That’s a weird question. Mr. Hooper might not be a vampire, but he could be a perv. I cross my arms over my chest. “Obviously not. I’m a librarian.”
“Why obviously not?”
I don’t want to seem like I’m fishing for compliments or the sort of woman who isn’t comfortable in her own skin, but… “I’m average. I’m not supermodel material.”
Mr. Hooper nods and thankfully doesn’t stare at my average assets. “I’m sure Oliver doesn’t think you’re average when he looks at you. Society has taught you that you’re less than because you’ve been exposed to magazines and social media. Even if it’s all fake, that’s still a lesson you’ve learned. Oliver has learned his own lessons.”
I scoff. “Oliver could actually be a supermodel.”
“Ah, but his brain doesn’t work the way society says it should.”
“It works better,” I argue.
Mr. Hooper stares at me with a flat brow. “You’re awfully stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I have no shame in admitting this.
He sighs. “Fine, but you get my point. Oliver knows he doesn’t fit the mold of what society says a man should be. He’s good at faking it, but at the end of the day, that also makes him feel like a fraud on top of everything else. I can’t tell you how many times Jack cried when he was a teenager, begging his mother to just make him normal.” He chokes down audible tears. “It’s difficult for them. You don’t need me to tell you that. They have to work three times as hard to achieve half as much. Without the illusion of Oliver being normal to you, there’s no work for him to do. It takes away his agency and his sense of accomplishment.”
“I don’t want to take anything away from him! I want to give him the freedom to be honest and open with me instead of the exhausting task of faking it like he does with everyone else!”
Mr. Hooper nods, seeming to think this over. “Okay. I hear you. I understand your perspective, and it’s admirable. Think of it like this though—let’s go back to the supermodel analogy. Say Oliver wanted you to be more open and honest with him about not feeling attractive enough to compete with Victoria’s Secret models. You decide you’re ready to confide in him that you’re considering plastic surgery to make yourself look the way society says you should. How would you want him to respond to that? Would you want him to offer to pay for your boob job? Would you want him to insist you look fine the way you are? Would you believe him if he told you that?”
This is an intensely uncomfortable situation, and not just because my neighbor is casually discussing my breast size. I squeeze my arms tighter across my chest. “I see your point. It’s a no-win conversation.”
He raises his eyebrows. “And extremely embarrassing, right?”
“Yes,” I admit.
Awkward silence settles between us. I strain my ears to listen for any sound from the other side of the wall. Nothing.
“So, what’s the advice part?” I ask. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“What would make you forgive Oliver if you overheard him telling someone how small your breasts are?”
In this moment, as pissed as I am at those words, there’s not much I can think of.
“You’re angry, right?” Mr. Hooper prods.
“Yes,” I grit out.
“That’s how he feels right now. In a while, you’ll realize he was defending your small breasts, saying how amazing he thinks they are. You’ll feel stupid for overreacting, but you’ll still be embarrassed because someone called out the obvious. In a while longer, you’ll be ready to face him again, but you’re seriously considering those implants now. You love him, so you don’t want him to be saddled with the burden of being with a woman who has less than perfect breasts.”
“Is this advice, or are you trying to talk me into getting breast implants?” I mutter. I’m ashamed to admit, it’s kind of working.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Once Oliver gets over his anger and embarrassment, he’s going to try even harder to seem normal to you. My advice? Let him.”
16
Oliver
She does not look happy to see me. In fact, she looks very confused by my presence on her doorstep.
“Ollie?” Liv rubs her eye with her fist and yawns. “Why did you ring the doorbell? You have a key.”
I do. I have almost used it three-hundred and thirty-six times in the past twenty-eight days. “We did not hand out Halloween candy together, so I did not feel it was appropriate for me to use my key to let myself into your home.”
“Yeah.” Her shoulders fall as she stares at the bouquet in my hands. “I guess not.”
She does not say anything else. I do not know how to begin.
I hold the flowers up. This is easy. “These are for you.”
She takes them with a small smile. “Thank you.”
She does not ask what they are for. Liv always asks questions.
“You are unhappy to see me.”
“No.” She yawns again. “It’s six in the morning, and I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
“It is six fourteen in the morning,” I correct her. “I waited until you usually wake for work.”
“Oh. I have today off.” She stares at me with a blank expression.
“Why?” My chest seizes with panic as I study her. “What’s wrong?”
I would know what’s wrong if I had not been so hard-headed as my mom says.
“Nothing.”
“You love your job,” I blurt. “You would not take a day off if something was not wrong.”
She shrugs. “I decided to take a mental health day.”
“What’s wrong with your mental health?” I practically scream.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just wanted a day off.”
This is incomprehensible. This is a disaster. I have ruined everything.
She holds the door open wider. “Would you like some coffee?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I do not like the taste of coffee. You know this.”
“I’m going to make some, and you’re already here. It seemed polite to offer.”
Who is this robot? What has she done with Liv?
She abandons the doorway and heads into the kitchen.
I follow because I am weak. Twenty-eight days without her has not been enjoyable. At all.
Being in her presence again is not an improvement so far.
Since she obviously has no desire to ask, I explain, “The flowers are to apologize. I missed your first ovulation period. I was feeling…petulant.”
She pauses making the coffee. Her arm is frozen in mid-air with the water-filled carafe. “Apology accepted. It’s okay. Your mom told me you already confessed everything to her.”
What else has my mother told her?
“What else did my mother tell you?”
Liv resumes preparing her coffee. “Uh, nothing much. Just that you’re doing well, and you got a promotion at work. Congrats, by the way. I’d like to take you out to lunch to celebrate whenever you have some free time. She also said Thanksgiving has been moved back to her house and invited me. Unfortunately, I had to decline.”