Pretty Lies

By Olivia Ard

Olivia Ard is a whimsical, introspective old soul who has been creating worlds of her own since fourth grade. While she'd much prefer to spend her time in the library of a Gothic mansion in the English countryside, sipping tea and gazing thoughtfully across the moors, alas, she has a day job and a mortgage. She writes thoughtful, evocative fiction of many stripes. When she isn't practicing yoga, listening to podcasts, or baking unnecessarily complicated pastries, she's finding new and innovative ways to crack her phone screen. She's been happily married to John since 2013. They live in Central Alabama with their children, Florence and Thea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Ard
• Release date: Apr 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201182014

Olivia Ard

Olivia Ard is a whimsical, introspective old soul who has been creating worlds of her own since fourth grade. While she’d much prefer to spend her time in the library of a Gothic mansion in the English countryside, sipping tea and gazing thoughtfully across the moors, alas, she has a day job and a mortgage. She writes thoughtful, evocative fiction of many stripes. When she isn’t practicing yoga, listening to podcasts, or baking unnecessarily complicated pastries, she’s finding new and innovative ways to crack her phone screen. She’s been happily married to John since 2013. They live in Central Alabama with their children, Florence and Thea.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Paper Bags

love is not just

Pretty Lies

Death of a Friendship

The Queue

RSVP

Consolations After A Motorcycle Accident

The Grime

Resolutions

Yeast

From Love-Guilt

Pandemic Love

An Overdue Apology to My One and Only Self

Solitaire

Notes on the Approaching Equinox

About the Author

To JD,

for your willingness to watch Star Trek

and your great generosity with snacks.

To many more decades of this.

Paper Bags

Raindrops burst on my windshield like berries breaking, streaking the glass with their cold, clear blood. Within seconds of my hand stilling the wipers, everything in front of me becomes streaked and blurry and I am living in a Dalí painting.

Why did I tell the cashier that paper bags would be fine? They aren't fine. I hate them. I hate the way they look, like unlabeled moving boxes unsure of their final destination. I hate how hard it is to carry them up two flights of stairs alone. I hate the musty, soggy cardboard smell they create the second water hits them. 

But I didn't want her to judge me. I'm so sick of people judging me. Paper bags are the right choice, everyone says so, and this is not the hill I want to die on. 

The only open parking spot I can find is two blocks away from my apartment, because it's raining, so of course the premium spots have already been claimed by people who don't even live here. I tuck the bags under my arms, kick the door shut, and make a run for it. The moment my feet hit the sidewalk, the bags emit their signature stink, and just like that, I'm not even hungry for the meal I've spent all day fantasizing about. Who