Page 22 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
“What do you think?” Olive asks.
“I don’t know. Can’t you use any table?” Caroline responds.
Olive’s finger taps against her lip as she ponders whatever the two women are discussing. Her eyes land on me, and she gives a little wave. “Come here, Theodore. I need your opinion.”
No one calls me Theodore other than Olive. She doesn’t even use it consistently, but I think I’m picking up on her pattern. The youngest Buchanan likes to be overly formal when she’s poking fun at someone. Which is why the moment she calls her brother ‘Timothy’ we can all expect a round of verbal sparring.
Whatever joke I’m about to be the butt of, I don’t even try to avoid. She beckons me, I come. Running away didn’t work. Maybe I should stop fighting so hard and just let myself absorb the happiness of being around her.
It’s worth a try.
“Yes, Oliviadore?” I respond, reaching her side.
She chokes on the next word she was about to speak, clearly thrown off by the nickname. Then I’m hit with a grin so joyful I have to stifle a groan.
This is what I get for playing along with her. More fuel for my pining.
Recovering from her surprise, the tempting woman mutes her smile and speaks in an even more formal tone. “I was just hoping to get your opinion on this table, Theodorenessa.”
Gauntlet thrown.
I pick it up.
“What about the table, Oliviadorella?”
Melony comes in from the porch with her son, joining Caroline where she stands, watching our back-and-forth with wide eyes.
Teeth pinch Olive’s bottom lip as she clears her throat. Then, “I was hoping to put the championship team back together and have a beer pong tournament tonight. Do you think the dining room table will serve, Theodorenessavain?”
Good one.
Making as if I’m examining the surface, I lean down, eye level with the table top, fighting as hard as I can against laughing. “I’m not sure it’ll count as an official tournament, with these dimensions so far out of regulation. But it’ll have to do …” I let my sentence trail off.
Just as she begins to raise her fist in victory, I finish.
“Oliviadorellamare.”
“Oh no,” Melony whispers, her voice low with mock horror as she clutches her young son against her chest. “Tim! Come quick! Olive broke your friend!”
“What did she do?” Tim asks as he climbs the stairs into the room, Cooper on his heels.
Even with his appearance, I can’t wipe away my goofy grin.
“Nothing!” Olive declares. “My partner and I were just strategizing our beer pong reunion. That is, if any of you have the balls to go against us.” She bumps her shoulder against mine and wags her eyebrows. “The ping pong balls, that is.”
“I’ve got the biggest ping pong balls y’all’ve ever seen!” Mrs. Buchanan announces, strolling into the kitchen from her bedroom and toasting the room with her half-empty glass of sangria. The Buchanan parents are the only ones with a bedroom on the top floor.
The literal top of the hierarchy.
“Maybe you don’t want to brag about that, dear.” Mr. Buchanan adds, following close behind his wife.
The entire room dissolves into laughter.
That evening, Diana takes charge of dinner, making tacos for the lot of us. After food, once Mason is tucked into bed, the tournament begins.
Six years may have passed, but neither Olive nor I have lost our skills. A big motivator for me is the enthusiastic hug I receive as a reward for every cup made. At 1 AM, Melony and Diana have been knocked out and have retired to bed. Mrs. Buchanan has nodded off on the couch while Mr. Buchanan watches the final round. Olive and I have two cups remaining, but a single red solo stands in front of Tim and Caroline.
“You got this babe,” Tim whispers to his fiancée as she aims. An arc of her arm and the ball lands pretty in our front cup. My friend lets out a whoop, sets himself up, aims, then throws a rim shot.
