Page 82 of Oliver
It’s what eventually saved me from the miserable life I was expected to live—an accountant at my father’s firm, a good Christian wife approved by my mother, forever trapped in Norman.
But now, it felt like my downfall.
Alyssa had tried. When Emmet came home with me, she was the first to have our backs, no questions asked. But it wore her down, my inability to shift, flex.
I had a plan, and it was the best way to ensure Emmet got what he needed. It was also what drove a wedge between Alyssa and me. Her parting words still echoed: "I can't keep doing this, Oliver. I can't keep loving someone who sidelines me in all thebig decisions in his life, like I haven’t earned my place under the gurney."
I'd told myself it was about my job at Foxy's, about putting Emmet first. But looking back, I could see the truth. It was about me doing everything alone, never forming a true partnership, never truly letting her in.
And now, Zahra...
Something had changed. For the first time, I found myself wanting to tear down those walls. To let someone see the real me—messy, damaged, obsessive, but also capable of the kind of devotion that rewrote the laws of my carefully ordered universe.
This wasn't about Zahra's trust in me. It was about me trusting myself enough to let go of the control I maintained over my own life, to let someone else in without a plan, without knowing the results.
The realization settled over me like the gravitational certainty of a collapsing star. I knew what I needed to do. I would tell Zahra everything—the trust violation, my parents' betrayal, Davidson's conspiracy with the church, Ryan and her aunt’s involvement, why I was really in Norman. I'd trigger the supernova and let the stellar remnants scatter across the galaxy as they will.
"Ollie."
The voice sent ice through my veins, stopping my breath mid-inhale. I hadn't paid attention, too wrapped up in my cosmic epiphany to notice someone approaching. But I didn’t need to look up to know who stood there.
Only one person had ever managed to compress that much disdain into the two syllables of my hated nickname.
I raised my eyes slowly, finding my mother standing across the table, elegant as always in a tasteful navy dress and pearls. Her smile held the same practiced warmth it displayed in church directories and charity gala photos—never reaching her eyes.
"Mother." My voice emerged steady, revealing none of the turmoil her presence ignited. "What a surprise."
"Is it?" She settled into the chair opposite me without waiting for an invitation. "I heard you were in town. And with a girlfriend?" Her perfectly manicured nails tapped against the table. "Zahra Nazarian, isn't it? Such a surprise to hear you two reconnected after all these years."
I didn't answer, watching her calculate her next move. My mother had never engaged in small talk without purpose. But she just stared back with that fake smile. Eventually, I ran out of patience.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Her smile was tight, and she brushed an invisible speck off the table. "How are you and Laura doing?"
"His name is Emmet," I corrected, the familiar tension settling between my shoulder blades. “And he’s doing great. Top of his class in psychology. Thriving.Free.”
Her fake smile dropped.
Good. I wasn’t interested in maintaining the pretense of small talk.
"We know about your visit to the records office." Her voice carried the same disapproving tone she'd used when I first told her about my dream of becoming an astrophysicist instead of working at my father's accounting firm.
“Is looking at public records a crime?”
“And your visit to the church,” she continued, ignoring my snide remark. "This is our town, Ollie. Our home field. You can't win here."
"I'm not sure what you think I'm trying to win," I replied, keeping my tone neutral despite the rapid acceleration of my pulse.
"Don't play dumb, Oliver. It doesn't suit you." She leaned forward. "Your father and I have worked very hard to build ourlife here. We have connections, resources, respect. What do you have?" Her gaze swept over me, assessing and dismissive. "Debt, a dead-end teaching position, and an abomin?—"
"Do not finish that thought," I cut through clenched teeth. "You do not disrespect my brother, and you donotthreaten my family."
My mother’s eyes widened, seemingly caught off guard by my furious reaction, but she quickly poised herself.
"And now this...arrangement with the Nazarian girl. Do you think people won't find out? That it won't ruin her reputation by association? That it won't destroy what little academic credibility you've managed to scrape together?"
The threats came wrapped in motherly concern, each one precisely aimed at my vulnerabilities. They'd ruin me, ruin Emmet, ruin Zahra. They had all the resources, all the connections.
