Page 26 of Not Made to Last

“How the hell old are you?” I question.

He settles back in his seat. “Ollie says I’m smart for my age. That I know too much. And that I’ve seen too much. She says it’s both a blessing and a curse. Sometimes…” He sighs, the single sound drowning out all other thoughts. All other emotions. “Sometimes, I think I am the curse.”

14

Rhys

We only did two more deliveries after Down Dawgs, and Max never engaged with me again, so I didn’t either. It was probably a good thing, considering I’d somehow trapped myself in his final words.

The kid thinks he’s a curse, which is a horrible fucking thought, but swear… I’d never felt so seen in my entire life.

We were quiet for the rest of the night. Olivia drove me home; I said goodbye, she said goodnight, and I haven’t been able to get them out of my head since.

That was a week ago, and every night after, I do the same thing:

Order a bottle of water.

Wait for the driver’s name to appear.

Cancel it when it isn’t Olivia.

I limit myself, though. I only attempt ten orders a night, and if Olivia isn’t one of the drivers, I force myself to stop. But after seven nights of this… seven nights of No-Olivia, I think I’m going insane.

I do my best to curb that insanity during the day. I hit the gym, read, work, hang out with Oscar or Curtis and his girls, and avoid my old school friends like the fucking plague.

It hits the hardest at night—whatever this feeling is—and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake it.

I’m on my ninth order for the night when an alert comes through on the Get Grubby app:Olivia is picking up your order.

My girl doesn’t seem surprised to see me waiting by my front gate, nor does she bother to get out of her vehicle. She simply waits for me to settle into the seat and buckle up, and then she’s off, handing me my bottle of water as she drives. I turn to Max in his car seat, headphones on. “What’s up, my guy?”

He looks up, daps my fist, and returns to his book.

Olivia doesn’t say a word until we get to the gas station—the same one we went to on our first date. She parks in front of the attached diner, so she’s not here for gas or I would’ve offered to pay. I mean, it is a date, after all—our third, if you include the first night.

Do I sound crazy? Sure. Am I actually? I guess that’s yet to be determined.

For the next hour, Olivia and I don’t speak, but every time she goes into a place to pick up an order, Max and I secretly do. Well, he speaks, and I listen. So far, I’ve learned that the word “robot” comes from the Czech word “roboto,” meaning “forced labor” and that the Earth has more trees compared to stars in the Milky Way. He also told me about the books he’s always reading,Miles and his Miracles. It’s a trilogy, he explained, but only the first two books are out. I make a mental note to order them the minute I get home so I can read them and discuss them with him.

Now, we’re sitting in the parking lot of a Chipotle farther out of town than we’ve ventured before. Max is reading his book, so I pull out my phone and go through my emails.

A couple of minutes later, Max pipes up. “Avocado.”

I slip my phone into my pocket and turn to him, giving him all my attention. “What about avocado?”

“Aztec for this word,” he replies, showing me a highlighted word on a website:ahuacatl.

I try to say it aloud, though I’m sure I butcher the pronunciation.

“Guess what it means?” he asks, a cheeky little lilt in his tone.

“I have no idea.”

“Guess, Timothy,” he giggles.

“I… I don’t?—”

“Testicles!” He breaks out in a fit of giggles so strong, he can barely take a breath, and I find myself doing the same.

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