Page 44 of Oliver

I’m sitting with my nephew on my lap, reading him a story, when my phone buzzes. It’s taking much longer than it should because he likes to point to all the pictures and have me tell him what they are, but I don’t mind. I love his curiosity and the way he giggles or claps when he gets excited about something. And my heart melts when he calls me “Unca Owi.” Being with him and my sister these past few weeks has been exactly what I needed. His smiles and hugs never fail to cheer me up, and I’m realizing just how happy Olivia is on her own, and how much she’s thriving. It’s given me the courage to make some pretty drastic changes in my own life, and while I’m terrified of upsetting the status quo I’m also rather excited about where I’m headed.

I pick up the phone and see that it’s a text from Amanda, asking me if I can meet her for lunch the next day. To say I’m surprised is an understatement. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I left three weeks ago. I returned to the house to get the rest of my things but she said she would leave the spare key under the mat for me because she didn’t want to see me. I understood, of course. I don’t blame her one bit, but I’m surprised she’s reaching out. I thought she’d never want to speak to me again.

Maybe she’s ready to see me now and needs some closure. And I can give her that. It’s the least I can do after what I put her through.

When I reply asking where and when, I get a text back with an address and a time, but nothing more.

“Tory, tory,” Freddie chants, putting his chubby little hand on my cheek and raising the book. I set my phone back down and return my attention to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. Olivia is working today and I’m not, so I've got toddler duty, and that’s all right with me. I’m planning to move out soon but I have some things I need to take care of first.

When I arrive at the restaurant the following afternoon I spot Amanda at a two person table and make my way over to her, somewhat cautiously, I must admit. She looks tired when I reach her but she offers me a small smile and gestures for me to sit.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hi,” she replies, then bites her lip. She’s normally so confident, but she seems rather flustered now. “I’m guessing you were a little surprised to get my text?”

I nod.

“I uh…I just had some questions, if that’s okay?”

I nod again. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the note. I’d forgotten it in my haste to leave, and she must have picked it up when she got back home. Though I’m surprised she didn’t burn it or tear it apart and toss it in the waste bin. “This is yours,” she says, and my eyes widen as she reaches across the table and places it in front of me. My gaze shifts from the note to her.

“I read it again,” she says, stunning me even further. Tears fill her eyes and she wipes them away. “I was so focused the first time on the fact that my son was writing you a love letter, and I was so angry and hurt by the betrayal I felt, that I didn’t read the other things he said. But I did this time. The way he talked like he knew a version of you I never did. Like you shared somethingwith him, pieces of yourself I had never known. He talked like he knew the real Oliver. An Oliver that I didn't realize was hurting so much, struggling so much, because he believed that who he was wasn’t worthy or loveable, and so he tried to be something else. And when that didn’t work, he did something he never thought he would do. And I’m sorry, Oliver, that you felt like you had to put on a mask to make other people happy.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

She wipes the tears from her cheeks and continues. “I’m not saying I forgive you. I don’t know if that will happen any time soon, but I’m saying that you are a good person, and I recognize that, and so is my son, and even though I want to strangle you both, I don’t want to hold on to anger or resentment, and I’m trying my best to understand the position you were in, how trapped you felt. I just wish you had said something sooner.”

I shake my head again as tears fill my eyes. “You don’t have to say that,” I tell her. “I’m not a good person, and I don’t deserve any of your understanding. I’m so sorry, Amanda, for not saying something sooner. For so many things.”

“Well, you can thank your sister for the understanding,” she tells me and my eyes widen.

“What?”

“She called me a while back to see how I was doing, said she had found out what happened. And when I got done telling her what an asshole her brother was, she asked if we could meet. When I agreed, she listened to me, and then asked if she could share a little bit about your household growing up. She did, and I realized that there were a lot of things about your parents I wasn’t aware of, like how incredibly homophobic they are, and all the things they said to you both growing up. Things that would have made a gay teenager terrified of acknowledging his sexuality. I couldn’t believe some of the things she told me. And I can’t believe I never knew. I mean I know they’re a bitcontrolling, but God, I didn’t think they were pricks. Imagining Hunter growing up in that same environment, it made me sick.”

I chuckle softly and feel a warmth spread through my chest at the knowledge that Olivia did that for me.

“The other thing that was made very clear to me in that letter, is how much Hunter loves you. And while I don’t fully comprehend his actions, I don’t want to be the cause of you two not being together if that’s what you want. You deserve to be happy, Oliver. And if he makes you happy, then I want that for you.”

“You’re being far too kind, Amanda,” I tell her.

“Probably,” she agrees, “but I don’t see the point in wishing hardship on people who’ve already had their fair share, and he’s my son. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

“I believe you,” I say, as another tear slides down her cheek.

“You love him, don’t you?”

I nod, and my throat constricts. “Very much.”

“Then go to him, Oliver,” she tells me. “Make it right.”

Two days later

“Wish me luck,” I tell Olivia as I grab my keys and wallet. “I’m off to meet Mother and Father for dinner.”

“Good luck,” she says, fixing the collar of my dress shirt and then giving me a big hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing her back. I sigh. “They’re not going to be happy.”

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