The Repeat Year Read Online Free PDF Page B

just told off her mom for throwing a New Year’s Day party with Harry—maybe she
was
a brat. “He’s a great guy,” she said. “He’s grilling salmon right now,” she added, as though this substantiated her claim.
    “How nice.” Laurel nodded and sifted through a handful of mixed nuts. “Nuts are good for you, right? Protein. I’m trying to lose some weight. Do you have a New Year’s resolution?”
    Olive didn’t believe in New Year’s resolutions. They seemed like something dreamed up by health clubs, a feel-good method of making it through January’s postholiday blues and the guilt of overindulgence. It was so much easier to focus on a problem with your body than with your personality. So much easier to come up with a solution, too. There were products to purchase. Exercise balls, diet pills, an elliptical machine, Weight Watchers cookbooks, Pilates classes. Where was the quick fix for a character flaw like recklessness or selfishness or just downright stupidity?
    “Not yet,” she said. “But I probably need one. Or ten.” She must have done something seriously wrong to be here. Made mistakes of epic proportions, mistakes worthy of attracting the universe’s attentions. Unless it was just some random glitch in the otherwise relentless march of time. “Is that your only resolution, Aunt Laurel? To lose weight?”
    Laurel’s chipper expression became serious. She wiped her salty palms on her black skirt and leaned closer. “Don’t tell your mom, okay? I want to try Botox. All the women I work with are trying it, and they look fabulous.” Sometimes it was hard to believe Laurel was her mom’s sister, they were so different.
    A loud snort came from the other end of the couch, but when Olive turned to look, Sherry Witan appeared engrossed in
Barns across America
and unaware of their conversation.
    “Would you excuse me for a minute?” Olive asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
    She wanted to lock herself in the bathroom the way she had in third grade. Over a dinner of brats and corn on the cob, her mom had announced that Olive would have the same fourth-grade teacher Christopher had, Mrs. Katz. Christopher had been a troublemaker in her class, and Olive was horrified to think Mrs. Katz would think the same of her. Though it was painful to give up her corn on the cob with the beloved miniature corn-shaped holders, Olive fled to the downstairs bathroom and refused to come out until her dad convinced her Mrs. Katz would give her a fair shake and quickly discover what a bright, well-behaved student she was. A goody-two-shoes, Christopher had clarified.
    Her dad wasn’t here now to make this problem go away. She had come to this house looking for some solidity and reassurance, conveniently forgetting all that had vanished three years ago. Even though this year seemed to be standing still, time hadn’t stood still in her childhood home. Everything was changing. Her mom had resurrected the New Year’s Day party tradition last year, and Olive hadn’t even known about it. She hadn’t been a part of it. She was ninety-five percent sure that her mom hadn’t invited her last year, and if her mom had, she had intentionally misled Olive into thinking it was a different type of get-together. Somehow that seemed like the biggest betrayal—that she’d had to live a whole year of her life and return to the beginning just to find out what she’d missed that first day.
    She fingered the basket of small holiday soaps her mom put out every year. These soaps were never used; they were for decoration only. There was a gold bell, a green tree, a red cardinal. Underneath the colored wax in some places, flakes of white shone through.
    She knew her situation was incredible, unbelievable, unfathomable, but still she wished she didn’t have to face this year again alone. She needed a confidant: someone imaginative, who could suspend his or her disbelief and just trust her. Phil was too rational; he’d insist there