Kiss Me Like You Mean It

Oliver claimed to have gotten rid of his phone, so when he dropped me off at my apartment building just after one o’clock that morning and promised to visit me at the store the next day, I wasn’t entirely convinced he meant it—but that was probably just because I was used to broken promises and missed opportunities.

Needless to say, though, when his thin frame stepped into Sam Goody the next day just as the sun was starting to set, I was pretty surprised—especially by the fact that he still wanted to be my friend after my meltdown at The Modern.

He offered me a tight-lipped smile as he approached the cashwrap, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sad, kind of like his favorite pet had just died.

“Hey, Oliver. What’s up?” I asked, studying his expression.

“I’m just a bit fatigued, that’s all.”

“Not even close, dude.” I rolled my eyes. “You look like someone just murdered your dog.”

He pursed his lips. “Well, I called my mum and dad to say hello.”

“And?”

“And Hannah was there.” From the sadness in his voice, I could only assume “Hannah’s” significance to him.

“Hannah’s your wife?”

He nodded solemnly.

“Why was she with your parents?” I promised myself that I would get to the more relevant questions afterwards, but the fact that his almost ex-wife was hanging out with his parents was weird to me, too weird to just brush over.

He shrugged. “She and my mum are close. My mum is convinced that we’ll get back together, so she sees nothing wrong in still talking to her. She thinks Hannah and I are just in a big fight and it’ll blow over in a little bit.”

I pursed my lips. I didn’t really know what to say to that because I’d ostracized my family since the day I’d turned eighteen, so I never had to worry about introducing my boyfriends to any Mom and Dad.

“Have you ever been married?” he asked after a moment of silence.

I snorted at the absurdity of his question. “I’m twenty-two, Oliver.”

“My wife is twenty-two.” I actually laughed out loud at that, but his expression told me he was being serious.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just figured you would’ve married someone older, like someone more mature. I have the maturity of a five-year-old, and I’ve yet to meet anyone else my age that’s much better—maybe like six or seven years old, but that’s about as good as it’s ever gotten.”

He shrugged once more. “I thought she was in love with me.”

“How old are you now anyway?” He looked older than twenty-two, but I wouldn’t have pegged him as being old enough to be dumb enough to marry.

“Twenty-nine.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think you lie to me.” He didn’t look that much older.

He smiled once more, a bit more sincerely. “Thank you.”

I just simpered back at him and walked over to the hip hop section to put back a return of Biggie Smalls’ Ready To Die.

“I don’t know what to do,” he suddenly groaned.

I jumped a little because I hadn’t been expecting him to be so close. “Uh—have you tried talking to her?” I questioned, regaining myself as I walked back to the register.

He nodded. “She doesn’t want to talk, though. I asked if I could speak to her today, and she said what she always says—that I knew what I was doing when I was doing it and what I was risking, and she’s not interested in anything I have to say right now.”

I rolled my eyes. To me, it honestly sounded like she’d been done with the relationship way before his relapse and was just using his slipup as an excuse to finally leave; but I wasn’t about to tell him that, so I just stayed silent instead and opened one of the shipment boxes I’d received earlier that afternoon.

“What do you think about all this, Violet?” he asked after a minute or two of my silence. His eyes were glued to a Pink Floyd vinyl, but the sadness in his demeanor was ridiculously evident.

“I don’t think you wanna know, to be honest.” I didn’t know Oliver that well, but I was actually pretty fond of him—at least too fond to lie.

I glanced up when I felt him staring at me. He was back at the cashwrap, his palms flattened against the black, wooden countertop. “I do, though.” He seemed pleading.

I sighed, caving in to those big, hazel eyes of his. “I think she was done a long time ago, Oliver, and you relapsing was just a good excuse to finally leave.”

“We haven’t been married that long, though.”

“Well do you have a prenup?” He was famous, so he probably didn’t think like a broke bitch, but I still did; and his money would’ve been the first thing on my mind when taking my vows, even if I’d hated him.

“Of course.” He furrowed his eyebrows at that.

I waited for him to tell me what the stipulations were, but he remained silent.

“...Well what does it say?” I finally pressed.

“She doesn’t get anything if she cheats, and she can’t get more than a million if we get divorced before eight years. After that, she can get half of everything.”

My jaw dropped involuntarily. “A million dollars?”

“Well, quid—so I suppose a little less than one-point-five American.” He seemed so fucking nonchalant about it.

“One-point-five million dollars?” I almost shrieked it. “No wonder why she married you, you idiot!”

I swore, the crease between his eyebrows and the frown on his thick, carnation pink lips then were enough to break my heart. I wasn’t trying to be harsh with him, but giving her a million and a half dollars for being married to him after possibly even a single day was just plain stupid to me. Obviously I thought differently than him, but if I’d been his position, I would’ve said something more like a dollar per day—not a million fucking British pounds for anywhere between twenty-four hours and eight years.

“I don’t think so, Violet. She cried at our wedding. Why would she have cried if she wasn’t happy?” It was possible that I was just cynical, but it was also possible that he was just stupid—or naïve.

My mom cried at hers, too, I wanted to mutter, but my mom had told me the only reason for that was because she’d realized her life was over. Instead, I just pursed my lips.

“What do I do?” he asked after I didn’t say anything, the desperation thick in his throat.

I began sorting the CD’s from the shipment box on the counter of the cashwrap. “I don’t know, Oliver.” I felt bad, and I really wanted to help him, but I’d never had enough money to make anyone want me superficially for it. “I’ve never had a guy want me for my money—I’ve never had any money for him to want. I’ve only ever had to deal with guys wanting my boobs.” I wasn’t cocky, but as a size zero with a C-cup, my chest was undoubtedly my greatest asset—plus I was really just trying to make him laugh.

It didn’t work, though. “Well what would you do?”

I rolled my eyes and chewed on my lip for a moment. “Honestly, I’d probably try and get him back first; and if that didn’t work, then I’d probably try to jam it up his ass as far as I could.”

His lips formed a thin line. “How would you try and get him back?”

“I’d make him jealous—but of course, you have everything a person could be jealous of already.” He had money, fame, good looks, et cetera.

“There’s gotta be something.”

I shrugged. “Get another phone and post a million pictures on Instagram to show how much fun you’re having here—that’s what I’d do if I was rich and famous and if people cared about my social media.” The truth was that I didn’t have any social media, though, because no one cared about what I did in my spare time, including me.

He was silent for a long time—so long, in fact, that I finished half the box of shipment I’d been working on before he finally said something. The only thing that came out of his mouth was, “I’ll be right back.”


It might’ve been two hours or so when Oliver finally returned with a white iPhone 6 in his hand, the gold back of it glittering between the spaces of his fingers. He approached the vinyl section where I’d been reorganizing the classic rock albums with a large grin on his face. “What’re your plans tonight?” was the first sound he made upon his return after the ding of the front entrance censor.

“Uh—” I had a feeling that even if I’d had plans, I would’ve been rescheduling. Lucky for him, though, I never had plans, so it was irrelevant.

“Let’s go to Terminal Five,” he replied without giving me the chance to respond. “Skrillex is playing with Diplo there.”

I lowered my eyes at him because I could only imagine how expensive those tickets were. “I’m glad you’re taking my advice and actually enjoying yourself here, Oliver, but my rent is due next week.”

“I’m paying.” He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, like I should’ve been expecting him to.

“I saw the bill last night,” I mumbled, turning to him with my arms folded over my chest in indignation. “There’s no way I feel okay with you also dropping that much money on a concert ticket for me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can you just let me spend my money foolishly? It’s not like I have anything else important to spend it on at this point in my life anyway.”

I pursed my lips because I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to let up until I accepted his offer.

“Well I have to close, so I’m not gonna be out of here until nine,” I finally gave in.

His face lit up at that. “That’s perfect. Jack Ü won’t be on until ten anyway.”

Despite feeling guilty, I simpered back to him because the excitement in his face was enough to make me want to share in the feeling.

“Can I take a picture with you, love?” he suddenly asked after a few minutes of standing around and watching me. He was so shy about it that I almost wanted to laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to abuse someone’s fame to boost my own ego.” I grinned at him as I wrapped an arm over his shoulder for a pose.

He held his phone up, and even though it wouldn’t have been seen in the picture, he slid his own arm around my waist. I watched the still as he clicked the capture button and watched him add the caption, My NYC tour guide works at Sam Goody #likeaboss. We looked pretty cute together, I had to admit, especially because our smiles looked like we’d both just gotten the best news of our lives. I didn’t really know the last time I’d smiled so sincerely like that in the past six months.

We slowly pulled away from each other, and the grin never left his face. “Thank you, Violet.”

“For what?” I didn’t think I’d done anything too special.

“For being my friend.”

“Oh, that? Well I’m only using you for your money.” We exchanged a giggle at that because we both knew it wasn’t true.