The Repeat Year (33 page)

“I guess I should thank you,” she said, embarrassed by the warm rivulets running down her face. She wiped them away quickly with the back of her hand.

“Aw, shucks. No thanks needed.” A lopsided grin spread across Kerrigan’s face. “Just a big fat ‘I was wrong, and you were right, Kerrigan,’ would suffice. For someone who can see the future, you sure are fallible.”

“Tell me about it,” Olive muttered.

“Okay, I will. You were wrong about Fritz.”

“That was meant to be rhetorical, you know.” Olive toyed with a fancy corkscrew lying open on the counter.

“I know, but I’m intentionally ignoring that. Or trying to, if you’d stop interrupting. Fritz and his wife filed for an uncontested divorce at the beginning of the month, and it’ll become official in March. So she’s staying in New York doing her own thing, and he’s staying in Madison doing his own thing, and they’re both much happier people for it. We’re moving in together next week.”

“Next week? You mean you’re not already living together?” She suddenly lost interest in the corkscrew.

“No. I’ve been staying with Ciara. I told Fritz I wouldn’t be his mistress. That I deserved better.” Kerrigan’s eyes were shining. “You’re not always
totally
off base.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Olive exclaimed.

“What? That Fritz is a free man or that you’re not always off base?”

“Both, I guess.”

She burst out laughing, and Kerrigan joined her. A long, awkward pause followed in which Kerrigan fussed with her hair and Olive studied the labels of the empty bottles lined up on the counter. Abruptly, at the same time, they both spread their arms for a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” Kerrigan said into Olive’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much Christmas shopping sucks without you. You know how helpless I am in malls! And my sister’s hair isn’t long enough to braid, and she’s an even bigger neat freak than you. This past month I’ve been so happy with Fritz, but it didn’t feel like real happiness, because I couldn’t share it with my best friend.”

“But now you can,” Olive said, squeezing her arm. “I know the feeling. I finally made it through this year relatively in one piece. I have Phil back, and we’re stronger than ever. But I didn’t have you, and it’s taken me way too long to realize that
that
was one of my biggest mistakes last year—letting us drift apart.”

“Oh, Olive Elizabeth, you’re going to make me cry.” Kerrigan blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and then smiled mischievously. “It seemed rude to mention it earlier, but—oh, never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Olive leaned forward, concerned.

“You’re wearing my dress.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn this was mine.” Olive smoothed the intricate pleats and folds of her satiny skirt. “But didn’t I wear it to Claire and Nathan’s rehearsal dinner?”

“You did. It was still mine then. You can keep it, though. It looks way better on you with your coloring. It would also make me feel a lot better about keeping your red halter dress.” She stuck out her tongue, and Olive laughed.

“Five minutes to midnight,” Brian announced as he poked his head into the kitchen, which was much too small for three people all at once. Olive squashed herself up against one of the cupboards so he could open the fridge. He pulled out three bottles of champagne and tucked them under his arms. “There are going to be some lonely guys out there if you ladies don’t come out.”

Five minutes! Olive checked her watch to confirm that he was right. The night had flown by. Suddenly, in retrospect, it seemed like the entire year had flown by. She wished she had just one more day, one more hour even, to make sure that everything was in order. Perhaps she should’ve visited Sherry today.

“Looking forward to the new year?” Kerrigan asked with a wink as they rejoined the party.

“Desperately.”

She found Phil next to the balcony, looking as apprehensive as she felt. He was holding both their jackets. “Did everything go okay?” he asked.

“Yes. She actually explained a lot. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Good. Look, I’ve got the perfect spot staked out. We have the whole balcony to ourselves. No one else wants to go out here because it’s so cold and they want to watch the TV countdown.” He helped her into her jacket before opening the sliding door.

They stepped outside. Kristin and Brian lived on the top floor of a seven-story apartment building on North Hamilton. While they didn’t have a view of the lake, they had a pretty awesome view of downtown, and if Olive craned her neck to the right, she could see part of the Capitol dome. The night was clear and brisk and full of stars.

“This is perfect,” she said. “I can’t think of a better end to the year.”

“I think you mean a better start to the year.”

They stood at the railing, looking out over the city. The row of decrepit two-story houses across the street looked festive with their lit windows and gaudy Christmas lights. Snow clung to the slanted rooftops in thin patches. Looking down the street, they could see the blocky outlines of banks, restaurants, and bookstores. The moon looked like a slice of honeydew melon.

“How will we know when it’s midnight?” she asked.

“Oh, we’ll know.” He wrapped his arm around her waist.

A short while later, the countdown started inside. Their friends chanted in unison. Olive could make out Kerrigan’s boisterous voice among the others.
Ten, nine, eight.

She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Phil’s arm as if it were a life preserver.
Seven, six, five.
She held her breath and hoped for the best.
Four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!

Phil’s warm lips met hers, gently opening her mouth. He tasted sweet like champagne and felt solid against her. She never wanted their kiss to end. She never wanted to let him go.

At last, they opened their eyes at the same time and grinned at each other. “You’re still here,” he said.

“I know!” she said with a laugh. “But remember I said it might not happen at midnight? It might happen in a less dramatic way, like while we sleep.”

“Then we won’t sleep.”

A purple firecracker exploded in the sky. From where they stood, they could see only the top half of it. The smoke tendrils lingered in the black sky. A few more fireworks were shot off, and suddenly the balcony was where everybody wanted to be. Olive and Phil made their way back inside. After a couple more hours of talking and dancing, they said their good-byes to everyone and headed home to the condo.

Olive turned on the lights in every room. Phil made a pot of coffee. It was like the early days of their relationship when they had pulled all-nighters to cram for final exams.

“I know something that will help us stay awake,” he said, tracing the lines of her bra through her cocktail dress. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

“You know you’ll fall asleep afterward.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll stay awake.”

But he did fall asleep after they made love, and Olive could do nothing but stand sentinel over an epoch of her life that she was deathly afraid would disappear. She lay watching Phil’s sleeping face, until he turned away from her, and then she hugged his body to hers.
Please don’t make me go back,
she prayed to she didn’t know who—God, the universe, her dad, and any other tricksters conspiring in her fate.
I’ve learned my lesson and I’m finally happy. Please don’t take it all away.

The sheet stuck to her feverish skin. She pulled it away and exposed her body to the air for a while, but then she was freezing. She consulted the clock on her nightstand. Four o’clock. Four ten. Four twelve. Four twenty-one. Four thirty-six. Her eyelids felt itchy and grainy. She knew she would fall asleep soon. She shook Phil’s shoulder.

“Wake up, Phil. I need you. I’m going to fall asleep.”

Disoriented and only half awake, he rolled over to face her. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay,” he whispered as though he were a father reassuring a child who had just woken up from a bad dream. He wrapped both his arms around her and held her close. She felt enveloped by him. “I won’t let them take you away.”

When she woke up, she was still in his arms. She glanced around the room wildly to determine where they were. The condo or Phil’s old apartment? She struggled to sit up, but he was holding her too tightly. She strained her eyes to look for the white vertical blinds. No vertical blinds; instead there were curtains. She threw one arm out to feel around on the nightstand for her watch and the earrings she’d taken off the night before. She knocked something onto the floor that clattered. The watch, maybe.

“Phil, Phil. Wake up.”

He moaned something unintelligible but loosened his grip on her, so she was able to pry herself loose and sit up. They were most definitely in the bedroom of the condo. Even in the dark, she could make out the blue-green pattern of the down comforter, the hulking pair of mismatched dressers, her full-length standing mirror, Phil’s gym bag on the floor by the closet. The time was eight o’clock.

“Phil.” She rolled him over so he was lying on his back and climbed on top of him. “Phil. Please open your eyes. Look at me.” She needed him to confirm what she was too afraid to believe in.

He opened his eyes. “You’re still here, Ollie,” he said with a yawn. “I knew you would be.”

“What year is it?” she demanded.

“Two thousand twelve,” he said. “Happy New Year.”

“Thank you, God.” Her eyes watered, and she snuggled against his chest to dry her tears. Everything that she’d been too scared to count on—the bright lights of her future—hit her with the blinding force of a thousand headlights. All the battles that she had fought and won last year would not have to be fought again.

She knew exactly how she wanted to spend the first day of her brand-new year—with the people she loved at her mom’s New Year’s Day party. She wanted to see her mom, Christopher, Verona, even Harry. She hoped Sherry would be there. She was worried that Sherry hadn’t graduated into 2012, or perhaps even worse, that she had, but that her health was now fading fast.

Her mom and Harry were surprised when Olive and Phil were the first ones to show up on the dot at noon, bearing a tray of vegetables and dip they had picked up at the grocery store on the way. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” they chimed as Olive and Phil stepped into the house.

The Pintos from next door and Christopher and Verona were quick to arrive next, and the party was in full swing by the time Olive’s aunt Laurel showed up and cornered her in the kitchen to congratulate her on getting back together with Phil. “I always knew you two were perfect for each other,” Laurel said and squeezed Olive in a bear hug. “Do I hear wedding bells?”

Olive spied Phil through the doorway in a conversation with her brother. He was laughing.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I really hope so.”

She excused herself and gravitated toward the picture wall, which had been the cause of so much revelation one year ago today. Here was the photo she had been looking for, but with a slight, yet significant, change. Six people barefoot on the beach this time. She looked up to see her mom watching her with a broad smile.

The house was not timeless, as she had once thought. The paisley print couch still hunkered in the living room, somewhere under the dining room table was a crayon scribble of a dog that Olive had drawn when she was six, the deck her father had built continued to hug the side of the house—even the New Year’s Day party tradition had been revived—but the house was not the same. Many of the same people were here today, celebrating all the possibilities and the potential for change that the new year offered, and while it could’ve been almost any year—1982, 1997, 2005, even 2011—Olive appreciated the importance and magnitude of 2012 like no one else in the house. She didn’t know what this year had in store for her, but instead of feeling scared and directionless, she felt refreshed and exhilarated because she knew Phil and her friends and family would be by her side.

The noise of the party surged around her like a symphony. Her mom’s laugh, Harry revealing the secret ingredient in the salsa, Phil and Christopher talking about dogs. Amidst this babble, she thought she caught the tones of a proud, familiar voice. She whirled around, and sure enough, Sherry Witan was standing in the foyer.

Sherry wore a vibrant, bright orange wig, cut into a chic bob with bangs. Her face was pale and drawn, but she looked more animated than Olive had ever seen her before. Sherry must have felt Olive’s eyes on her, because she suddenly turned toward her and held out her arm in a sweeping gesture as if she were the hostess, welcoming Olive to the party.