Slices of Life (12 page)

Spike had enough, and he used his claws and legs to push out of Dorian’s arms. It did nothing to deter her excitement.

“Not only did she ask me out—I think—but she has ideas for the store.” Dorian picked up the half-empty glass of Pinot from the counter where she’d left it and took a healthy sip. Then she stared off into space for long moments, just absorbing the day, the hour, the minute. “I don’t know what will happen, Spikey, but for this moment? Right now? I feel good. I’m going to hold on to that for a while.”

Her iPhone sat next to the open wine bottle. Dorian picked it up and texted Gina.

Thanks, but I’m going to call it an early night.

She hit send and didn’t feel the least bit bad about it.

Olivia Keegan loved her job. Not the drug part of it as much as the people part of it. She was a total people person, and she adored nothing more than visiting with new folks and answering their questions, being able to contribute even the smallest amount of help that might allow them to feel better. It made her day, her week, her month, her year. Hell, it made her life. Liv was born to serve and she loved it.

She had her favorites and her least favorites as far as customers went, and she enjoyed being the pharmacist at a small, neighborhood store. She knew she could find a job at a larger chain in a heartbeat—and make quite a bit more money. But the customers at Joe’s were loyal. They knew Liv and Liv knew them. That familiarity was something she wasn’t willing to give up, not even for more money in her paycheck.

Dorian Garrison was definitely a favorite of Liv’s. Cute and charming, Liv was sure Dorian flirted with her a little bit and Liv flirted right back. Well, as much as Liv could manage to flirt; it certainly wasn’t her strong point. Although tonight…good god, what happened? She actually, sort of, pretty much asked Dorian out. Almost. Didn’t she? Was popping by the shop to talk about wine and marketing considered a date? Maybe. And if Liv wasn’t mistaken, Dorian seemed…happy about it. She said yes, after all. And she smiled. Widely. Adorably. Liv tried not to wonder why somebody as confident as independent as Dorian Garrison would be at all interested in somebody like Liv, but she’d take it where she could get it. It’s not like she had dates lining up outside her door.

Her best friend, Danny, would tell her that was her own fault. Danny had as many men in his life as Liv did
not
have women. Liv could almost hear his voice now.
You need to put yourself out there, Livvy. You need to go out, go to parties and gatherings, make yourself available, get noticed. Ms. Right isn’t going to just knock on your front door one day, you know.
Liv did know. Danny was one hundred percent right and Liv did know that. But knowing something and making it happen were two very different things. She wished she had an eighth of Danny’s confidence. How did gay men do it? She could be walking through the mall with Danny, he would make eye contact with some guy across the floor, excuse himself from her, and go get a hand job in the men’s room. Not that that was the kind of female contact Liv wanted, but she could barely figure out how to find a date, while Danny was having random sex in every public place imaginable. There was a little part of her that was totally jealous.

The main store lights clicked off and Liv heard Joe, Jr., the son of the original Joe and now the owner, locking the front doors. Her pharmacy area remained lit as she did some final counts and checked her computer to make sure things were clearly set up for Glen, the other pharmacist at Joe’s. He had the morning shift this week. He and Liv traded back and forth, one opening, the other closing for a week. Then they’d switch. It could be exhausting, but it worked. There was also a part-time pharmacist who took weekends and some nights so Liv and Glen could take vacation or whatever.

“All set, Olivia?” Joe called from the greeting-card aisle.

“Just about.” She finished up, hung her white coat on the coat tree in the corner and exchanged it for a windbreaker, and unlocked the bottom drawer to retrieve her bag. Her cell phone showed a text from Danny.

Come to Black. Buy you a Cosmo.

“Ugh.” The last thing in the world Liv felt like was going to a dark club with pounding house music and weak drinks. At thirty-three, she thought she was past that kind of night out, but Danny loved it. The only way she could drag him to the occasional foreign film or poetry reading was if she accompanied him to Black once in a while. “Not tonight,” she said aloud. She had a cat, a couch, and the latest Nora Roberts novel all calling her name.

She sent a quick text back declining the invite, then turned her sound down, knowing Danny’s next move would be to call her and beg. After that, he’d resort to trying to guilt her into going. She didn’t want to deal with any of it. She just wanted to go home. She bid her goodnights to Joe and left.

***

Liv’s apartment wasn’t much bigger than the too-small dance floor at Black, but it was much more comfortable for her, despite the pang she got every time she entered the front door and realized nobody was waiting for her or coming over later. She was alone and would be for the night. The zap of loneliness was much easier to handle than it had been, but it still had some sting.

Diane left nearly eight months ago. To Liv, it felt like it was ten years on some days. On others, it was as fresh as if it happened yesterday. Today fell somewhere in between, and not for the first time, she was thankful they hadn’t lived together, that they’d kept their own places. It was hard enough to deal with the empty spaces left by Diane’s coffee maker, her craft beer, her toothbrush; thank god there hadn’t been furniture, pets, or kids to split. Even though the few items Diane did leave were all temporary items, it was simply too painful to keep any of them around, so much so that she couldn’t even bring herself to give the useful items away. She threw it all out. Every last thing. If Diane decided she’d rather be with some other woman, then that other woman could sure as shit buy her the things she wanted. Liv certainly had.

Dropping her keys on the small table by the door as she passed, Liv hung up her jacket and headed toward the narrow galley kitchen. Lunch felt like forever ago, and her empty stomach made itself known. The fridge’s contents looked like they belonged to somebody with a split personality. Yogurt, salad fixings, skim milk, tofu, cheddar, heavy cream, half a chocolate cheesecake, butter. Liv shook her head. That’s what she did on the days that she actually recognized the dichotomy of her personality: she shook her head in dismayed wonder. She almost
was
two different people, thanks to Diane. The majority of the time, she was self-conscious and hated her body. She was overweight, unattractive, out of shape, and had no fashion sense. The tiny remainder of the time, she focused on trying to accept herself and just be happy with who she was—a woman overweight, unattractive, out of shape, and with no fashion sense.

Liv’s self-confidence was never a solid part of her, but Diane’s infidelity shattered it completely. Liv was aware of the effect such a thing had on a person’s psyche and she tried to cut herself a little slack, but it wasn’t easy, not when she was already so critical of herself and her appearance. She was a good girlfriend. Liv knew that. She was kind, loving, giving, supportive. So if Diane didn’t want to be with her—if Diane wanted to be with somebody else
instead
of her—it had to be about Liv physically. Didn’t it? It never occurred to her that Diane’s inability to be faithful was about nothing other than Diane.

It had taken a good four months of therapy to figure that one out.

Truth was, Liv actually had taken a step toward—she hoped—feeling better about her body and because of it, she pulled lettuce, celery, a cucumber, and a tomato out of the refrigerator. As she poured herself a glass of Chardonnay, Chloe, her calico cat, wandered into the room and twined around Liv’s ankles like an anaconda.

“Oh, sure. You hear the front door and you couldn’t care less. You hear the
refrigerator
door and poof. Here you are. Nice.”

Chloe meowed and sat, staring up at Liv with green eyes that seemed almost human at times.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Liv asked as she tore lettuce into a bowl.

Chloe meowed again, this time adding a paw on Liv’s calf with just enough claw to get some attention.

“I know, I know,” Liv said, wiping her hands on a towel. “But first? Love.” She swooped Chloe up in her arms amid loud, yet somehow half-hearted, protests. “Yeah, yeah. It’s terrible to be loved by me. My kisses and hugs are awful, aren’t they?” She held the cat close, nuzzled her, and scratched under her chin, a seemingly favorite spot. Within seconds, the gentle vibrating began and Liv smiled. “Got your purr on, I see.” She held the cat for long moments, enjoying the warmth of a living body snuggled close. When she finally opened the refrigerator door, Chloe seemed to gain new life, struggling to get down, then waiting anxiously by her bowl.

“So predictable,” Liv said as she poured cream into the bowl. “Only a little bit. I don’t want you to get fat like me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could hear her own twelve-year-old voice scolding her mother, who had many variations of the same put-downs.
Mom, stop it. Why do you always say that? You’re not fat. You’re beautiful and I love you.

The fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. Isn’t that what they say?

Liv finished making her salad, refilled her wine glass, and took both into the living room where she made herself comfortable on the chocolate brown couch. Liv was a huge fan of earthiness—whether it be color, smell, or feel—and she’d decorated her apartment in that vein. The walls were painted a comforting olive green, which complemented the dark wood trim perfectly. Gleaming hardwood floors made it feel bigger than it actually was and matching area rugs in beiges and burgundies added to the ambiance. Much as Liv hated the cold weather, winter was her favorite season in her apartment. She’d click on the gas fireplace, curl up under an afghan with a good book, and just lose herself in warmth and comfort. Maybe one of these days, she’d have somebody new on whose lap she could rest her feet on such days.

Dorian Garrison’s perhaps?

Shaking the thought away, she crunched on a forkful of salad as she watched Chloe saunter into the room and go to work on her scratching post. Liv was lucky with Chloe, especially since she adopted her from the Humane Society at three years old and did not have a lot of info about what she’d be bringing home. Chloe never scratched up any of the furniture, crapped in any of Liv’s shoes, or peed on any clothes. She stayed off the kitchen counter—though she did like the sideboard because it was in front of a window. She even cuddled on occasion, though it was always on her terms. She was good company and Liv was thankful to have another living being in the apartment with her. By her estimation, if she was talking to the cat, she wasn’t talking to herself.

Finished with her salad, she set the empty bowl on the end table and her eye was caught by the pamphlet she’d left there. Opening the tri-fold sheet, she scanned the photos from the gym, the beautifully healthy people working out on weight equipment, on spinning bikes, in kickboxing classes. The attendees in the yoga class all looked like models in their skin-tight clothing, and Liv wondered why they didn’t use pictures of more out-of-shape, realistic people in their ads. Seemed like it would make more sense, draw in more clients if those pictured looked like they
needed
to be there. Isn’t that why people joined a gym? Because they were out of shape and wanted to fix that? It was certainly Liv’s reasoning.

On the back of the pamphlet, a name and number were stamped in cherry red. Julia Hastings. Liv figured each individual trainer had his or her own stamp and hit the back of the pamphlet before handing it out. Ms. Hastings came highly recommended by a couple of friends of Danny’s. She was family, which was good. Liv wouldn’t have to worry about awkwardly trying to answer the inevitable questions about her personal life. Most of all, Liv hoped Julia Hastings was gentle. Not necessarily in the exercise department, but in the encouragement department. She’d watched enough episodes of
The Biggest Loser
to know she would not do well being screamed at. More likely, if that was the method of training she was subjected to, she’d end up a blubbering glop of tears rocking in a corner. She’d have to make sure to tell Julia that right up front.

Her therapist, Peter, was not happy with this decision. He told Liv it was fine to join a gym if she simply wanted to improve her overall health and keep her heart in good working order. But enlisting a personal trainer and expecting to completely reshape her body was going to be an effort in futility—he was certain.

She’d been seeing him for nearly two years, so he knew her and her habits very well. He knew about her crappy self-esteem, that she was never happy with her own appearance and, therefore, was constantly trying to alter it.

He pursed his lips in thought when she talked about becoming a vegetarian. That lasted about a month and a half.

He propped his chin in his hand and stared at her when she told him she purchased the P90X workout system from an infomercial on TV and was going to get herself in shape,
finally
. She did it exactly twice.

He shook his head when she told him she signed herself up at an online fitness website and was keeping track of every calorie and every glass of water she consumed. It was three months since her last log-on.

Liv had been very excited to tell him about her new gym membership—a ridiculous $1200 for the year—and about all the information she was given regarding Julia Hastings. Of course, she’d been excited about every other physical fitness thing she signed on for as well. But this one was different. She was sure of it and she told Peter so.

“Why don’t you just set yourself up for failure?” he asked pointedly.

“What do you mean?”