Oliver
I have to tell her the secret I’ve been keeping about my mother. I need her to understand what kind of monster my mother is; I need Julie to be afraid of her, to not trust her.
She’s almost asleep and she looks so peaceful. “Julie?” I whisper her name; I really don’t want her to hear me. “Are you awake?”
“I’m awake.” She yawns, opening her eyes. The ocean blue waves wash over me even in the darkness. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“I lied to you about my mother,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve. “When you asked me all those questions, I didn’t want you to know. I knew my mother, she lived with us for a while.”
She doesn’t look surprised. “So, she didn’t run off?”
“Yes, she did,” I say. “I don’t know where she is or even if she’s really still alive or dead. I haven’t seen the woman in over twenty years.”
“Do you want her to be alive?”
“That’s a hard question.” I want to tell her I don’t care, but I do. “I don’t wish for her to be dead, but I don’t want her around either, I guess.”
She smiles into the darkness but I can still feel it. “Do you miss her?”
I groan. “I can’t miss someone I hardly knew.”
We sit up together and she grips my t-shirt. She’s come to bed in one of my clean t-shirts; her silky, bare legs glide against mine as she sits on my lap. I run my hands slowly up her back; I tug at the ends of her mess of blonde hair. She steadies me on the bed with her body.
“What do you remember about her?” I can feel her fingertips graze my chest and nothing else matters except her touch.
“I remember she had several men in and out of our house since I could walk. I remember picking up her used needles. I nearly killed myself with them as a toddler because I was curious and not supervised.” Her face falls—I guess in her mind my mother wasn’t a raging drug addict. “I remember when my father had to take business trips. I would stay with Mrs. Atchley sometimes so he could make sure I got fed and not beat up.”
Her mouth forms a small “oh” but she says nothing. “So that’s the connection you two have.” I can tell she’s embarrassed by bringing it up, but I’m not upset with her. “I hadn’t gotten that far in the journals.” Her voice is small and I can imagine her blushing. “So you’ve known Mrs. Atchley for over twenty years?”
“Yeah, I pay for her rent in that apartment. She took care of me when I needed it the most. I owe her more than some fancy one-bedroom.” I squeeze her arm gently. “We can keep reading the journals if you want, sunshine. I’d like to see them, actually.”
She hesitates but takes the orange book from her nightstand anyway. I turn the light on and wait for her to open it. Instead, she stares blankly at the closed journal and waits. “Are you sure you want to relive this pain? I thought we were moving on?”
“Julie, nothing that is in that book is going to make my life worse, okay? I let go of my mother a long, long time ago. I was able to have a somewhat normal childhood with my father, so there isn’t any more sadness there.” I suck in a deep breath and look at her. “Unless you count the fact that he’s gone and all I have left is you now.”
She smiles. “I’m here for you.” She hands me the book. I open it to where she’s left a green ribbon marking her place. I shake my head at her and let her crawl into my lap; we start reading together.
April 13th, 1992
Defeated.
I have finally worn Veronica down.
She hasn’t been out in weeks. She says she doesn’t miss her old life but I don’t believe her. I told her I would do everything I can to take care of her—all she has to do is give it all up for Oliver.
For me too.
She says she will.
She promises me she will.
My father’s lawyers tell me that I need to go ahead with the custody hearing. They want a paternity test done. I am not okay with this. I have already decided that Oliver is mine, no matter what any test or difference in DNA there is.
Oliver is my son.
Julie looks over at me to see my reaction. I guess it doesn’t surprise me; I’m grateful that he stepped up to take care of me. When I think of how I could’ve ended up or who could be my father if he isn’t, I die a little inside. Who knows if I would even be alive right now if my mother hadn’t left? Not that I’ll ever tell Julie this, but I tried to find my mother right after my grandfather died. I hired a private investigator, but everything was a dead end.
He couldn’t confirm her death or her proof of life.
I keep reading through the entries. Julie hops out of bed and leaves the room. She comes back with the tub of chocolate chip ice cream and one spoon. She smiles sweetly and hands me the first bite. “You look like you need this.”
“I have everything I need right here in this bed.” I kiss her on the lips, sneaking the spoon from her grasp. I shovel a huge bite into my mouth. She giggles and takes the spoon from me, nibbling on her own small bite as we continue to read on.
May 1, 1992
Just another week or so to go before my son arrives.
Words cannot express how relieved I am to finally meet him…excited too! I wonder if he will have my eyes, or my nose.
Veronica has dropped out of giving me full custody of Oliver, which is sad news. She promises me that she will be better and do good by him. I tell her that I won’t go after custody again; she needs to live by my rules. I know what is best for her and my son. As long as she lives under my roof, she has to live by my rules. She actually agreed to all of my terms.
And told me she loved me for the first time in a long time.
I still love her.
I will always, always love her no matter what she does.
I just want to do what’s best for my son. Deep down, I know that not fighting for his freedom from her isn’t the best thing. I have to be a little selfish too. I want her to get better and the only way she can do that is if I can keep an eye on her and show her what she will be giving up.
I can show her how life can be with me.
Will it be enough?
I will never know that answer.
But I know I cannot wait to meet my wonderful son.
I close the book and put it on my nightstand. I take the ice cream container back into the kitchen where it belongs. I know she realizes I need a moment to myself; she doesn’t follow me, but I can feel her love from the other room.
In some ways Julie is just like my mother—not the bad parts, but she’s afraid of feelings and emotions just the same. Am I going through the same things my father went through? Julie feels deeply for me—I can feel it—but she hasn’t said the words yet.
Then again, neither have I.
We keep going back to the same thing. We circle around each other like sharks until one of us just lets a little blood out of our hearts; we’re ready to attack but we’re good at swimming around the issue so we never cut ourselves.
She smiles as I enter the bedroom and lets me lay my head on her stomach. I wrap my body around hers underneath the blankets. “I have something to show you tomorrow, but you have to promise me that you won’t get scared and run.” I instantly regret showing my hand this early. “It’s nothing bad, but it’s going to be a little bit of pressure on you.”
I feel her run her fingers through my hair; her breathing hitches a little. “Okay. Can I ask what this mysterious thing is?”
I prop myself up on my elbow and look at her. I wanted to surprise her, but she hates it already, I can tell. She doesn’t like surprises at all. We’ve had our fill of those these last few days. “I bought a house and I finalize the paperwork tomorrow. I’ll be moving in soon.”
Her eyebrows raise. “Oh? Is it in Rockford?” The nervousness in her voice excites me a little. I know she wouldn’t want me to move out of town.
“Of course it is. I wouldn’t just buy a house and hope you’d come with me.” I laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. “I want you to look at it tomorrow and then you can decide.”
“Decide what?”
I clear my throat. “Decide if you want to move in with me.”
“Oliver—”
I reach up and turn off the bedside light. “Don’t decide now. Wait until you see the house.”
She stays silent for a long few minutes. I can hear the gears turning in her mind. She’s either trying to get out of going to see the house or she’s thinking of a way to turn me down gently.
“Did you buy me a house?” Her voice floats through the darkness like a silk ribbon. “I mean, did you buy a house hoping that I would move in with you?”
I smirk. “This apartment is a bachelor pad…you like it here?”
“I like this apartment.”
My laughter booms through the room and she swats my shoulder. “Well, I just think I might start needing a bigger space.”
She tenses and pushes me off her. My head hits the softness of the mattress beneath us. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll be right back.” She hops quickly out of bed and rushes to the bathroom. I can hear her turn on the water faucet so I can’t hear anything. I’m somewhere in between a light sleep and a dream when she comes back. She tucks her body next to mine, letting me fold her against my chest. I think she might’ve been crying a little, but I don’t want to push it because now we are exactly where I want us to be.
Intertwined.
***
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I am so tired of hearing that it’s sickening. My grandfather wasn’t a good man; he was a rich man and there were so many vultures surrounding his casket that it nearly suffocated me to even be in the same room. I hear Heather’s prickly laugh and I search for her. I really need her right now. She’s busy giggling at another man’s jokes and touching his arm. No doubt to show him some affection just in case he has more money than I do.
He doesn’t.
Not that it matters now.
She’s been gone every single day for a week, always returning home to me with bags of new things and mountains of receipts. I just let her do what she wants because I’m tired.
I’m so fucking tired.
Tired of caring and tired of giving a shit about anything or anyone.
I don’t even think I love Heather anymore, let alone like her.
“Oliver!” a man’s deep voice calls. I slip into the men’s restroom of the funeral home before whoever it is can reach me. I need some air, but I can’t get out of the place without someone noticing me. Heather would just blow up if she knew that I’d skipped out and left her here to deal with all of this.
I open the bathroom door and peek out, making sure the coast is clear. I dodge the sea of suits to make it out the back door of the funeral home. Once I do, the smell of cigarette smoke invades my nose and I cough as someone laughs next to me.
“Casey, what the hell?” I fan the smoke away from my face. “Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t, but I figured why the hell not now?” He coughs and blows out more smoke.
“Classy, man. My grandfather just died of lung cancer, you moron. You know how he got it? Smoking cigars and those nasty things.” I stare him down but he doesn’t care. He puffs once more and then throws it on the ground. He holds his hands up in surrender, and I shake my head and start to walk away from him. He calls out my name and says something I don’t quite understand. I whirl around. “What did you say to me?”
“I said—” Now I can tell he is clearly drunk. “—your grandfather deserved to die. Did you hear me that time?”
“How so?” Even though I hated the man, he didn’t deserve to be spoken ill of on his celebration of death day. “You hardly even knew him.”
“I knew him well enough to know he was an asshole.”
I hold my hands up for him to shut the hell up. “You better stop while you’re ahead, Casey. I’m leaving; you should call a cab.”
“I know where your mother is,” Casey blurts out and then stumbles over his own feet. He falls onto the stairs. “He paid her off to run away, did you know that?”
I don’t really care. “How could you possibly know that?”
“My father does his books, remember? He paid her a hundred thousand dollars to leave.” He hiccups and I step back, just in case he decides he wants to hurl all over me. “You’re not the only one she left behind, Oliver,” he says and swigs rum straight from the open bottle in his other hand. “Do you think that you’re so special that you’re the only one?”
“Casey, what the hell are you talking about?”
He launches himself at me and pushes me to the concrete. He grips a fistful of my hair, trying to slam my head onto the pavement. “Get off of me, asshole!” I scream and a few funeral patrons come down the alleyway to pull him off me. “What is wrong with you?” I spit out blood from the few blows he managed to sneak in. I stand up and Heather comes running out the back door to see what the commotion is.
“I think I need to get home,” he mumbles and shoves his way through the crowd. He growls at Heather as he passes her. She looks angrily at me for causing her embarrassment.
Yeah, it’s my fault.
Blame the guy with the dead family.