Two Days Later

Oliver called me every twenty minutes. Every time he called I asked my mom to tell him I was sick and losing my voice and that I would call him as soon as I could. She believed me. I knew he would be able to see through it. But he never ratted me out to her; whether it was because he was that good of a friend not to rope my mother into our little spat or if it was just because he was embarrassed...it didn't matter. It would be pretty embarrassing on both parts.

Then finally came the unavoidable physical visit. I guess he got sick of the cold shoulder and decided to just drop by. When the door bell rang I was lying on the couch, my face flat against the cushion, staring at the TV. I could feel a pool of drool begin to mix with the damp stain from my tears shed almost an hour ago.

My mother answered the door and I looked up as he very slowly came into the room. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his hair was slightly askew and he looked very ashamed of himself. For a brief second I felt bad about being angry. A very brief second.

"Hi." He said to me softly. I stared up at him, mentally daring him to say something stupid in front of my mother. He just stood there and looked back at me. Maybe he was trying to share an apology through telepathy. It was all lost in translation.

"Lils, can I talk to you?" He asked, glancing back at my mom. I blinked at him and then looked away.

"I'm watching something right now, can it wait?"

Oliver turned and looked at the TV then back at me, "It's not even on."

"'It's not even on.'" I mocked him and sat up. I got up and shoved past him into the kitchen, where I gathered a bowl and a carton of eggs from the fridge before he appeared behind me.

"Why haven't you been taking my calls?" He asked quietly. Now that mom wasn't in the room he had found his voice. I cracked an egg and dropped it's contents into my bowl, but I didn't answer him.

"Lilly?"

"I was sick." I said simply, cracking another egg. Oliver sighed.

"I know you weren't sick."

"Oh, well, so you're not a complete moron after all." I smiled curtly at the yellow glop in front of me and cracked one more egg.

"Okay, I deserved that." Oliver said and flinched when I nodded. I moved sideways and reached around Oliver to get a whisk out of the drawer. He moved to accommodate me, even though I acted as if he wasn't there.

"Lils I--" Pete began, but I cut him off.

"Sorry, I'm a little busy right now."

"Come on, Li--"

"Too busy to talk."

"Even to me?" His voice went up in an attempt at cuteness. I was too angry for it to affect me.

"Especially to you." I answered.

"Lillian--"

"Busy!" I sang.

Oliver sighed, "Doing what?"

"I'm whisking."

"Oh, Lilly, please just listen to m--"

"Whisking!" I shouted in a shrill sing song voice. Oliver shut up and let out a long sigh. I continued with my fervent whisking for a few very long and very silent minutes. Then I pushed the bowl aside and turned around to face him. I leaned back against the counter, my hands firmly gripping its edge behind my back. He was leaning against the opposite counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He was watching me carefully, and his beautiful eyes looked big and sad. I licked my lips contemplatively.

"You didn't go with your parents at all, did you?" I asked. There was a long pause during which my question hung in the air like a pungent odor. Oliver's eyes stayed locked with mine but he shook his head slowly. I nodded, "So that's why you were acting so weird at lunch. You felt bad because you were lying to me."

Oliver sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded. I felt the pressure of oncoming tears push at the back of my eyes and sting the back of my throat. I forced them down and let out a sardonic laugh.

"God, Oliver, try not to look so fucking guilty." I said quietly, "I mean, if you're going to lie to me don't ruin it for yourself by growing a conscience."

Oliver's mouth opened and closed a few times then he took a slow step toward me and put his hands on my shoulders, "I'm so--"

"Don't!" I pushed him away and stepped out of his reach. The tears were starting to beat me and I wiped at my eyes quickly before crossing my arms over my chest, "You fucking lied to me, Oliver! You lied! How am I supposed to just blindly trust you now? You're my best friend, Oliver!" I shouted, "My best friend. That's supposed to mean something."

"It does." Oliver whispered. His voice coming out almost as a squeak.

"Then why did you ditch me to have sex with that...hussy you call a girlfriend?"

Oliver stared at me for a minute before the corners of his mouth began twitching, "Hussy?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "It's not funny. Don't laugh." I growled.

Oliver's face contorted and he struggled very noticeably for a long time before he snorted loudly. I stepped forward and smacked him. It only made him laugh harder.

"Oliver Oscar Oken!" I scolded, now holding back my own threatening laughter, "Stop laughing, we're having a fight."

Oliver managed to get his laughter under control by taking a long cleansing breath and passing a hand over his face very slowly. Watching him do that, made me snort with amusement. While I was uninhibited by my laughter, Oliver reached forward and wrapped me in a tight, almost suffocating hug. He buried his face in my hair with his mouth against my ear and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I love you. Forgive me?"

I didn't fight him. As soon as my giggles surpassed I buried my face in the crook of his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. Oliver could always get to me like that. There was no fighting him, he was a force to be reckoned with. A beautiful, amazing force of nature. And I was caught in his path, a helpless victim to this unbelievable disaster. But not so much a disaster as a masterpiece. He was a work of art. I was enraptured.