get it. We can drive through somewhere and just head home.”
I shook my head and reached for her hand again. I was suddenly in this weird place where I always wanted a hand on her. I said, “You’re stunning, Marshall. Let’s go.”
She blinked, surprised by my comment, and then she smiled. “God, my impeccable bedding skills have really done a number on you.”
* * *
? ? ?
THAT WAS IT.
Holy shit.
The puzzle that was Olivia Marshall had suddenly shown itself to me.
Livvie spilled her red wine all over the table a mere five minutes after we’d been seated, but it was because she was gesturing wildly as she tried explaining to me exactly how her dad had given CPR to a cat who’d been struck by lightning.
It wasn’t that she’d been clumsily oblivious to the glass, it was that she was so present in her own story that she hadn’t had time to notice the expensive crystal stemware that might be in the way.
She was less shitshow and more about living in high-definition, wide-awake, full-on color. Or something more poetic than that. But once I’d seen it, I couldn’t unsee it. It was in everything she did, and it was why everyone was drawn to her the way they were.
For example, after Liv spilled her wine, she didn’t wave over a waiter. No, Olivia pulled a pack of Kleenex out of her purse and tried cleaning the mess herself. When I’d shaken my head at her fruitless attempts, laughing in spite of myself at her ridiculousness, she’d erupted into giggles at her situation.
When the waiter saw what she was doing, he was clearly touched. Because among the crowd of affluent, entitled customers all demanding excellence, here was a laughing minx who apologized to him profusely while cleaning her own mess.
After that debacle we played a game where I told her the ridiculous memories I had of her from our childhood, and she corrected me on how wrong I was and how things actually had been. She snorted at one point, smacking my pointing finger as I accused her of being the one who stole my purple Cubs baseball hat when I was in the third grade, and I was charmed to a pathetic degree.
We were both laughing when my grandparents appeared next to the table.
“Colin!” My grandmother smiled down at me for half of a second before looking over at Liv. Dammit. I swallowed a curse and stood to hug her, not happy with the timing of this little reunion.
“Grandmother.” I immediately stood up. I kissed her cheek and said, “Nice to see you.”
My grandparents were nice people, but very traditional. Serious. If a dog had barked in the direction of my grandmother, my grandfather probably would’ve driven over it with his Mercedes and complained to the ma?tre d’ to clean up the menace in the parking lot.
“This is my friend Olivia Marshall.” I looked down at her smiling face and said, “Olivia, these are my grandparents.”