Driven, page 10
He tried to hold it together. He really did, but Richards had to pull over several times during their short journey to get Oliver to breathe in a bag (which he had been wise enough to bring with them). Thankfully, the girls found the whole ordeal to be rather hysterical. It did great things for Oliver’s self-esteem to have his fears laughed at by children.
When they pulled up to the curb in front of the twins’ house, Oliver swung the door open and practically threw himself on the curb. If people hadn’t been watching, he may have even kissed the dirty ground, but he had to hold on to some shred of dignity.
“You okay out there?” Richards called through the open door.
“I love this sidewalk. I’m going to live here and never set foot in another thing with wheels,” Oliver said, rocking slightly. He could hear Richards’s sigh loud and clear.
“This was a start, Ollie. Maybe I’ll come take you for a ride every week. If nothing else, it’s entertaining to my children,” Richards replied.
“You are so mean,” Oliver muttered.
Richards laughed. “I certainly am. Take care. I’ll check in on Friday.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver said, shooing the car and its inhabitants away.
“Can you shut the door for us?” Richards said.
Oliver stood on somewhat shaky legs and used his foot to close the door. Richards rolled down the window on the passenger side.
“Ollie?” Oliver bent down to look at the man addressing him. “Remember what I said, about keeping your distance from certain people….”
Oliver nodded. “Trust me, I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“Good, good. Tell the ladies I said hello.”
Oliver nodded again and gave a weak wave as the sedan drove away. He turned and trudged through the gate and up the walk, exhausted by the ordeal he had just gone through. So lost in his own world and thoughts, he walked up the steps not even realizing someone was sitting in one of the many rocking chairs on the porch.
“Hey” came a quiet voice.
Oliver was so startled he teetered back on the top step, arms flailing, trying to keep himself from falling. A strong hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him forward, helping him regain his balance.
“Sorry! I thought you saw me here,” Simon said, releasing Oliver and stepping back to put some space between them.
“I was, uh… in my own little world, I suppose.”
A grin flashed on Simon’s still tired-looking face. “So I gathered. Umm, can we sit and talk for a minute or do you have to rush in?”
Oliver glanced in one of the front windows and spied Vera, waving for him to sit. He suppressed a grin of his own before he took a seat in one of the other chairs. When he sat without saying anything, he thought he heard a sigh of relief from Simon.
Simon pulled his own chair around a little so they could better face each other. He sat on the edge as if the conversation were going to be too serious for him to sit back and relax. Bent at the waist, his hands dangled between his knees and his head dropped as if he were gathering the necessary words.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Oliver was quick to throw out, wanting to apologize before Simon started whatever heavy speech he had in his heart.
Simon’s head came up. “That was my line,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I did some thinking yesterday, and I realized that I had been really selfish and pushy when it was obvious you were having your own issues. It’s been… a really long time since I’ve had a friend, and I guess I’ve forgotten that friendship is a two-way street.”
“That is true, but you didn’t deserve to be snapped at either,” Simon said. “I… my sister Emma, she has a drug problem. We thought she had gotten it under control in rehab, but the day after you and I hung out, we got a call that she had OD’ed and was in the hospital. My folks and I were up visiting her…. She’s not doing so good, and it’s really taken a toll on all of us. When you saw me, we had just gotten home after pretty much committing her.”
Oliver reached out and grabbed both of Simon’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? For your family? I don’t have much to offer, but I’ll do what I can, and I’ve got strong shoulders.”
The corner of Simon’s mouth curled up. “For now this,” he said, using his chin to gesture to their joined hands, “will do.”
Oliver smiled but released one of Simon’s hands. He snaked his arm around Simon’s back and drew him close, so Simon could rest his head on Oliver’s aforementioned strong shoulder.
Simon sighed. “I take it back, this is better than the hand-holding.”
“For me too,” Oliver said, his own chin on one of Simon’s shoulders.
They sat there like that for a while, just taking in each other and not saying a word, the sympathetic waves coming off them both and soothing the other. Eventually Simon pulled back. And Oliver reluctantly let him go.
“I wish I could stay all day, but I’ve got a ton of shit to catch up on since we’ve been gone.”
“I understand,” Oliver said, sad for him to go but wanting to be compassionate.
Simon put his hand under Oliver’s chin and tipped his head up, turning it from side to side as if to take in all of the features. “We’re going to get together later, and you’re going to tell me what went on to make you look all haunted and bruised.”
Oliver nodded in agreement. “Later.”
Simon gave him a sad sort of smile and tousled Oliver’s hair before he jogged down the steps and headed toward his own house.
Oliver enjoyed the view the entire time.
Chapter Twenty-three
OLIVER GOT a dressing down from the twins about the dangers of wandering the streets at night, bottling up emotions, and skipping meals. He apologized for making them worry. They surprised him with hugs, even Tude, and told him to take the day and relax. Oliver was thankful. He climbed the stairs and into what he considered his own bed where he slept for several hours.
When he woke, he was surprised to find a note from the women saying that they would be out for the evening, playing bingo and eating finger sandwiches. They rarely went out and never at night so he wondered if they were just trying to give him space. He appreciated the gesture but would hate it if they felt run out of their own home.
He walked around the kitchen, aimlessly opening and closing cabinets. Not feeling quite enough at home, Oliver was uncomfortable about fixing himself something to eat. His stomach growled at him, and he grabbed at it with both hands squeezing hard. “Hush you. It’s not like you don’t know how to go without a meal.”
“Oh, don’t deny it. You’re a growing boy” came a voice from the other side of the kitchen.
Oliver swung around, nearly jumping at his of skin. “What are you, a ninja?”
Simon laughed but then apologized for scaring Oliver. “The ladies stopped by to say you’d be home alone for dinner and if I wanted to stop by, they wouldn’t be back till the wee hours of the night, which I’m guessing probably, means 9:00 p.m.… maybe 10 if they’re really having a good time.”
Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Are they trying to… set us up?”
Simon’s eyebrow rose. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought that, but being they’re from a different time I guess I always just kind of figured they’d be against anything other than the man/woman norm….”
“They’re some crafty old biddies. I bet they ran a speakeasy during Prohibition and were involved in group love-ins in the ’60s.”
“Ewww. I don’t want to think of them in that way,” Simon said, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
Oliver laughed. “To each their own.” He noticed, for the first time, that Simon was carrying a large reusable grocery bag. “What’s in there?” he asked, pointing at it.
Simon looked down. “This? This is our dinner. Made by my own hands! Well, okay, Mom made it, but I totally scooped it into the Tupperware and made the world-famous garlic bread myself.” He walked to the table and started unpacking a small feast. Pasta, sauce, meatballs, grated cheese, a mixed salad, and the infamous garlic bread.
“Impressive spread,” Oliver said before walking to the cabinet to grab plates. Simon followed suit and grabbed utensils from the drawer and some napkins.
They went about setting places and pouring drinks. It was comfortable and familiar, something Oliver missed, even living with the twins. Simon opened all the containers and popped them in the microwave “for a few minutes.” He motioned for Oliver to sit down.
“I feel like we’re missing candles and a cheesy violinist,” Oliver joked. “Oh, and the checkered tablecloth.”
“Who are we, Lady and the Tramp?” Simon asked from his position across the room.
“Sorry, it was a favorite of mine as a kid.” Oliver felt silly for even bringing it up. It’s not like Simon had said anything about their dinner being a date.
“Who would be who?” Simon asked, surprising Oliver by playing along.
“Well… I suppose I’m technically the tramp… ya know, the whole living on the street bit, but you hardly fit the Lady persona….”
“Sure I do. She was uptown and uptight.”
“I don’t think you’re uptight,” Oliver protested, “but you are nicely groomed like she was.”
Simon laughed. “You’ve got me there. I draw the line at rolling any meatballs with my nose, though.”
“That would be my job anyway,” Oliver said.
Simon brought over the last container and stuck a spoon in it. “Help yourself.”
“Ladies first,” Oliver joked, pushing a container closer to Simon.
Throwing his head back, Simon laughed loudly before leaning forward to grab some food. “Thanks for that, I needed a laugh.”
“Happy to oblige,” Oliver said, digging into another container.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, silverware clanking and bread crunching under grinding mandibles.
“Itsgud,” Oliver mumbled, food in his mouth.
“Thanks,” Simon said. “I’ll pass that along to Mom. She loves to feed people.”
“How are they doing, your folks?” Oliver asked, putting down his fork.
Simon sighed, and copied Oliver’s movement. “They’re rough. Dad isn’t sleeping. Mom cries when she thinks no one is looking. I don’t know what to do for them.”
“And you? How are you doing?”
Another sigh. “I hate to say it, but I’ve kind of written her off. It’s not that I don’t love her, but she’s promised so many times to get help, to stop doing drugs. That she was going to make amends, and she just can’t. I understand she’s sick, but I can’t keep getting my hopes up only to have her crush them repeatedly.”
“I can understand that… but just remember family is precious, and she might not always be there. I would hate to see you living with guilt if something happens. Trust me, it’s not an easy thing to deal with.”
Simon leaned across the table. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Oliver automatically leaned back a little, putting some space between them. There was a flash of disappointment on Simon’s face, but he leaned back as well.
“I do have some experience, but I’d rather not go into it… not today, please.”
“Okay,” Simon relented, looking curious.
“Thanks,” Oliver said, pushing away from the table. “Let’s clean up, and then we can watch TV or something.”
“Actually, I’d love to see some of your art, if you wouldn’t mind showing me,” Simon said, bringing his dishes to the sink.
Oliver felt heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered his sensual daydream about Simon asking to be painted. He wondered if there was a chance that scene could play out for real.
“Ollie? Hellooo, Earth to Oliver.” Simon waved a hand in front of Oliver’s face.
“Sorry! Yeah, sure, you can see some,” Oliver said. A hand was suddenly on Oliver’s head, avoiding the Band-Aid. “What are you doing?”
“Your face is all red. I thought maybe you had a fever,” Simon said, looking concerned.
Oliver was mortified. “I… uh, just get flushed after a big meal.”
“Oh… okay,” Simon said, letting his hand drop.
They finished cleaning up the kitchen before Oliver led Simon up the stairs. He took his time, regurgitating little facts about the people on the wall that he actually remembered. He was nervous. In his former life, he had never had a boy in his room, not one he thought something could actually happen with. Simon was throwing out all sorts of signs, but Oliver had never really had a boyfriend before. He had had… relations, for money, to survive, but never an honest-to-goodness relationship with someone he had feelings for. Oliver wasn’t sure those feelings were anything more than lust yet, but he found himself thinking of Simon often. When he was struggling to get through situations, it was always the greasy mechanic’s face that would pop up and soothe him.
The stairs were only so high and the hallway so long. Oliver couldn’t drag it out forever. Simon was surprisingly quiet throughout the short trip. Oliver wished he knew what was going through Simon’s head.
“So, here we are,” Oliver said, his hand on the crystal knob.
“Okay,” Simon said with a nervous little chuckle.
Oliver took a deep breath and pushed the door open. His hand groped around the doorjamb to find the switch. Artificial light flooded the room, and Oliver was glad to see he had quickly made his bed after his long nap and that there were no dirty socks or boxers lying around the room.
“After you,” he said to Simon, swinging his arm in a wide welcoming gesture. Simon walked in, his arm grazing Oliver’s along the way. A chill ran up Oliver’s back at the contact. He followed Simon in, leaving the door mostly open.
Simon stood at the easel, engrossed in the work in progress. Oliver cursed himself when he remembered what he had been working on. It was in the early stages, a pencil sketch of two very obviously male hands intertwined. Oliver had started it after their day of hanging out. He was struck by the absolutely rightness he felt when their hands fit perfectly together. There was a jigsaw puzzle type feel to it, the missing piece off to the side of the drawing. He hoped Simon didn’t realize it represented the two of them, and if he did, he hoped it wouldn’t be wrongly interpreted. Oliver had started to lay down some of the color in light washes, leaving a pastel rainbow-colored dripping effect on one half of the image.
Oliver stood nervously near the door as Simon turned around, an unreadable expression on his face.
“So,” Simon said, fidgeting a bit. “I’ve got a question.”
“Okay,” Oliver responded, nerves building in his stomach.
Simon nodded toward the painting in progress. “Are you gay or what?”
Chapter Twenty-four
OLIVER BLINKED a couple times, surprised that Simon felt he had to ask. Maybe he’d read him wrong after all.
“You have to ask?” he finally said.
Simon looked down, red flooding his own cheeks. “Considering you didn’t deck me after that kiss, I’ve been hoping I guessed right, but… I’ve been wrong in the past, and it’s not an outcome I’d want to replay. Better to ask and be sure, ya know?”
Ahh, now it was making sense to Oliver. It made him mad to think someone may have hurt the guy for his poor gaydar.
Oliver walked farther into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the side for Simon to come and join him. Simon followed the silent instructions but left a good amount of space between the two of them.
“My mom and I were never really close,” Oliver started, surprising himself that he was willing to talk about her with Simon. “She always wanted a girl, she’d tell me. That’s not to say she didn’t love me as a kid, but… I suppose she always pushed me more off on Dad, saying she didn’t know what to do with little boys. My dad was the academic type. He was a professor at a community college, but he still enjoyed some sports and tried to interest me, but when he saw me take to my crayons more than a football, he pushed me in the direction of art. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“You showed talent at an early age?” Simon interjected.
“Yup. Well, I guess what other people saw as talent. I’ve always thought I just had a good eye for shapes, so at two and three, my people looked like people rather than the stick figures others were drawing.”
“Hey, don’t knock your talent,” Simon said.
Oliver gave a small smile. “I’m not. I know I’m better than a lot of other folks, but I also know enough to say I wasn’t a prodigy or anything. Anyway, art kept me around the house, and I was always eager to share with my mom. I knew she liked pretty things, so I’d draw her flowers and rainbows. She would look at them, say a nice word, then put them on the counter, never to look at them again. My dad would find them and put them on the fridge. I was always trying to please her, but nothing seemed good enough.” Oliver sighed, and Simon leaned over and patted his leg.
“That’s sad,” Simon said.
Oliver rolled his eyes. “It gets worse…. Anyway, when I was four, my little sister Amelia was born. She was an adorable little cherub. I loved her from the first moment I saw those big blue eyes. My mom was over the moon to finally have her little girl. I was fairly good, but like any little kid who gets a sibling, jealousy set in. I was never mean to Amelia or had a shred of anger toward her, but I would look at Mom cuddling and cooing to her, and I wanted that kind of attention too. Sadly, I never got it. Dad ended up taking me out of the house more to museums, art classes, that sort of thing. When I got into first grade, I made friends with a boy named Josh. He was so cute,” Oliver said, smiling at the memory of the little dark-haired boy with glasses. “We were best friends and did everything together.
“One night at dinner, I told my parents that I loved Josh. Mom originally brushed it off as just a silly thing a seven-year-old would say, but I told her that I thought he was beautiful and I wanted to marry him someday. I already knew girls weren’t for me. I saw my parents exchange a meaningful glance that I didn’t understand at the time. My dad smiled at me and said no one knows what the future holds; pretty heavy for a seven-year-old to understand. My mom, on the other hand, got real mad. She told me not to say things like that around Amelia. I didn’t understand. In my young mind I knew love was a good thing. Why would Mom be mad about that? I argued with her. She banged her hand on the table and told me she already had a daughter and that I needed to stop acting like a girl and be a man.
