Page 11 of Lucy Loves Him Not
This time she had a Tupperware of double chocolate chip cookies in her arms as she said it.
“Okay, so these are fresh.” She shook the container as she crossed the living room's open space toward the kitchen. “I decided to drop them off. Also, Olivia texted me and told me I need to come over here for some news?”
Oh. I hadn’t told Mom what happened with the festival. Olivia probably wanted her to hear it from me first. Mom had emotion and memory tied up with it, too.
“She’s probably wanting me to tell you about what happened.” I leaned against the kitchen island on my forearms.
“What happened?” My mom’s eyes creased with worry.
I told her the whole story as she pulled a couple of plates out of my cabinet and we ate who knows how many cookies.
“This Adam sure is a little snarky,” my mom said, shaking her head in disbelief. “But I’m sure he’d met his match in you. I know what a little spitfire you can be.”
“I wasn’t being a spitfire, not really.” I dusted a few cookie crumbs off my fingers. “I was frustrated and caught off guard?—”
Then we heard the door open and in swept Olivia. “Guys!” she squealed as the door fell closed behind her.
Olivia was beaming, brighter than the late morning sun streaming in through the windows. “Mom, you got my text!”
“Yeah, honey, Lucy was just filling me in on the news,” Mom said, gesturing toward me.
“What?” Olivia was suddenly confused. “How do you know anything?” She looked to me.
“About the festival?” I asked. We were obviously missing something.
“My news isn’t about the festival. I have my own news!” She dropped her bags on the couch and with slow, anticipatory steps walked over to us.
Mom and I waited for her news, glancing at one another in curiosity. All was quiet except the coffee maker brewing another pot like Olivia’s own makeshift drumroll.
She was bouncing. A lightness in her. “I bought a house!”
Five
“Ahouse?” I asked dumbfounded.
“A house. The beautiful fixer-upper downtown. That really old one right off Main Street and Perrin Avenue,” Olivia said, her voice swoony like she’d fallen in love.
Mom’s eyes lit. “I love that house. A lot of people have thought about buying it. The girl, Katie, who owns Coffees and Commas, almost bought it right before she got married and one of the women in book club?—”
“How do you just…buy a house?” I asked, still dumbfounded.
“This house on Perrin was a big topic during the historical society meeting this morning?—”
“Oh, I forgot you had that meeting today! How was it?” Mom asked as she poured herself another mug of coffee.
“Well, she bought a house at it, apparently,” I guffawed.
Olivia raised an eyebrow, obviously picking up on my mood. “The meeting was great. I should’ve joined sooner. But, as I was saying, the house was brought up. Everyone talked about what a piece of history it is and how it should be treated with its inherent value. And,” she took a deep breath, all starry-eyed, “something stirred in me the minute the house was mentioned. I felt a longing to own my own little piece of history, a place ofmy own to care for and treasure. People pulled out pictures and it was perfect. A mess, but perfect.”
“I need to see these pictures, Olivia.” Mom did a happy little dance while she said this, mug in hand. She and I were obviously having very different reactions to Olivia’s news.
“This was all brought up because the seller’s agent, Bethany, was at the meeting. She’s obsessed with Sweet River history. She happened to be sitting right by me. We wound up talking and I admitted how I wished I could just buy up that house…She asked me, ‘Well, why not?’”
I nodded wordlessly. Mom placed a hand to her chest as if invested in a gripping story.
“Then Bethany offered to walk down and see it with me. It was love, guys, the minute I opened that door. She walked me through what actually went into buying the house. How it’s a great price, but it’s a big project which is what scares people off. But I thought…I don’t mind a big project. Maybe I couldusea big project. I’m on my own, I’ve got the time, and I’ve saved up the money. Why not? Like, really, why not?”
“Why not?” my mom repeated like she was at a pep rally.
