Page 42 of Oliver

“You slept in,” she says, and I nod. When I woke and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock I couldn’t believe it. Hunter was the early riser on our trips but I was always up by eight thirty. I must have needed it, though, and I do feel a bit more like myself today, though I’m honestly not sure what that means anymore, because who I am is still something I’m trying to figure out, or at least accept.

“I’m gonna start some laundry and then head to the store,” she tells me as I set the kettle on the stove. “Then I thought we could get online and apply for our marriage license if you're up for that? We should do it sooner rather than later.”

My throat constricts but I manage, “Of course, love.”

She smiles at me, then finishes her coffee and heads back upstairs to collect the laundry, I assume. When she returns I’m sipping my tea.

“Oliver?” she says, her voice shaky, and my face goes ashen when I look up and see the paper she’s holding in her hand. The letter that Hunter wrote me and that I foolishly shoved inside the pocket of my sweats. I’d completely forgotten about it when I put them in the washing basket. She looks as pale as I feel and her eyes are filled with tears as I set my cup aside, my hand trembling.

“What is this?” she asks, her chest heaving. “Hunter wrote this to you? My son wrote this to you?”

I don’t know what to say. Everything in me wants to snatch the letter away from her because it’s mine. It’s private and the words on it are meant for me, not her. Not anyone else. But there’s no getting out of this. I could lie, but I’m so sick of lying. My entire life has been a lie and it’s utterly exhausting.

“Talk to me!” she shouts. Tears stream down her cheeks as she throws the note and lets it float in the air between us before it settles on the kitchen floor. “What is going on? Why the hell is my son leaving you a note, telling you he loves you after two fucking weeks? What the hell happened on that trip?”

I open my mouth but she points at me, her gaze fierce. “If you even think about lying to me, Oliver Jones, I swear to God…” her words trail off as she sobs again and I shake my head.

I grip her arm and she lets me pull her to the table where we both sit. She stares at me, confused, broken and angry, and I know I deserve all of her wrath and hatred, and so much more. Hunter was right. She doesn’t deserve this, and I could have saved her so much pain and heartache if I’d been honest about everything sooner. If I’d told her the truth about me.

“Hunter and I met before the trip,” I say. My chest tightens because I can’t believe I’m doing this, but she deserves the truth. She deserved it long before now. Tears start filling my eyes but I do my best to hold them back. I don’t deserve to cry right now. I caused this. I’m the reason for all of this. She’s sitting here now, devastated and humiliated because of me, and Hunter is gone right now because of me. I’ve fucked up so royally. The only two people in my life who I felt like genuinely cared for me, other than my sister, and I’ve lost them both. “I’d had a difficult night, and I ended up driving and showing up at the bar where he works. I didn’t know who he was.”

More tears stream down her face and she shakes her head like she knows what’s coming. She’s probably right and I don’t know how to make the truth hurt any less, so I just say, “We slept together, neither one of us knew who the other was, but I still cheated on you, Amanda. I won’t lie more and tell you it was a mistake, because it wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted to know what it was like to be with a man. And he gave me that. When I called you the next morning it was after leaving his apartment. That was the night I proposed to you.” I am crying now, silent tears sliding down my cheeks and her body is shaking, whether with rage or disgust or shock, or perhaps all three, I don’t know. She steeples her hands over her mouth, her eyes closed.

“I never meant to hurt you, Amanda, but I know that's little consolation now.”

There’s a moment of silence before she says, her eyes still closed. “This whole time? You and him? You’re the reason he left?”

“Yes,” I say and she shakes her head again.

Neither one of us speaks again, but I leave the table and head upstairs. I’m back down only twenty minutes later with my suitcase packed haphazardly, and Amanda is gone. I head into the office and grab the things that are essential for work. I’ve got my laptop, which will suffice for now, but I’ll have to come back and pack up the larger things later.

I leave my key on the table and step outside.

Twenty minutes after that I’m knocking on my sister’s door. How I even got here I don’t know. I honestly was in no condition to be driving, and even though there’s every chance in the world she’s not even home, I have nowhere else to go.

I’m about to give up and wait for her in my car when the door opens and her face greets me. The minute I see her I burst into tears.

“Christ, Oliver, what on earth happened?” she says, taking me in her arms and hugging me tightly. I sob openly on her doorstep, not caring if the neighbors see or hear. I’m past that now. “Shhh,” she soothes, “it’ll be alright.” But I’m terrified that after telling her what I’ve done she’ll kick me out, too, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

She coaxes me inside and shuts the door behind me. I leave my things in the entryway and she pulls me towards the living room. “Sit,” she says, gently. “I’ll make us some tea.”

I sit and my body is shaking while I wait for her. I try to wipe away my tears, but more keep coming. She returns after a few minutes and hands me a cup, before sitting next to me.

“Freddie?” I ask.

“Napping,” she tells me, with a small smile. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. He misses you.”

I wipe more tears away and she hands me a tissue that I use to blow my nose. “Talk to me,” she says.

“Christ, you’ll fucking hate me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Hey,” she scolds gently, “if I was going to hate you it would be for the time you stole my Rapunzel barbie doll and then proceeded to cut off all of her hair because ‘that’s what happened in the movie’.” She squeezes my arm and I can’t help chuckling slightly, but then I’m sobbing some more.

“There’s nothing you could ever tell me that will make me hate you, Oliver. Nothing, do you understand? No matter how bad it is or how much you think you’ve messed up, I love you. I’m here for you. Whatever it is, I promise you’re safe with me.”

I look at her, her green eyes warm but concerned, and she wipes another tear from my cheek with her thumb.

“I…I slept with a man,” I choke out. She blinks but doesn’t gasp or scold me. Almost as if to make sure she understands, I add, “More than once.”

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