OliViA

Exile

While Lauren was at the buffet filling a plate, Olivia stood off in the kitchen corner by herself. Across the room, three women huddled closely together, giving her a collective stink eye. Olivia had never seen them before, but she guessed they were Jennifer's friends; women she'd probably met in her Mommy & Me group.

Lauren came back with a plate filled with pasta, bread, rice, and meats.

"Enough carbs, Mom?" Olivia asked.

"There's also a dessert table. I'll go make you a plate," Lauren said, ready to rush back out.

Olivia took her by the arm. "Mom. Don't."

"I just want to make you a to-go box so you can have something to eat this week."

"Mom, you're doing it again." Olivia drew in air through her nostrils. "With me. Come on. Let's do it together. Inhale."

"Honey, stop," Lauren told her, slightly embarrassed.

"Do it with me, Mom," encouraged Olivia. She took in another long, deep breath.

Lauren followed Olivia's lead, filling her lungs with air. Lauren was fueled by nervous energy that sped up her breathing. It often kept her awake at night and eroded her concentration. It was nice to slow down.

"And . . . exhale." Olivia and Lauren both breathed out. "See, Mom? It's good to breathe."

Lauren nodded in agreement. "You're right." Over the years, her anxiety attacks had become more frequent and much more severe. Her most recent one landed her in the hospital for 24-hour observation. She left with a prescription for Valium and a doctor's warning that if she didn't rein in her stress she was going to be put on a blood pressure pill.

Olivia looked in the direction of the women across the room, non-stop chatting to each other. Their glares bore a hole through her. Olivia turned her to the pasta salad on her plate. Lauren glanced back at the women.

"Hens clucking," Lauren told Olivia. "Pay them no mind."

Olivia set the plate down. The thought of food was making her sick.

Lauren gazed at her daughter. How many times she'd contemplated her face, putting to memory every line, every crease, every hue she found in it. She brushed the hair out of Olivia's eyes just as she had done when she was a little girl.

"You're not taking your medication, are you?" Lauren asked, knowing full well she wasn't. Olivia did not respond. Lauren picked up the dirty plates scattered on the counters and began rinsing them off in the sink. She had to keep busy.

The first time Olivia went off her meds she was sixteen-years-old. She attempted suicide by swallowing a bottle of Tylenol and a handful of Vicodin. Lauren was the one who found Olivia's lifeless body splayed across the bed. Right after she called 911, she forced her fingers down Olivia's throat, which caused her to vomit. The doctors told Lauren three more minutes and there would have been no revitalization.

"Did you speak to Jennifer?" Lauren asked Olivia. The women across the room continued to stare daggers at her.

Olivia traced her fingers along her forehead. She felt herself becoming irritated. "Yeah, we spoke. I can't believe how big she is. She wasn't that big with Charlotte, was she?"

"Yes. She was that big," Lauren confirmed. "So what did you talk about?"

"Not much," said Olivia, rubbing the back of her neck.

"I find that hard to believe. It's been six months. You must've said something," Lauren pressed.

"Not really." Olivia looked back over at the women who had now added a fourth to their group.

"Well, was she happy to see you? Did she ask you how you were? Did you make plans to meet up after the baby's born?"

Olivia had no more patience. "I fucked my sister's husband, Mom. I don't think we'll be scheduling a pow-wow anytime soon," she said, her voice raised so the women could clearly hear. She looked back over her shoulder to notice the women who had gone radio silent.

"Well, one can hope." Lauren's optimism persisted through it all. "You were close once."

Olivia scraped the food off her plate and into the trash can. "Maybe a long time ago." Olivia went back outside.

As evening fell and the guests over sixty-five and parents of those under ten-years-old went home, a younger and more virile group arrived. The jazz band turned its tunes to the more current pop hits of Beyonce, Justin Timberlake, and Taylor Swift.

Olivia stood off to the side of a makeshift dance floor shaking her head. What she wouldn't give to hear Patsy Cline or Roy Orbison. They were artists. The real deal. None of that bull shit auto-tunes done in post-production.

"Desperation on a dance floor." It was a deep voice behind her. Olivia turned.

It was a male. At first, Olivia's eyes passed over him. She wasn't in the mood since the monster had been fed.

"That guy over there? The one with his hands shoved in his pockets? I know. I don't even want to think what he's doing in those pockets. But he's asked three women to dance. At least three that I've seen. All turned him down." He moved in closer to Olivia.

His scent was salty with just a trace of citrus. All-natural. He was tall at over six feet. His eyes deeply set. His jawline defined. His hair is full of more than enough to grab hold of.

"The gal over there? She really wants to hook up with that guy, but he's married -- wedding ring-- but I can tell he's banging that chick over there who acts like she's with this guy when she's really wanting to be with her. The one in the corner. Over there," he pointed out.

Olivia looked over at the woman gulping down her martini. The woman who couldn't pry her eyes off the couple he pointed to. Once noted, it was obvious what was happening on the dance floor .

"A sociologist you are," said Olivia.

"A Yoda follower you must be," he smiled. His teeth were white and perfectly straight. Either a good dentist or good genes, she thought.

Olivia's eyes trailed down his body. Even through his well-tailored blazer, she could tell his body was V-shaped. His shoulders broad, his waist slim. He was physically appealing.

"A Yoda follower I am not," Olivia bit through her grin.

He finished his beer then set it on the table. "My name's Caleb." Then he extended his hand to her.

She accepted the gesture "Olivia."