Page 32 of Husband of the Year
A quietness takes over as I rest on Olan’s chest. The powerful roar of the ferry’s engine becomes a quiet hum in my head as this new reality sinks in. My stomach flips like a pancake on a hot griddle—filled with tiny bubbles. This is what’s been eating at Olan. I don’t know what I thought was wrong, but it wasn’t this. My worries never seem to align with reality. Erika told me to remember that—before she retired. Usually, I over-worry. In this case, maybe I should have worried more. Great. Now I’m worrying about worrying. My head races, wondering if I can get a few days off on short notice—even if I need to take them unpaid.
“Monday. I’m going to book a flight when we get home.”
My stomach drops. Monday. This Monday? That’s in two days.
“For how long?” I sit up and face him. He leans toward me, tilting his head and blinking more frequently than usual.
“I’m not sure. Probably a couple of weeks. Perhaps longer. It all depends on what awaits me when I arrive.”
My stomach shifts from flipping to dropping. Maybe I need to take a leave of absence. Is this one of the circumstances where they’re permitted? Olan and I aren’t married yet. Does it matter? Is there paperwork?A process? How long would it take to approve? Would Dr. Knorse be able to secure a long-term sub or would my class have to endure someone new daily?
Olan pushes out a long, deep breath, his lips pulling my focus back to him.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
I know Olan, and I suspect he said nothing sooner because he didn’t want to put a damper on things. Or make me worry. But this is no time to wait for more information from him. This is a time to lay the cards on the table so we know what we’re playing with.
Olan takes my hands, and I draw small circles in his palm, my go-to for soothing him.
“It’s another relapse. He’s still in detox in a rehabilitation facility. My parents are understandably distressed. It’s been a week, and he’s still vomiting and having tremors. They wouldn’t typically ask for me to come home. There’s more happening than they’re telling me—I can hear it in my mother’s voice. I’m needed there.”
I know Liam struggles with addiction, but Olan hasn’t really gone into details, and I didn’t want to push him. Detox. Rehab. Vomiting. Tremors. The words splash in my head, trying to tread water, as I attempt to make sense of what I’m hearing.
“Okay. Do you want me to…”
Olan pulls his lips in and gently shakes his head. “Marvin, I always want to be with you, but I’m going to be busy. Occupied. Liam needs me to be a point person at rehab. My parents are strained. We’ll text. Call. Video chat. I promise.” Olan flips my palm over and returns the massaging, comforting me in his time of need.
This would be my time to step up. Be a mature, understanding adult. I lift my chin and pull my shoulders back. “But I’ll miss you.”
Operation Mature Adult failed.
“Babe.” He leans over. His lips brush my cheek, and my heart speedsup, desperately desiring we stay this close forever. “I’ll miss you too. But we’ll be fine. I promise.”
Seeking solace, Olan pulls me close and envelops me in a warm embrace. With my eyes closed, I relish the last moments on the ferry before we dock, preparing myself for the harsh reality of Olan’s revelation.
In bed, spooning Olan, I nuzzle into his neck, taking in the slightly sweet smell of his skin, trying to commit it to memory before he leaves for Chicago. Sometimes my yearning for Olan almost overtakes me, and right now all I desire is to be naked, clutching his chest and plastering him as close as possible.
It’s clear Olan’s sharing what he knows about Liam’s current situation with me, but there’s an uneasiness in my stomach. I wonder if there’s more to the story he either doesn’t know or hasn’t divulged yet, and with him flying out Monday, I’m unsure when those pieces will fall into place.
We lie quietly in each other’s arms, the sounds of the house murmuring, and then it happens. A pounce. At my feet.
“What the?” Olan lifts his head, searching.
“Gonzo.” I spy his black and white fur at the foot of the bed. “He thinks our feet are…”
“Prey.” Olan sits up and snatches Gonzo, pulling him between us, his purr vibrating through the room the moment he’s on his back, covered by our hands.
“Who’s the hunted now?” Olan asks, burying his face into Gonzo’s back.
Although he’s never had pets, Olan’s quickly become fast friends with Gonzo. He’s unable to resist the magical draw of a sweet ball offur that simply wants to play, eat, and receive an infinite amount of affection.
“Gonzo’s going to miss you,” I say, rubbing Gonzo’s favorite spot under his chin.
“Well, I’m going to miss him too.” Olan picks the willing kitty up, holding him under his front legs, so they’re eye to eye. “Now listen to me, Gonzo. I want you to take care of your dad. And Illona. Make sure everyone gets lots of attention and snuggles and if you could do me an extra favor”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“please make sure your father remembers to pay the electric bill.”
“Gonzo, tell your other dad that I will pay the electric bill when it comes.”
“They don’t mail anything, it’s all online. I’ll leave you a document with all the usernames and passwords.”
