If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

I don’t point out his moral inconsistencies. There’s no point in arguing if I can’t win.

And even though his lips are pulled in a taut line, there’s a small crease along one side of his mouth. It’s a laugh line that doesn’t know how to disappear, even at a wake.

His eyes relax, like he’s mentally extending a chair for me to join him in our silent, all-seeing space. He’s kicking his feet back. He’s not going anywhere.

Mom was the kind of person who could be revered and loved in only a year. Give me two years in a single room with one person, and we’d still be strangers.

We understood each other once—respected each other.

I’m getting louder, making him fidget more. Good. Be uncomfortable.

Winston, our resident painter, is perched on a small stool on the sidewalk, creating the final strokes on our seasonal window art. It’s a mural of autumn leaves, scarecrows, pumpkins, and apples. I told him to add a pie, but he said he couldn’t draw pies, so plain apples it is.

That sounds so much like Kirk lol

“One day, she’ll be a normal teenager and see the light.”

can see his eyes are a light blue, reminiscent of a summer day devoid of clouds. Bright. Happy.

the man counters with a laugh. It’s the type of laugh that seems like it’s been on the edge of his teasing lips this whole time. Like it belongs in that little crease beside his mouth.

Emily claps the pot again with the wooden spoon. “All right, it’s ready! Extra squash chunks. Just for you, big dog.”

Lol

Sometimes people in Copper Run drop hints about my mother, and it’s always jarring. But they’re like precious shimmers. I want to grab each one.

“You’re a good person to smile around,” Cliff says, taking a bite. He does things like that—giving casual compliments like they’re Halloween candy. I never know how to react, and I used to think that was his intention. Shock and awe. But now…now, Cliff throws out nice things without any pause for recognition.

I like that he says my full name, mostly because I know it’s intentional. Cliff might lean too close or ask too many personal questions that catch me off guard, but he knows how to make people feel seen. Sometimes too seen.

Cliff nods to himself silently. And then his palm lands on my knee. I freeze. Cliff isn’t shy to touch. His touch is always gentle. It’s not greedy or wanting or even carrying implications. But he’s also never touched me here. The warmth of his heavy hand and lengthy fingers spans across my entire knee and part of my thigh. It radiates through me in waves of fire. The palm is gone as quick as it landed, but I’m breathless.

But it’s been probably a year since I’ve felt a man’s palm so close to my thigh. And it’s been almost seven years since I’ve been touched by any man except my husband.

So sad.

and the smile of a man well practiced in swaying people to indulge in icing-covered delicacies.

the combination pizzeria / coffee shop—which is a monstrosity I have yet to get an explanation for.

you don’t get it either.” “Maybe not,” I agree. “Nobody can know what you’re going through, except you.”

“But you’re not the first teen with parent issues—I’ll tell you that.”

My feelings on storybook love suddenly feel dull and unnatural. For the life of me, I can’t seem to remember the fire I had with Allen. Allen and I were so serious all the time. We were two stubborn people who found their stubborn puzzle piece. I can’t recall passion—at least not the kind of all-encompassing obsession that clouds all judgment and keeps you up at night. I don’t remember whether I felt like Emily, desperately needing to see a guy at every waking moment. I can’t remember the last time I had a zip in my stomach, like when Cliff’s palm was on my knee.

Emily grins, and I can see little inklings of Cliff in the twinkle of her blue eyes. They beam with hope, just like his.

Michelle has walls. A lot of them. And I don’t know when they were built—whether it was with Birdie or her ex—but they’ve closed her off to everyone. They’ve made her tough though. Confident. And I kinda like her screw everyone attitude. But she’s also funny. Kind. Gentle even. More generous than she lets on or probably wants anyone to see. I don’t want to remove her walls because that’d destroy her strength, but I’d kill for more peeks into the other side.

My self-deprecating humor is her favorite type of humor.

Ughhh cant stand her.

What is a sisterly relationship if not tumultuous with immediate forgetfulness?

The man loves when his compliments disarm me because his smile always reaches the little wrinkles beside his eyes.

Cliff’s brow furrows, and for some inexplicable reason, when he holds out his hand, I place the card in his palm. I’m on autopilot now, and apparently, my default is to trust Cliff.

Except I’m not. My hands are shaking. He peers down at them, and slowly, gently, he takes one hand into his. It’s not intimate. He doesn’t thread his fingers between the grooves of my own. He simply holds it between his palms. But my heart still misses a beat. It does it again when I look at the set-aside birthday card.

but when his hand leaves me, I want it back.

Cliff curls a single finger, gesturing for me to come over. The motion snags on me, coaxing my chest forward, like his finger has a string tied to my body.

This was worn by a more serious, unfamiliar, salesy Cliff. Not my baker Cliff.

Myyyyy<3

Michelle rarely wants to talk about her mom, but she’s been more open about it lately. She’s taking small crumbs, like maybe the crumbs will lead her somewhere. Where, I’m not sure, but I’ll leave behind any she needs.

The glow of the small lamp on the front desk reflects on her pink cheeks, casting her eyes in a dark shadow, where she peers at me with a grin. The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.

How the hell did I get privileged enough to see this side of her?

I’m attracted to Michelle, which isn’t news to me at all, but this heart-pounding affection…it’s foreign yet so oddly familiar, all at once. It’s something I haven’t felt since I was sixteen.

“Better. No more show reruns. He’s going on walks.”

“I like how you talk about your sister,” he says. “She’s my favorite person in the world,” I admit.

You deserve to be taken care of, Michelle.”

I miss…noise. It’s so quiet, being alone.”

The sentence doesn’t feel like they’re his words. They’re Tracy’s. These thoughts were planted years ago with time to sprout, and now they’re rooted in him.

I can smell the vanilla and cinnamon on him, but also that unique citrus cologne underneath—the secret Cliff hides behind all his walls.

I can’t calm my nerves when he looks at me like that.

Oh, and, Mr. Burke?” Cliff’s eyes squeeze shut. “Yes, Josh?” “Can I…can you tell me what her favorite dessert is? I figure…I don’t know…I’d like to find out how to make it or something.” Cliff’s shoulders deflate, and he nods, breathing out, “Apple fritter.” “Apple fritter, apple fritter…” Josh repeats.

Awwwwwww

He’s taking me in, and even though he’s always looked at me like that—with a stare that sees through me—I’ve never felt more exposed than I do in this moment.

I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to know if he’s watching me walk away. I don’t want to potentially see his subtle smile rise up the corner of his mouth. I don’t need to feel my heart beating faster. And I definitely don’t need to confirm my newest secret. I like Cliff Burke. Like like, as Emily might say.

I’m already lost in the mix of things, and I’ve jumped twice after a group of boys ran past with a fake chain saw. But all that doesn’t compare to the thrumming in my chest when Cliff touches my lower back.

I bite my bottom lip, staring at his smile again. I can’t help myself. I like the little line beside his mouth and the fan of check marks beside his eyes.

I have butterflies for this small-town baker nestled in Vermont. For this man—a friend—I would have never met in any lifetime except this one, with my divorce and without my mom. But I’m not sure I’d want to be in any other place right now, and that’s the scariest part.

I laugh again, and the joy feels so foreign. But it’s there, releasing from me through a collapsed dam.

We take the quiet, alone, away-from-the-world path.