OliViA

Reunion

Two days after her reprimand, Olivia went back to work. On time. She apologized to Colleen for giving her the finger and as a peace offering brought Sandy a jelly donut from her favorite bakery. Sandy stifled a few tears as she bit into it.

"Oh, boy. That's got to be the best jelly donut I ever had," Sandy expressed. Olivia smiled then gingerly wiped the jelly from the corner of her mouth, licking her thumb afterwards. Sandy went tongue-tied then excused herself to the bathroom. In the mirror, she blotted her brow with a wet paper towel. What she was experiencing was much different from a hot flash. Yes, her cheeks were rosy; yes, her armpits were sweat-stained. But her skin glistened. Her loins burned. She was on fire. In a good way. And for the rest of the day, Sandy maintained a wicked spring in her step as she imagined that donut. That wipe. And that lick.

After work, Olivia stopped off at her P.O. Box. Inside was a cashier's check from her parents for the rent and what looked to be an invitation. She opened it. It was from Jennifer inviting her to their father's 60th birthday. She was hosting, and it would be held at her home. She enclosed a handwritten note: "Olivia, please come. It would mean a lot to Mom and Dad. --Jennifer."

Olivia's heart skipped one beat, if not two, as she read over it again. Jennifer's handwriting was no longer the big, bubbled letters she remembered. The letters were smaller and slanted a tad to the left. She dotted her lowercase "i" with a point rather than a circle. Olivia shoved the invitation in her pocket. It was still a week away. She had time to decide.

On her walk home, Olivia visited the convenience store where she bought a cup of coffee and a can of cat food on a daily basis. Ali was her primary contact. Olivia found her the same day she found the box of video tapes. Ali had been a kitten then, malnourished and flea-ridden. Olivia bottle fed her until she was able to eat from the can.

Olivia paused in the alleyway. "Ali!" she shouted. Ali scampered out from behind the dumpster, brushing her head against Olivia's leg.

"How's my Ali cat?" Olivia asked, scratching the feline behind the ears. She purred. Olivia set the opened can down then watched Ali lap up the gravy.

"Our D-I-V-O-R-C-E becomes final today. Me and little J-O-E will be goin' away," sang Olivia to Tammy Wynette's classic. The radio dulled. Olivia banged it on the table, resuscitating it. ". . . and this will be pure H-E double L for me," she went on as she folded the wrapping paper over the box. She reached for her coffee, knocking it over and spilling it on the paper.

"Mother fucker," she blurted, grabbing the soaked package. Her hands were shaking. Sometimes they did that whenever she went off her meds, her body going through withdrawal, making adjustments. Other times, it was too much caffeine. Maybe today it was just plain old nerves. She hadn't decided.

She snatched up a t-shirt to sop up the mess and then tore off the paper. She opened the box then smoothed her fingers over a framed picture of her and Jennifer as children dressed as Romeo and Juliet. The girls were beaming, their arms wrapped around each other. It was a foggy memory for her now, and if that moment hadn't been captured in a snapshot, she wouldn't have believed it ever happened.

But there it was: two sisters. The older one tilting her head against the younger one, her embrace fully encompassing. Had they really been that close? That enchanted with each other? At one time, yes, they had to have been. This was proof. So why then was it so difficult to believe?

Olivia thoughtfully placed the picture back in the box. This would be a gift for her father on his birthday, a twinkle in time when his daughters held each other and laughed with each other.