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It’s Anh’s fault Olive is running through SFO like her life she’s being chased by a grizzly straight out of hibernation, ready to feast on its first meal. Everything is Anh’s fault, if she were to get technical about it. Not that it matters; Olive would do anything for her. Still. In a different world, a just world, Anh would’ve believed Olive didn’t have a thing for Jeremy and gone out with him with no questions asked. Which means Olive would never have kissed Adam Carlsen in the hallway. If she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t have fallen in love with the man, and her heart wouldn’t be in tatters.
Deep down, never knowing Adam as intimately as she does feels like a crime. The loss of all losses. He is the love of her life. She knows that now. The belief embedded itself deep in her marrow, spreading through every cell.
Regardless, this is Anh’s fault. She’s the reason Olive kissed him, and she’s the reason she listened to Olivia Rodrigo’s stupid album and fell in love with those stupid songs, especially stupid song. The first listen was a bolt of lightning to her heart. It was her feelings for Adam, and she wanted to scream it from the rooftops.
“It’s official. I can’t pick a favorite,” Anh says, popping a Doritos into her mouth. “I lied. maggots for brains is a total bop.”
“Stupid song,” Olive sighed.
“I like you more than any stupid song could ever say!” Anh sings. “Adorable.”
“I bet that’s how you feel about Jeremy. You should sing it to him on karaoke night and change it to love.”
Olive tries to sound chipper; she hopes she succeeds, but what does she know anymore anyway? True love is a thing of her past. She broke her heart and made that choice willingly.
Anh frowns at her empty soda. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far, y’know? Bit soon for love. I like him more than anyone else. It’s only been…gosh, how long has it been? A few months. That’s not long enough to know if I love him. I need time to gather more evidence.”
“I loved Adam.”
It isn’t a conscious thought — she just says it. It’s the truth, but Olive has never said the words out loud. She wouldn’t allow herself to. It hurts too much, and ruminating over her feelings for Adam Carlsen won’t do anyone any good. Three little words packed with so much meaning. Olive never thought she’d have the chance to tell someone she loves them. The realization she’ll never get to tell Adam…it hurts. Everything about him hurts.
Remembering the myriad expressions that flitted across his face on September 29th hurt.
Thinking of the future that felt close enough to taste but would never be, hurts.
Knowing Adam will have a blissful life with the older, mysterious woman more worthy of his attention hurts, as happy as she is that he’ll at least have that.
All of it hurts, which is why Olive forbids herself from thinking about Adam Carlsen. Not that it works most days, but she tries.
Something about saying it: “I loved Adam,” is oddly freeing. Like a great weight has been lifted from her chest. An even greater load than what Tom Benton piled onto Olive. He’s nothing compared to Adam’s loss. She has her life, her science, and yet nothing is bright and beautiful the way it was when Olive stole edamame from Adam’s plate, amazed by sushi revolving around them.
“Ol…” Anh chews on her lower lip. “You only dated him for a couple weeks.”
“I loved him,” Olive says, her conviction growing. It feels perfect on her tongue. Better than her first pumpkin spice and the smell of freshly fallen snow. “I love him.”
She scrambles to her feet, pulling her hoodie on inside out.
“You don’t know that. He’s your first crush, that’s all.”
“I do. I love him.”
“Olive, don’t you —”
“I need to tell him.”
“Let’s take a step back for a second. First, you dated for a month. Second, Adam hasn’t reached out to you since you broke up. Don’t you think that’s a sign or something? It’s totally shitty of him, but he’s not called Adam Ass Carlsen for no reason. He’s uber direct, Ol. Third: Didn’t Malcolm tell us that Holden told him that he heard from Carlsen that he’s leaving?”
“What? Leaving?”
Yes. Leaving. That’s all Malcolm knew; Holden didn’t elaborate, and Malcolm didn’t ask. After a significant amount of begging on Olive’s part, she’d been able to find out that Adam had a flight at SFO tonight. It’s supposed to board in ten minutes, and Olive refuses to miss it. She can’t let Adam accept the position at Harvard. She can’t let him believe he knows the truth when he doesn’t. Tom will take advantage of Adam. Olive will never forgive herself, and he’ll never know that she loves him.
Olive threw lying out the window when she slammed into the Delta counter. She doesn’t have the time or energy to think of an elaborate story, so she tells the truth in a catastrophic rush. She was in love with a man getting on the 8:42 PM plane to Boston, and she needed to tell him pronto. Olive isn’t sure if it’s some kind of November magic or the frantic look on her face, but the flight attendant personally escorts her through TSA, muttering something about needing to hear happy news for once.
“I’ll never forget you!” Olive shouted, weaving through passersby.
“Left! You need to go to the left!”
She sprints toward Terminal 1, looking for the sign that will point to the C-Gate. Only a few minutes, and the doors will be closed. Adam will be in Boston, and Olive — she can’t think of it.
“Adam!”
There are people everywhere. Flyers hoping to get home to their loved ones, make it to business meetings, or perhaps even go on vacation. His flight is the last of the C-gates, as per the laws of running after your love in a crowded airport.
“Sorry, excuse me! Sorry! Oof, sorry — Adam!”
Olive bumps and runs into people, nearly trips over an influencer dancing in the middle of the aisle, and runs faster. She has never been so grateful for her Asics; they’ve gotten her through mile after mile. This is nothing to them, and everything to Olive. She’s sure she’s a sight for sore eyes in her running shorts, mismatched socks, and tear-stained Stanford hoodie. Her messy bun fell to the side long ago, floppier than ever. In movies, the heroine is always impeccably put together when she confesses her love to the hero, but not Olive.
She’s unabashedly herself.
“Adam!” He’s nowhere to be seen. Olive’s too late. There’s no hidden alcove or curtain for him to hide in; he’s not at the gate. She didn’t come all this way to stop now. It’s the first time her courage has been high — forget high, the first time her courage has poked its head at all since September 29th.
“Last call for Flight DL 1851, San Francisco International to Boston Logan. Last call for Flight DL 1851, San Francisco International to Boston Logan.”
“I guess I’m going back to Boston.”
Lord help her.
The universe is testing her. Olive is desperate to speak to Adam, so naturally, he is not only on the opposite end of the plane but also on the left side while Olive is on the right. Meaning when she boards, she sees him in business class — eyes closed, head leaning back, his lips in a frown. He looks tired. Sad.
Very unlike Olive, who feels wired for sound and more hopeful than she has in weeks. Maybe even a little crazed. The flight attendant doesn’t care about her predicament; she has a job to do. She ushers Olive to the back of the plane, not sparing her a breath. Olive is the last passenger, and as far as the attendant — Tiffany — is concerned, she’s holding up the flight. She briefly considers shouting his name at the top of her lungs, but that’s sure to get her banned by Delta. Of course, none of this is necessary; Olive could have used her phone. Her phone, which is sitting on Anh’s coffee table. Who needs phones when there are flights to catch? Olive has her wallet and nothing else.
She plays nicely, pulling at the hem of her hoodie during takeoff, eyes darting to where Adam sits more than once. She’s not sure why she’s afraid he’ll disappear; it’s not like he can go anywhere. They’re in a metal tube in the sky. For all she knows, Adam wants nothing to do with her and will file a stalking claim after this. He’s probably already dating the mysterious woman; Olive might mean nothing to him. Still, he told her to come to him if she needed anything; he wanted her to come to him.
So here she is.
This is a five and a half hour flight. Her confidence wanes when two hours pass. Two long hours in the dark, and the seatbelt light doesn’t budge. It shines orange, taunting Olive. The man sitting next to her snores loudly, unbothered by how monumental this is. She pretends Adam is sitting in his seat, thinking of her. Wishing she were here with him, the way he once said. God, she really is stupid. Why didn’t she text him back? She wanted to be there with him, too.
“It’s fine. You can tell him that also. You can tell him everything as soon as this stupid, annoying, awful light turns —”
Ding.
Her gasp is so loud that her neighbor’s snore turns into a coughing fit. She apologizes, jumping to her feet and toward the front of the plane. The curtain separating her from Adam is within reach, and —
Tiffany appears with a fake smile. It’s her customer service smile. “This section is for business only.”
Olive wants to scream. She’s sure her smile is not customer-service worthy. Her heart is beating out of her chest. Adam is feet away, and she hasn’t seen him in weeks. Not really. For a few days, Olive wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t quit. Adam turned into a ghost, little more than a mirage of her memory, never to be seen again.
“Please. I need to speak to someone. He’s —”
“A business class customer. You are not.”
“If we could just —”
“Have you considered texting him? Delta offers complimentary Wi-Fi.”
“I left without my phone. I didn’t think…I have my wallet and — I just need to tell him how I feel about him.”
Her jaw drops. “You don’t have your phone?”
A cardinal sin in this day and age.
Olive straightens her spine, giving Tiffany her brightest smile. “I don’t, no.”
“How’d you get on the plane? You need your phone to scan your ticket?”
“Paper tickets from the counter.”
Tiffany stares at the offending paper like she might faint. “I haven’t seen a paper ticket in…God, you’re not kidding are you? You ran here for this guy?”
“Tiffany, I know you’re just doing your job. Between you and me, I need to tell someone I love them. Can’t you help a friend out? Girl power, and all.”
She chews on her lower lip. “You’re right. I am just doing my job, which means I cannot let you into business class. If I could, I totally would. That’s…I mean, if my ex did that for me, I’d at least give him the decency to speak before kicking him off the plane. He slept with my best friend during all of my shifts. It was a whole thing.”
“He sounds like shit and I hate him. I’ll be in and out in a jiffy — he doesn’t even have anyone sitting next to him. Please, I’ll do anything.”
“We can’t allow —”
“I am begging you. Please. A few minutes. That’s all I need. He’s —” Olive tugs at the curtain, pointing to Adam’s seat. “Right there. He’s right there. Him, in all black. Black hair, black clothes, black —”
“The grumpy one. Water only. Doesn’t speak. Looks like he’s in constant pain.” Tiffany softens, nodding to herself as though this makes sense. She chews on her lower lip, nodding once. “Okay, okay. Let me go ask him if he minds first. I can’t get fired.”
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ask him anything you need. My name is Olive. Tell him Olive is here.”
“Back in a mo’.”
Olive watches dutifully, bouncing on her heels. She wrings her hands over and over, and it does nothing to soothe her. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to speak to her ever again? What if snoring guy has already taken over her seat, rendering Olive seatless? He’s not responding to Tiffany, and there’s more than one curious eye looking at Olive. She doesn’t belong here. Adam is staring unblinkingly. Olive thinks he says, “Pardon?”, but she can’t be sure. Tiffany points to where Olive stands, speaking too quietly for Olive to hear. Adam turns, eyes widening when he spots Olive. He shoots to his feet, but Olive is quicker. She doesn’t wait for permission, rushing down the aisle and shimmying to Adam’s side. He reaches for her when she nears his seat before letting his arms dangle uselessly.
“I’ll give you two some space.”
Olive has the decency to say thank you before the rest of her thoughts dissipate. Adam’s cheeks are pink, eyes dilating the longer he looks at her. He seems more confused than ever, but finally —
“Olive.”
“May I…?” She points to the seats.
He nods, more than willing to let her take the lead. Adam seems content to soak her in. The fanciful side of her wants to believe he’s memorizing her face the way she’s memorizing his. When the brown of his iris’ fill with enough emotion that her heart overflows, she can no longer stand it.
If Adam minds the way she flings her arms around him, holding onto him like a vice, he doesn’t say. He pulls her into his lap and closer still. One arm wraps around her waist, while the other cradles her head, pushing her face into his neck. They don’t say anything — well, Adam doesn’t say anything. Olive can’t stop telling him hello between apologizing and asking for a moment before she can say any more.
“Hi.”
He wipes her cheeks, his smile warm. Maybe he’s happy to clean up her tears; he’s had to do that a lot since they met. “Hi.”
“Hi. Crap. Sorry. I already said that.”
Adam laughs, shifting to ensure she’s comfortable.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
He nods. “The flight attendant said so. I didn’t believe her.”
“She thinks I’m crazy. I don’t know how long I have before I have to leave.”
Adam’s body stiffens. He turns to marble right before her eyes. “The seat next to mine is empty. Stay.”
“Tiffany said —”
“I’ll talk to her. Stay, Olive.”
“I don’t want you to accept the job at Harvard.”
She hates that’s the first thing that comes out of her mouth. There’s so much else she could and should say. Adam’s smile wavers, dimples disappearing with a poof. Olive’s thoughts jumble together, going out of order; common sense mixes with lyrics about melted wax and loose threads and loving someone so much it makes her stupid.
“Right. Okay.”
“Please.” She probably should’ve tacked that on before, given she’s asking him not to accept a prestigious position at one of the most sought-after schools.
“Is that…” Adam paused, looking pointedly at a spot past her shoulder. “Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?”
“No. I’m going out of order.”
“You could’ve called. You didn’t have to…what are you doing, exactly? Were you already on the way to Boston?”
“No. This was a very spur-of-the-moment situation. Probably the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done, other than kissing you in the hallway.”
“So you…”
“I bought a ticket. I ran after you in the airport, but you had already boarded.”
His neck is scarlet. “You ran through an airport because you wanted to speak to me?”
“I don’t have my phone. I forgot it at Anh’s. We were listening to Olivia Rodrigo’s new album — have you heard it?”
Of course, he hasn’t. It’s Adam. He’s probably busy listening to Dvořák and Bach.
“Ah. No. Did you enjoy it?”
“I’m melted wax in the sun.”
Given how tired she is, it’s mostly true. The adrenaline is wearing off; the plane is dark, and Adam is warm. She wants to burrow into him and stay where she is. Sleep for a thousand years, perhaps. Adam smooths her hair back.
“That’s very descriptive.”
Olive’s eyes welled with tears. It’s ridiculous — that and everything more. She’s stayed away from Adam all this time, and now he’s here and happy to see her. Maybe everything has been for nothing.
“Where are you staying in Boston?”
“No clue.”
“You don’t have a hotel?”
Olive flinches. “My plan didn’t involve actually getting on the plane. That was an improvisation.”
Adam nods. She knows he’ll wait forever for her to open up to him when she’s ready. It’s something she loves about him.
“You’re welcome to stay in my room. I can help you figure out how to get back home, though I’m sure Tom will be thrilled to see you. We can take a detour if you’d like. Show you around the labs.”
Olive closes her eyes, pressing her face into his skin. This will be easier if she doesn’t have to look at him.
“I’m not going to Harvard.”
He tensed. “Of course. You’ll want to visit on your own. I can always drop you off so I don’t get in the way.”
“No. I’m not going to Harvard, as in I’m not accepting a position in Tom’s lab. I’m going to commute to Berkeley. That’s why I don’t want you to work there. I’m selfish, and I…”
“You’re staying in California.”
He’s never looked so dumbfounded. His facial muscles don’t know what to do with this foreign feeling. Adam’s eye twitches, and — danger.
Olive goes full steam ahead. Adam is already figuring out why she’s not moving to Boston, and…yeah. She really shouldn’t have started with that.
“This was supposed to be romantic. Stupidly romantic. I was going to run after you in the airport. You were going to stop right at the ticket counter and say my name, totally shocked. You’d leave everything right then and there and rush over to me as I rushed over to you. Then I was supposed to confess —”
“That Tom Benton did something to you? That’s what happened after your panel, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me, Olive.”
She nearly whimpers. Ignoring him sounds like a better plan.
“And confess that when you were in Boston the first time, Holden told me that you told him that you’d been in love with someone for years. He thought it was me, but I knew better. I assumed it was some older, mysterious, way smarter than me woman, no doubt, and I didn’t want to get in the way so I…” she gestures vaguely at nothing. “I added it to the list of reasons I should break up with you. And explain that when you texted me during that trip about how you wished I were there, too, it became the best thing I’d ever seen. That I wanted to be there with you, too. I want to be where you are all the time, and —”
Ding.
Adam turns to steel, but not even his scowl turns the seatbelt light off.
“I have to go back to my seat. I promised Tiffany.”
“No.”
“Adam —”
“No. Sit in this one.”
“I can’t sit in this one. I can’t pay for this one and —”
Dr. Carlsen forces her into the empty seat beside his and fastens her seatbelt. He’s as menacing as he is bossy, looking at Tiffany in a way that explains the entire situation. She smiles, giving a thumbs-up.
“Adam! You can’t just order the —”
“I can, and I did. Sit. Stay. Holden was talking about you. You don’t remember meeting me.”
“I do, it just took me a while to realize. You’re very grumpy, you know. Maybe I’m rethinking my entire plan.”
She’s not. The whole broody, glaring, scowling, ‘make her move and I will trash this plane’ act is really doing a number on her psyche. He should probably see a therapist — she should probably see a therapist. It’s highly inappropriate. Unhealthy. Domineering.
Olive loves it.
Olive loves him, and she still hasn’t said so.
“Too bad. The day you interviewed, you were crying in my bathroom.”
“I was. I — am I your lock screen?”
Adam’s phone lights up with a text from Holden, but it’s impossible to miss. A photo of Adam and Olive leaving the conference hotel on their way to sushi, hand in hand. Adam is looking at Olive with so much adoration in his gaze that she blushes. Even then. She misread everything all this time.
She’s the mysterious woman.
“Holden took that. I…it’s all I have.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Olive.”
“Yes, yes, the day I interviewed. You’re my guy. I looked for you and you lied to me.”
“I never lied to you.”
“You let me believe you were a grad student, so I looked for a grad student! That’s lying, mister.” She stabs her finger into his chest, unsurprised that it goes nowhere. “Not to mention, you never said hello for three years. Three whole years. That’s a long time.”
“Right. Because my saying hello is plausible. Hi, Olive. Funny story and the most tragic moment of my life, but you don’t seem to remember meeting me. I remember everything about you, including that little scar you have on your temple. We met the day you interviewed, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since, even though I forbade myself to do so. By the way, I’m the most hated faculty member in all of Stanford. I know you’re a student and I’m not. We’d need to get approval from the dean; it might change everyone’s opinion of you, create a coercive dynamic, and I have no idea how to date, but can I buy you dinner sometime?”
“When you put it that way…it didn’t have to be like that, you know.”
“Nah. I could’ve sent you running for the hills instead.”
“Adam,” Olive is whining, pouting.
“I’m sorry, Olive. I still don’t understand why you’re here. You could’ve easily sent me a text message asking me not to take the position. If you had, I would’ve told you I declined it when Harvard submitted its offer on October 1st. This trip is to tie up loose ends and complete my last project with Tom.”
“Last project? But you haven’t started your grant project yet.”
“He’s no longer part of it.”
Her eyes bulge. “Since when?!”
He levels her with a single look.
Olive doesn’t realize she falls asleep until she wakes up to Adam nudging her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He has a smile she’s never seen before. It’s goofy and bashful, almost a little dopey. It doesn’t belong on Adam Carlsen, her mercurial, antagonistic, and unapproachable fake ex-boyfriend. When she sees the song that he’s been listening to, comprehension dawns. Olivia Rodrigo on Adam’s phone; she never thought she’d see the day.
It’s nearly 6AM and Olive’s world turns into a fever dream. Adam takes her to breakfast and buys her clothes and toiletries. He never lets go of her hand unless forced, and takes her through every nook and cranny of Boston. They play tourists, exploring all of Adam’s old haunts and more. She soaks in every second of the autumn leaves, pumpkin spice, and crisp November air.
Adam doesn’t bring up Tom, but he doesn’t need to. Olive knows she’s safe and Adam’s miraculously handling everything, even without him saying it. All the while, neither makes a single move; not even the faintest kiss. It’s fun. Nice. Contentment washes over Olive like fresh rain as they go on date after date. They should talk, but what passes between them transcends words. Adam takes her to a restaurant he wanted to take her to during SBD, and Olive buys them food at the market. The walk along the water, and around the hiking spots Adam mentioned in September. It’s not until their last night, when Olive presses on her toes, catching Adam off guard the way she always does, that they give in to temptation. They don’t sleep a single minute, all hushed moans and stolen touches. It’s as though a valve has come undone, and there’s no stopping the release.
The next morning, they shared sated smiles in the TSA line. Adam Carlsen, the man who hates being touched, goes so far as pressing his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply every now and again. He can’t seem to stop himself from kissing her temple, cheek, and anywhere else inconspicuous enough to allow for it. When the plane takes off, it’s a jolt to her system.
“I never told you.”
“Hmm?”
“I never told you.”
Adam smiles, shaking his head. “You don’t need to.”
“I do. I ran after you and went all that way, and I never said that I —”
He’s smiling now, she thinks. Olive can’t see him; he’s too busy whispering into her temple, pressing a kiss in the same spot. “It’s okay, Olive. I love you more than any stupid song could ever say, too.”