Olivia

Habits. A regular tendency or practice that is often hard to give up. We all have them. Some people are a little more attached to them than others. For some, it's necessary to partake in certain habits. Without them, the entire day is thrown off. For others, it's just a convenience or a routine if you will.

For me, it's a survival tactic.

For me, it's all about being in tune to certain observations.

Taking in the scene around my driveway is something that has become a habit, routine before entering. I've learned to take in every little detail, such as the fact that there's a different car on the street today. It doesn't appear to be parked in front of anyone's house in particular. It's just perfectly between houses across the street, not committing to its location.

That right there tells me a lot.

The car is a little run down. The back taillight is smashed in and the paint is peeling from the hood, revealing the silver metal beneath a faded white coat of paint. The windows are tinted pretty dark, darker than most people in this town. These small details tell me the car is not tied to money.

This stop isn't for income. This stop is for leisure. And that tells me I'll be pacing this curb for the next hour or so. Something I've come accustomed to. There's actually a lot of observations I've come to learn from this very curb. Like the fact that Mrs. Garcia across the street checks her mail three times a day, even though it always comes at one every afternoon.

I've also noticed that Mr. Henderson to the left waters his lawn every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at eight in the morning. He also takes his trash out every Tuesday evening at exactly six and picks it up the following morning right before starting his watering process. Or the fact that the Fosters take their dog for a walk right when they both get home from work.

I slowly continue with a habit of my own, walking down to the lake as I pull out my CD player, pressing play, letting the music provide the escape that I need.

I have found a few different escapes in this little town. One, music provides a pretty good distraction. Two, writing has become a more recent escape. It helps filling pages with the things that haunt me. It's like I'm giving them somewhere else to settle.

And my third escape? The dock by the lake. The one that Max joined me on just a couple weeks ago. I don't know if that's his place too, or if it was, before...

There's a breath that falls from my lips, one I wasn't aware was sitting there. He's been through a lot.

When he played his guitar that day, the sound fell from my lips without my consent, but I didn't want to stop. It felt good. Really good. And so, I continued to sing while he played, letting the music do what it does best, consume the dark corners and fill them with light.

A car pulls around the corner now. A familiar blue rolling down the street. My eyes perk up as I slowly remove the headphones from my ears. It pulls up to the curb, window rolling down.

"Hey kiddo," a deep voice sails through. Sam. "You want to go get some ice cream?"

Habit. He's made it part of his routine to drive by this street on the way to and from work each day. If I'm here, we go for ice cream or dinner depending on the time. If I'm not, well, then he keeps driving. I know this because it's what I do, I observe.

I place my CD player back in my bag, trying to hide the smile that comes with climbing into this small car. The one that brings me safety.

"Hey, Sam," I say now, plopping down in the front seat. Sam Campos. He's not my blood, he's not even technically family. He lives just outside of town, closer to where I'm from, so stopping by to and from work isn't necessarily on the way. Instead, it's about a forty minute inconvenience each way. Yet, he does it, each and every day. Why? Because he used to be my mom's best friend growing up.

Apparently there came a time when they were inseparable. If you ask me, I think he's in love with her. Always has been. Her getting pregnant and being left to fend for me on her own never sat right with him. I wasn't his responsibility, never have been, and yet, he's made me his priority.

"Cones or milkshakes?" he asks with a bright smile, ignoring the lingering reality of why I'm in this car with him at this moment. A reality we have both gotten really good at pretending doesn't exist.

My smile says it all as he grins back, taking a right and making his way to the Snack Shack on the lake. The one he just so happens to own and is home to the best milkshakes in town. Okay, so technically, his family owns the Snack Shack. His aunt and uncle to be exact.

He used to come down for the summers. It's part of the reason my mom moved here. Besides the fact the house we live in belongs to Sam's family, and I have a pretty good feeling they are cutting her a deal, I think she likes the small town vibe. There's a sense of escape here. It's quiet and small, but people tend to actually mind their own business. Something that works well for my mom and her occupational choices.

"Alright, kiddo," he begins. "Milkshakes it is."

"Sam," I start, shifting my gaze from the approaching lake and over to him. He looks tired. More so than usual, like the long days at work and the extra stop checking on me is wearing on him. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" he questions before turning into the lake parking lot and cutting the engine.

"Check up on me everyday," I state clearly. He's been doing it for as long as I can remember. I'm truly thankful, and if I'm being honest, I don't actually want him to stop. But I know that one day he will. I know that a time will come where he will meet a pretty girl, one who he'll fall madly in love with. He'll start a family, a real family, one without me in it. And then he'll be gone.

"I'm not just checking up on you, Olive," he smiles. "I happen to love this town, and the milkshakes are worth the drive." Though his words are laced in a sense of genuine descent, I know he's not here for the milkshakes.

My only response is to drop my eyes, causing his smile to fade.

"You're way too smart for a nine-year-old, you know that?"

"I've had to be. I can't live a normal nine-year-old life. You know that," I counter, causing him to let out one of those heavy exhales. You know, the ones that carry a whole lot of meaning behind them.

"Olive," he starts to piece together some type of sympathy speech as he runs a hand over his face, but I don't let him go there.

"It's okay, Sam. I happen to think it makes me pretty cool for my age." I attempt to smile back, trying to give him that same sense of false security.

He's not buying it. "I'm going to find a way to get you out of there, okay? To get you and your mom out. I just need to find a way to convince her to come home. To let me help her."

His optimism is honorable. He truly believes he's enough to pull her out. But if she won't do it for her own daughter, she won't do it for him. She's too far gone. The fact that our home has become her place of work is enough to drive that point home. Sam doesn't know the truth about that though. If he did, I don't think he'd be trying to save her anymore.

"I know, Sam," I finally say. "I know."

A small movement catches my eye, a shade of gentle brown hair flashing into view as Max whizzes by on his bike, parking it out front before heading inside.

It's been a couple weeks since that moment on the dock with Max. In that small amount of time, a few things have taken place. One, his mom is back. She's already taking on life, her face is beginning to fill out, her skin is returning to that pretty olive color she has. I don't know her too well, but like I've said, I notice things. And I notice that she's happy.

Another change is in Max. He's slowly becoming that outgoing boy again. The one who smiles too damn much and is surrounded by way too many friends. And the last change is between me and Max. We've found more time to spend on the dock, to talk, to share stories.

I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a little excited jump in my chest at seeing him right now, though. And it's that flutter that has me turning to Sam, ready to give him a much needed out. "Listen, I just saw one of my friends. Maybe I can take a raincheck on that shake?"

He pauses, his eyes scanning the Snack Shack before slowly falling back to mine. There's a broken smile tugging at his lips, one laced in a bucket full of concern and understanding. "Yeah, Olive. But I'm holding you to that."

"I wouldn't expect any less. Thank you, Sam," I say, leaning forward and swinging my arms around him. "For everything."

I let him pull away after that, watching as he heads back home, away from the tiny town that somehow has him trapped, despite the fact he doesn't actually live here. Turning, I slowly make my way to the counter, ignoring the small smile that wants to surface as I take a few strides forward.

"Should I be worried?" I ask as I plop down in a stool beside Max. "I feel like I should be worried."

His eyes slowly turn to meet mine as a smile falls across his face. "Worried? About what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you seem to keep showing up in all of my usual places. Seems a bit stalkerish if you ask me."

He laughs, shaking his head at my ridiculous yet fully valid point. "I'm pretty sure I was here first. Wouldn't that make you the stalker?"

Fair enough. "Normally, yes," I acknowledge his point. "But seeing as this is my place, how do I know you weren't just waiting for me to inevitably show up? Following my patterns, making it seem like I'm the one following you."

He holds my gaze for a slight moment before laughing again. I like making him laugh. "I think you're overestimating my intelligence."

"I don't think that's something you should actually be admitting," I tease him.

He shrugs his shoulders. "If it gets me out of the realm of stalker, I think I'll take the hit."

I can't help but smile back. His ease in which he fires back is something I can only admire. It takes a certain person to be able to not only take it, but consistently dish it back.

As the owner, Charlie, rounds the corner, my eyes drift away from Max.

"Hey, kid," he smiles, tossing a towel over his shoulder. Charlie is Sam's uncle, the very one and only who started this whole milkshake heaven. "Strawberry shake?" he questions.

"You know it. Extra whipped cream today, Charlie."

"Rough day?" he questions.

My eyes slide to Max before looking back at Charlie. "Something like that."

"You got it. And you?" he asks, turning his attention to Max.

"Uh, yeah actually. I'll have a vanilla shake. Extra whipped cream as well."

Charlie's eyes widen briefly before catching mine with an all too knowing look. I know, Charlie, I'm on it.

"Vanilla?" I question.

He clearly sees nothing wrong with his choice as he turns to face me with a look of utter confusion. "Yeah. What's wrong with vanilla?"

"Uh, only everything," I state the obvious. "It's plain, boring, it even has its own saying...haven't you heard anyone say something is very vanilla?"

His shoulders rise and fall. "Nobody said that was a bad thing."

"I'm pretty sure it's implied. Come on, there are so many fun flavors and you're really going with just plain old vanilla?"

He turns his body to completely face me now, ready to challenge me. Like I said, he doesn't back down. "You act like strawberry is some revolutionary flavor."

My hand clings to my chest at his lack of appreciation for the pink goddess of shakes. "I'm sorry, at least a strawberry shake has some added flavor, color, and visual appeal."

"Visual appeal?" he questions with a smile. "It's pink."

"Better than white."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"The right opinion," I correct him.

"Give it up, kid." Charlie steps forward, placing our shakes in front of us. "She won't let you win this one. I used to be a vanilla fan too."

"Used to?" Max's eyebrows raise as he reaches for his glass.

"Yep. This one never let me hear the end of it. She made some valid points too. Convinced me to spread my wings, experience the crazier side of life."

"Are we still talking about milkshakes?" Max questions, causing a laugh to fall from me.

Charlie seems to be amused as well. "Just get used to being wrong in the presence of this one, huh?" He gestures to me before turning away and heading into the back.

"I'm sticking with my vanilla," he insists, taking a long sip.

My head shakes from side to side as I fight the smile that wants to escape. I can't give him the satisfaction of knowing that I actually enjoy the small challenge he likes to throw at me.

"Suit yourself," I reply, taking a sip of heaven. "Just know you're truly missing out each and every time you take a sip of that ordinary, plain jane milkshake."

His response? He takes another long gulp with a big freaking smile on his face.

We spend the next few hours on the lake together. I haven't had many days where I get to have company during my escapes from home. Max tells me more about how his mom is doing and the possible plans to move to southern California. I guess I never really thought about it, but it makes sense. His dad plays in the NBA, and his team is in LA. It only makes sense they would all move out there together.

When we finally make our way back home, I make sure to check the street. No unusual cars, nothing out of place. Today turned into a pretty good one. I think if—when—Max moves down south, I might actually miss him. I give him a small smile before heading over to my house. A house that should be safe to enter at this point.

If only that were completely true. As I push the door open, I'm met with an all too familiar sight. One that I have grown to stay calm with. Well, as calm as you can be when you come face to face with a rocky reality.

"Mom," I exhale, springing forward.

She's sprawled out on the couch. Her robe is draped across her shoulders, falling open to reveal the intimate undergarments beneath. Her arm is bruised and red as it lays lifeless off the side of the couch. It's the eyes that have me jolting forward. Their glazed glass cover hiding my mother from me while the smeared mascara drains below them to create a look of distress.

I rush to her side, acting without thinking about my surroundings. As I lean down beside her, those empty eyes roll to face me.

"Baby, is that you?" she whispers, attempting to lift her battered arm.

"Yeah, Mama, it's me. Do you know what you took this time?" I ask, lifting her arm to rest it on her chest. Sometimes she actually has the answer to that question, most of the time, it's all a game of roulette.

"Just a cocktail to take the edge off. Makes them all look like Brad Pitt, you know?" She attempts to smile but it doesn't seem to meet her eyes.

"I know," I exhale, pulling the sides of her robe closed in front of her. Same excuse every time.

"Liv?" Max's voice sounds from the doorway, the very one I was careless enough to leave open.

Crap.

My head whips back, taking in the wide eyed boy behind me. He shouldn't be here. He's not supposed to be here. Why did I leave the door open?

"Oh, Olly, is that your boyfriend?" my mom slurs, lifting her head just enough to reveal the extent of her disheveled state. I quickly reach for the edges of silk draping her skin, trying my best to cover the evidence.

As if enough of my jaded life hasn't already been revealed, her body quickly shifts to the side as the contents of her "cocktail" are unloaded across my feet.

Double crap.

"Max, I need you to go," I quickly step back.

"But—"

"Go home, Max!" I yell, taking a step back as I place an arm around my mom. He's still frozen in place, his eyes plastered with fear.

I pause for a moment, my eyes catching his again as my mom's weight slumps against my side. I drop my voice, making sure he's focused on me now. "Please, Max. Just go."

He lingers for a moment longer as our eyes stay locked. He holds my gaze before giving one nod and turning away from me, leaving me alone once again. It's better this way. It's always better this way.

When the door closes behind him, I turn my attention back to my mom. "Let's get you in the shower, okay?"

A small moan is her only response as I swing her arm over my shoulder and lug her to the bathroom. I slide her robe from her shoulders and place her under the cool water, letting it wash away the choices she continues to make.

As she sits still under the water, I squirt a small dollop of shampoo into my hand before bringing it to her bleached hair. My fingers begin to work through the matted knots before letting the water wash them away. I add a small amount of conditioner next, grabbing the comb to work out the last of the knots as the water cascades down the back of her.

After I finally manage to get her bathed, and braid her hair, I sit her down on freshly changed sheets and lay with her. Her arm falls open for me as I cuddle in beside her, my head falling to her chest to hear the steady beat of her heart.

As crazy as these days can get, these are the very moments I wait for. The ones that make all of the struggles worth it. To be held in my mother's arms, to be filled with all of her love in one tiny gesture is everything. A desperate reminder that I'm still the center of her world because she is the only thing in mine.

"I love you, baby," she whispers quietly. "You're my whole world, you know that, right?"

There it is. That aching reminder I need.

"I know, Mama. I love you too."

"I'm going to do better. I promise," her voice trails off, her breathing deeper.

It's a promise I've heard a lot. One I know she truly means, she just doesn't quite know how to actually make it happen. But that's okay. That's what she has me for.

Because when she falls, I'm here to pick her up.

Always.