If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

I like Cliff Burke. And this charming guy who has the entire small town wrapped around his finger? I know he could never like an abrasive woman like me.

🙄 girl please he has verbally disagreed with every single negative thing he’s heard you say about yourself

“Friends?” I ask. I see her swallow. “Friends.”

🥱

Brittany doesn’t come over anymore. Days that were once filled with child laughter now only have the dull monotony of a humming television with daytime game shows. Rocket lies by the back door, waiting for her, every day around three o’clock, as if the school bus will drop her off at any minute. I’ve told him a few times that it won’t, but I don’t think he hears me—or at least he pretends he doesn’t.

Omg bfd it’s not like the dog bit her. Accidents happen.

“Oh, I missed you,” she exhales into me. Sara is shorter than me—five two to my five nine—which is why she nuzzles closer, burying her face into my breasts like a burrowing rabbit. “Stop,” I groan through an exhausted laugh. “I didn’t realize this was a customary greeting,” Cliff says, leaning away with his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been saying hello wrong for months.”

“Cliff is so cute.” My stomach drops right as the cork pops out. “Yeah,” I quickly agree. “Yeah, he’s…handsome, I guess.” I set the cork beside the wine, reaching out my hand for her glass. She almost drops the stem through my fingers. I catch it with both hands, and Sara covers her giggle. I start to pour as she coyly says, “So…” “So…” She kicks her cute little boot over at me. “Anything there?” “Where?” “Between you and Cliff. I know you said there wasn’t, but something feels like it’s changed or whatever.” The wine bottle clatters against the glass from my shaking hands. “Us? No. Oh. No. Not at all.”

Fucking liar

“So, think you could talk to him for me?” Sara asks. “Please, please, please?” Sara and Cliff. Cliff and Sara. My sister and my charming neighbor. My best friend and my sister. Sara narrows her eyes. “Unless…you are into him,” she says, setting down her glass and holding up both hands. “I’m not gonna step on your toes.” I realize too late that my brow is furrowed. “No,” I say quickly, blowing out air and shaking my head as I pour myself wine. “God, no. No, it’s Cliff. He’s…no.” She squints more. “You two seem close.” I set the wine bottle on the counter with a definitive plunk. “I’m honestly closer with his daughters,” I lie.

😑

“Because you deserve a chance at happiness,” I finally breathe out. His palms shift in his pockets. His foot scuffs on the concrete. It’s painfully quiet, so I finally add, “She’s your type.” Cliff hisses in a breath, and slowly he starts taking steps toward me. One. Then another. I’m breathless as he stalks closer, crossing into the beam of light above us. I can finally see him again. His eyebrows are tilted inward. His chest is suddenly only inches from mine. “Uh-huh,” he muses, his voice low as his blue eyes flick between mine. “And what is my type, Michelle?” I straighten my spine. “Blond. Bubbly.” He tongues his cheek. He looks irritated, but that only makes me stand taller. He’s never been like this with me, and I don’t know what to do with it. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Blond. Bubbly. That pretty perfectly describes the woman I divorced.” The words ooze with disdain.

This is the conflict? Her being a liar?

“Are you mad at me now?” I ask sharply. Cliff exhales, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing, as if he just realized he was stressed at all. He threads his fingers through his hair, letting the strands drop back into place. “I don’t think this is a great idea. I barely know her.” “That’s the point of a date, isn’t it?” His jaw ticks as he looks off to the side. “I don’t know, Michelle…” “Don’t you want to finally move on?” I ask. He blinks, staring at me. Staring through me. “I’ll think about it,” he murmurs.

Pretending like the conversation didn’t happen. But there’s a small edge to every word. A sharp cut. I don’t address his attitude because there’s no point. I know what I did, and it isn’t worth it to start an argument I know I’d lose.

She’s so stupid

when I asked Sara on a date, all I thought was, If this will make Michelle happy…

🙄🙄🙄🙄 idiot. You should have told her fuck no. What the he’ll is wrong with you

“Do you know you’re in love with my sister?”

Glad someone in this book has some sense

“You seem irritated.” “I am,” he confirms without hesitation, making my head jerk back. His words are so matter-of-fact. Transactional. “Why?”

Yeah play dumb some more. That’ll solve everything

“We agreed it was fine if we were friends, but…then you set me up on a date with your sister. And…it’s not…I don’t know. I said yes, so it’s my fault too.”

True. You both are fucking stupid

“Sure,” she agrees on a breath. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving tomorrow.” The implication of not seeing each other before then hangs in the air. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.” I hang up and groan in the empty parking lot. She’s stubborn. I guess so am I. But when you like someone—as a friend or more—you take the good with the bad, and I like Michelle because of her stubbornness and not in spite of it.

She’s a drag and this book borrrrringgggg holy shit

But I can’t control someone like Cliff. He’s the least influenceable person in the world.

Yeah he’s soooo uninfluenced by you he went on a date with your sister because you told him to

“What? Am I gonna argue with you? Do you know how impossible that is? It’s impossible now, and I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.” He exhales and holds up his palms, as if trying to calm himself down. “I shouldn’t have said yes. That’s my fault. Not yours.” No, I think. It’s me. I’m the one with problems. I keep circling it over and over. I did this to us. We were doing just fine until this. He was doing fine until I came along. Cliff pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “God, stop thinking for half a second, Michelle. I can never tell—” “You don’t need to. I don’t owe you or anyone anything.” His eyes snap to mine, and he’s speechless for a moment. “Fine.” “Fine,” I answer.

This is the stupidest argument