if this is your first time reading the olivia chronicles, feel free to start from the beginning. just click on the “olivia” link in the multimedia box at the top of the sidebar to the right. enjoy!

dear dimestore therapists,

there wasn’t really any way i could have prepared myself for being so rudely transplanted from the only home i had known for ten years to a townhome in the middle of new york city, but i thought i’d at least had a clue about what might be waiting for me. turns out, i had absolutely no clue whatsoever.

as we were walking up the steps to my dad’s upper west side townhouse, he turned to me to ask if i was ready. i wanted to punch him so hard at that moment, but my hands were full of my duffel bag and other stuff from the hospital. how could he possibly think that i was even close to being ready? but instead of getting violent, i just nodded and waited for him to unlock the front door.

i had never been to my dad’s place, but i had often imagined what it might look like. i’d always thought of him living in a minimalist loft with exposed ductwork and concrete countertops in the kitchen, sleeping in a bed with a black comforter and white sheets, drinking coffee while looking out of floor-to-ceiling windows at his view of the hudson river.

when i entered the townhome, i immediately knew my version of my father’s life had been completely off. the place was anything but minimalistic; it felt cozy and homey, and it smelled like cinnamon and oranges. later, i learned that ashleigh, my father’s new wife, boiled cinnamon sticks and orange slices to make the house smell that way. she was all about ambience.

walking through the entryway and into the hallway, i noticed a formal living room with cream couches and powder blue walls, a half-bath, and a family room where a fire was crackling in the fireplace. we passed all of these rooms and went straight to the staircase and walked up to the second floor. there were two bedrooms on this floor as well as a living area, and the room on the right turned out to be my bedroom. owen led the way, talking nervously as we walked. he told me that ashleigh had taken gavin out for a doctor’s appointment, but that they would be home in a little while to keep me company while he made a quick trip to the office.

he also let me know that i would have the whole second floor to myself, so i wouldn’t feel awkward having to share anything with people i hadn’t yet met. i tried to be discreet, but i’m almost positive he heard me heave a sigh of relief at this information. the second bedroom was currently a spare bedroom, but i could make it into whatever i wanted, owen said.

it seemed that we were climbing stairs forever, but we finally got to my room. my eyes nearly popped out of my head when i saw where i would be sleeping for the next year and a half, but i didn’t say anything. i didn’t want my dad to have the satisfaction of knowing that i was impressed.

the room had obviously been prepared especially for me: my laptop, books, and clothes had all been brought from home, and it didn’t look like a typical spare bedroom. my posters and pictures were hanging up on the walls in nearly the exact same positions they had been on the walls in my room at home, and even the framed picture of me and my mom that i’d always kept on my nightstand was there on the bedside table, next to a lamp and a lidded glass jar of red vines, my favorite candy.

the walls were a milk chocolate color, and the bed was huge, a four-poster with a gauzy white canopy. i’d always wanted a bed like that, but my mom said it was too expensive and extravagant for a teenager. apparently, my dad hadn’t gotten that memo. the comforter was white and fluffy, and there were approximately 86 pillows arranged artfully at the head of the bed. it looked like a hotel bed, and i wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep in it until high school graduation.

in the walk-in closet, my own clothes were folded neatly or hung on matching hangers, and these familiar items were joined by many i didn’t recognize. i asked owen if ashleigh was using the closet for some of her stuff, and he said no, that she’d done some shopping for me while i was in the hospital. the clothes all had their tags still attached, and i could see that they were all in my size and also very expensive. i didn’t know whether to be thankful or irritated that she’d thought i needed fashion intervention.

in the bathroom, there were white bath sheets and a bathrobe, as well as body products from kiehl’s. i used dove bar soap at home, so i was a little intimidated by all the bottles and tubes in the shower caddy on the bathroom counter. there was also a gift bag full of makeup on the counter, which i didn’t want to open while owen was standing there watching me.

i turned and thanked him for everything he’d done to prepare for my arrival.

“oh, i had nothing to do with any of this, really. ashleigh and aidan pretty much to care of everything.”

i was inwardly amused at the fact that owen didn’t even attempt to take credit for caring about me enough to help, and i cringed at the thought of ashleigh and aidan going through my possessions. i wanted to ask him who had given anyone permission to touch my stuff, but i bit my tongue to stop myself. not only did i not want to sound ungrateful, but i also didn’t want to show him how much i was affected by this generous outpouring of hospitality.

i had wanted to hate ashleigh, to be able to ignore her. but it seemed she was intent on being nice to me, so i didn’t know if i could get away with outright disdain; i might have to pretend at some sort of good feelings. i was still resolved to find a way out of living here, though. as luxurious and beautiful as this bedroom was, it really had nothing to do with me. it wasn’t my room, no matter how much owen and ashleigh wanted me to think it was.

as owen stood there staring at me with tears in his eyes, waiting for me to say something else, i started to panic. i couldn’t accept the reality that my mom was no longer there and i would have to face this nightmare all alone. i didn’t even want to look at this man, let alone live with him and pretend to like his wife. i was having a hard time breathing, and owen seemed to notice my distress.

instead of getting all up in my face and asking me what was wrong, he just said he’d give me some time alone and excused himself. this surprising display of intuitiveness was almost enough to make me dislike him less, but i was still stubbornly holding my ground regarding thinking he was a total dirtbag.

i took off my shoes and jumped up onto the bed, scooting under the comforter. it felt just as wonderful as it looked, and i slept for four hours. when i woke, ashleigh was waiting for me downstairs.

yours,

olivia

— Alexis