“Oh.” She smiles over her shoulder at me but turns the knob anyway. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. We’re already bonded. Good night.”
It does not feel like a good night when she closes the door behind her.
This cannot happen again.
7
Olivia
“I’ll teach you to make ziti, sauce, and meatballs that don’t come from a freezer pack at the grocery store. It takes some practice to get the texture just right. We’ll make a list together of all the items you’ll need.”
I’m just about to question whether Italians even serve turkey for Thanksgiving, but my train of thought is completely hijacked when I pull into my driveway.
Mrs. Cucinelli’s voice continues to filter out into the void from the Bluetooth speakers in my car, but my sole attention is focused on the sight of the man carrying armfuls of my clothes—still on the hangers—out my front door then into his.
“Mrs. Cucinelli,” I interrupt. “Have you talked to Ollie today?”
“Why, yes. Of course. I talk to him every day during his lunch hour. It’s part of our schedule,” she replies with worry in her voice. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“No. Not necessarily,” I hedge, anxiety kicking around in my chest. “I just wondered if he mentioned any plans for us to move in together.”
Her squeals of delight threaten to deafen me, which is surprising. Ollie’s mom and dad had a cow when we announced our decision to share rent after we graduated from college. They were only appeased by the fact that it was a two-bedroom apartment. It seems having a fake baby on the way has changed her mind. Drastically. Then again, she must already believe we’ve done the deed, so there’s that.
“Now, I know what you must be thinking,” she prattles on after her shrieks of joy die down. “But honestly, at least if you’re living together and engaged, the family will be much more accepting of your decision to wait until after the baby’s birth to have the wedding.”
Nope. Not what I was thinking at all. A fake baby is one thing. A fake engagement? A fake wedding? There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Ollie, but a line has to be drawn somewhere. It’s time to slowly start letting her down.
“Mrs. Cucinelli, I don’t mean to be rude in any way, but have you ever considered that maybe Oliver isn’t interested in marriage? Or having children?”
“What?” she screams. My windshield rattles with her volume. Thankfully, Ollie is still inside his condo, so he likely won’t have heard that. “Why would he not be interested in marriage or children?”
“Well…” I hesitate. This is a delicate situation. It always has been. Oliver’s family loves him dearly, but there are times I wonder if they understand him at all. “How many girlfriends has he had over the years? He never once talked about proposing to any of them.”
Mrs. Cucinelli chuckles. It’s a much softer sound. “While I don’t necessarily approve of all the lady friends he’s kept, we both know men have a need to sow their wild oats before they settle down.” Her voice lowers even more to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I’m honestly grateful he went through that completely normal phase.”
I was happy for Ollie when he got his first girlfriend, too. And the next, and the next, and the next. Until I realized they were only using him. He’s so sexy, so shy, so sweet. And apparently packing the kind of joy stick that would keep any sane woman coming back for more. Yet none of them stayed with him longer than a month, tops. Once the allure of having the hottest man candy in Pittsburgh wore off, they all suddenly became diabetic.
He reappears from his condo and strides directly over to mine, so absorbed in his task that he doesn’t notice me in my car in the driveway, watching him.
Mrs. Cucinelli continues, “Besides, I could ask the same of you. You’re turning thirty next month, just like Oliver. You’ve had plenty of suitors. Maybe it’s you who isn’t interested in marriage and children.”
And maybe Mrs. Cucinelli doesn’t believe I’m pregnant after all if she can make a statement like that.
This is the perfect time to come clean. To let Ollie off the hook and sort out this mess.
“Just…” Mrs. Cucinelli sighs. “Tell me you love him, Olivia. Woman to woman. I’m grateful none of those others stuck because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they didn’t love him the way he deserves to be loved. He might never have showered you with extravagant gifts and dates, but you’ve always been different. You see things in him that no one else sees. You appreciate him in ways I’m not even sure I do though the good Lord knows I love him with all my heart. I want what’s best for him as much as I do for you. Please tell me this baby hasn’t trapped you into something you don’t want.”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. I am trapped. I have been for a very long time no matter how much I’ve tried to free myself. There are some lies I can let slide in this rollercoaster of life, but one truth remains. “I do. I love him with all my heart.”
She needn’t worry about my feelings being very real. She simply has blinders on about his. Not that I can blame her. I never trusted any of the women Ollie’s been with either.
She sniffles on the other end of the line. “I know you do. I just needed to hear you say it. I worry about him so much. When he’s with you, I can rest a little easier.”
“You’re going to sleep very well for the foreseeable future,” I mutter as Ollie reemerges from my condo with a box that looks like he’s moved onto the kitchen, judging by what’s sticking out of the top.
I open my car door and yell, “Oliver! Is that my blender?”
He startles and nearly drops the box. Surprisingly, instead of carrying on with his task, he sets the box down on the sidewalk then approaches my car with a wide smile on his face. Normally, if I interrupt him, he doesn’t look so pleased about it. He rests his arm on the top of the car door. “You like to make smoothies. They are a healthy alternative for when you do not feel well enough for solid foods.”
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Cucinelli clucks her tongue. The speakers haven’t disconnected yet. “Are you still struggling with morning sickness? I’ll get together some home remedies for you.”
Ollie shakes his head. “Hi, Mom. Please do not do that. Those remedies are not FDA approved.”
“Ginger is a perfectly natural substance,” she assures him. “Well, I’d better let you go. I’m sure you have plenty to do this evening. I’ll see you both this weekend.”
She hangs up.
Ollie frowns. “Visiting Mom is not on the schedule for this weekend.”
I pull my satchel over from the passenger seat then close my car door. I hit the lock button on the fob only once to avoid the car horn noise that happens if I click it twice. “Moving me into your condo wasn’t on the schedule for today either, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping you. You looked happy about this deviation a few minutes ago.”
He checks his smartwatch then glances at the box still sitting between our condos. “Yes, well, we have dinner reservations at Monterrey Bay for six thirty. If you are going to sleep with me tonight, then you need to feel comfortable enough to stay. Which means in order to make our reservations, I had to start packing up your things as soon as I got home from work.”