Page 43 of Oliver

“Why?” she simply says, and it’s my turn to blink.

“What? Does it bloody matter? I fucking cheated on my fiancée, Olivia. And not even with some random guy. With her son.”

Her eyes widen at this. “You what?”

“I fucked her son!” I almost shout before I remember that Freddie is napping down the hall.

“I’ll have to admit I wasn’t expecting that bit,” she says, calm as ever.

My eyes narrow. “That bit?” I repeat. “You were expecting the rest of it?”

She bites her lip and nods. “I mean, maybe not those words, exactly, but…”

I swallow, my body shivering. “You knew?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t know for certain but I thought it was quite probable. You never talked about liking girls, or having a crush on anyone growing up. Even when you took a girl to the school dances I could just tell you weren’t enjoying yourself, but you did it to please Mother and Father, or to fit in with everyone else. I watched you shut down every single time they said anything homophobic, like it was personal. I can’t imagine how that made you feel, Oli. Christ the things they said about queer people with you right there. I wanted to wring their necks, especially when I saw what it was doing to you. I wish I’d spoken up sooner than I did that night a few months ago. I hate myself for not, but I think it took me a while to find my voice.”

I have tears streaming down my cheeks when she grips my chin and turns me to face her. There’s nothing but kindness and empathy when she speaks again, and I know I’m not worthy of it. I don’t deserve grace or compassion right now. I wish she would yell at me, tell me what a horrible person I am and to get out of her house. It would be easier than this.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide yourself for so long,” she tells me. “I know being fed the bollocks like we were all thoseyears must have made you feel like you had to do whatever it took to protect yourself, and I hate that for you. But you have a right to be who you really are, Oliver. You deserve to be happy with the person who makes you happy, no matter their gender or orientation. And I think that if you had felt like who you were was something to celebrate and take pride in, that you were good, and beautiful and worthy, instead of all the terrible things Mother and Father said, if you’d had the love and support you needed and deserved all these years you would have made much different choices. You should never have had to chase their love or approval.”

I’m crying even more now but manage to choke out, “You either,” and she gives a small smile.

“I’m realizing that, too,” she says, moving her hand to mine and giving it a squeeze. “You are a good man. I’m not saying what you did was okay, and that there won’t be consequences, but I understand why you felt so confused and why it would be difficult for you to accept that part of yourself after living with our parents. I’m honored that you told me.” She chuckles. “Well, I’m assuming you’re telling me you’re gay, or bi, or pan, or something other than straight. I didn’t actually let you share that part, did I? You don’t have to, either. But if you want to tell me, I’m here, and I love you.”

I squeeze her hand this time. Then I look at her. My voice is shaking and my hands are trembling. “I’m gay,” I tell her, and she gives me the most beautiful smile. “God, Olivia, I’m as gay as the bloody rainbow.”

She takes me in her arms as I sob, overwhelmed by it all; by the fact that I just came out to my sister after twenty years; by the knowledge that my wedding isn’t happening and I’ve lost my fiancée; by the years of built up hurt, grief and torment my parents caused, that I had tried to deny and ignore; and with the knowledge that I am very much in love with Hunter Price.

I’ve never been in love before, and I never expected it to hurt this much.

Fifteen

Three weeks later

HUNTER

I’m back at work now. And while I feel like I’m functioning better each day there are still moments where I find myself missing Oliver so much it hurts to breathe. I’m dreading returning home in a few weeks for the wedding, walking Mom down the aisle to the man I love, the man I’ve been trying to move on from.

The first several days of being back at my apartment after leaving Scarsdale were the worst. I was so upset I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of bed the first three days. After that I didn’t do anything other than mope around the apartment in my pajamas, eating way too much junk food and not even bothering to shower.

It took my roommates intervening for me to realize just how bad things had gotten, and I decided I needed to really get away, by myself, to just think and be and work though all of my feelings on my own. So I bought myself a ticket to Italy with thesavings I’d acquired from work, even though financially it wasn’t the wisest decision, I knew that for the sake of my mental and emotional wellbeing I had to do it.

I’d never been to another country before, and while it was frightening, being on my own and not speaking the language or knowing my way around, it also gave me something else to do, another way to occupy my mind, and I loved it. I visited Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan, had the most delicious pasta and pizza I’ve ever tasted, and even took some cooking classes.

I took my time and did a lot of sightseeing. I visited the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and Trevi Fountain; toured the Catacombs, drank delicious wine, and went on a gondola ride on the Grand Canal.

I fell in love with the people and the country, and allowed myself to accept the fact that Oliver wasn’t mine. That he wouldn’t be mine, and didn’t love me the way I loved him. And even though it was painful, and even though I cried as much as I smiled and laughed, my time in Italy healed me, restored me, revived me, and allowed me to begin to grieve the loss of the man I loved.

There was a part of me that would always love him, I knew that. But life was good and beautiful in itself, and that was something I needed to learn. That I could be happy without him. And that I couldn’t make him love me back or force him to accept something he wasn’t ready to accept, to be brave enough to choose himself and his own happiness, whether it was with me or not.

I would attend the wedding, and then it would be months before I saw Mom or Oliver again, and every visit would be short. Maybe they would even stop altogether. I didn’t know.

I’d told him at the beginning that I knew what I was risking to be with him, that I accepted the consequences, and if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Because Oliver Jones was many things, but he was not regrettable.

OLIVER

---