There went those butterflies again.
“Hey, Oliver. I figured it would be easier to call and talk instead of texting back and forth. Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat. “Why do you ask me that all the time?”
“Because I want to know.”
“But the answer’s always the same.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding as if he could see me. “But someday it won’t be. Someday you’ll be okay.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I just get the feeling that someday you’re going to find it—your happy ending. This is just a temporary thing. Your sadness.”
“I’ve been sad my whole life, Emery.”
That fact made my heart crack a little. I wished I could hug him. “Why is that?”
He paused for a moment, in thought maybe. I could picture him with his stern look on his face. “I think some people are just born sadder than others.”
I hoped that wasn’t true. I hoped someday, Oliver would find his happiness. Find the place that made him feel free from all the sadness that surrounded him.
“Can we talk about something else?” he asked.
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”
“Anything. Anything except me. Tell me about you. Or Reese. I want to know more about you.” I bit my lip, not completely sure what to say, but luckily Oliver gave me a question to follow up the conversation. “What made you want to be a chef?”
“My parents. Kind of. They weren’t around a lot during the week, because they worked at the church in my small town, and a lot of their time was spent there, super early in the morning and super late into the evenings for Bible studies. I came from a very religious town, where it was Jesus twenty-four seven. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it would’ve been nice if my parents came home a bit more. So, while they were gone, I was responsible for making the meals for my younger sister and me. That’s when I learned that I kind of loved cooking.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven.”
“Your parents left you alone at the age of seven to take care of your sister?”
“Let’s just say their morals were a bit out of order.”
“Do you still keep in touch with them?”
“Gosh, no. I haven’t spoken to them in five years.”
“Since Reese was born?”
“Yes.”
“Did they not approve of you having her at such a young age?” He cleared his throat. “If I’m asking too many personal questions, you can tell me to stop.”
“No. It’s fine. My parents didn’t really approve of anything I did. I never understood why they were so hard on me over my sister, but it is what it is.”
“They were very religious?”
“Extremely,” I laughed, thinking about the number of crosses that lived within my parents’ house. Then I glanced around my apartment, which had just as many crosses.
“Did that make you less religious?”
“No, surprisingly. I rebelled against almost all of my parents’ beliefs, as a way to show my teenage angst. But not when it came to God. My faith always stayed intact. What about you? Do you believe in God?”
“I want to,” he confessed, “but it doesn’t come easy for me to believe in a thing that seems so far away from me.”
I understood that. But for me, when God felt far away, that normally meant I was straying myself.
We talked for hours more, about anything and everything, about nothing, about life. Within those hours, Oliver’s hard shell began to soften. He even chuckled once when I told a poor joke. When it was time for us both to fall asleep, he thanked me for the call, to which I said, “Call me again tomorrow.”
And he did.
16
OLIVER
Emery allowed me to call her each night. When I didn’t call, when I felt a bit too disconnected from reality, she’d dial my number to check in on me. From our late-night conversations, I was learning more and more about her. But when she showed up the next morning, I froze up. It was as if I didn’t know how to talk to her in person. As if I was able to be more vulnerable with her on our calls than face to face.
I hated it. I hated how awkward I’d appear sometimes, not knowing how to communicate with her when she walked into a room. Mainly because she took my breath away. Everything about Emery was remarkable. From the way she cooked, to the way she dressed. To the way she loved her daughter, and the way she spoke with such a softness to her tones. Being around her made me uncomfortable, because a part of me didn’t want her to leave. She felt like a safe place, and I’d never had that in a woman. I’d never had someone who’d stay up late on the phone with me just to make sure I was all right, outside of my family.
Emery did it with so much care too. She never seemed tired by our conversations, and I swore I could almost feel her light through the phone when she spoke about her life.
Whenever we hung up, I instantly missed her voice.
Then, when she showed up for work, I’d freeze up in front of her. She never seemed to care, though. She just remained her bubbly, kind self and made me some of the best meals I’d ever tasted in my life. I was thankful for that. For her ability to make my awkwardness less . . . awkward.
“You’re staring at her,” Kelly remarked as we sat at the dining room table eating our lunches. The more often I could get Kelly to sit down and eat her meal with me, the better. She was looking a bit better lately. The bags under her eyes were slowly fading away, and she laughed a lot more too. That was also due to Emery. Emery had that personality. The moment she and Kelly had connected, they’d become great friends. I was happy about that too. Kelly needed someone to lean on, and I knew I wasn’t that person for her.
She was smiling more each day, which was a good thing. Emery had that effect on people. She made the saddest souls want to feel better.
“Staring at who?” I grumbled, looking back down at my salad. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kelly beaming ear to ear.
“You know who!” she whispered, leaning in toward me. “Oh my gosh. Do you like Emery?”
“Like Emery?” I pushed out a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t even know her.” That was a lie; I was learning more each day. She liked Scrabble; she hated Monopoly. She loved all genres of music, except for heavy metal. She’d had a goldfish named Moo that her mother flushed down the toilet when she was ten, and ever since then, she’d avoided seafood. She hated Reese’s camp friends. Her favorite color was yellow, and her favorite season was autumn. And when she smiled with her lips, a faint dimple would appear on her left cheek.
She didn’t tell me that; I just happened to notice.
“Then why are you blushing?” Kelly asked.
“I’m not blushing. Men don’t blush.”
“The lies!”
“It’s true. Besides, even if I did like Emery—which I don’t—it would be too soon. I just got out of a long-term relationship.”
Kelly huffed. “Are you seriously calling what you and Cam had a relationship? I’ve had better relationships with stray cats on the road.”
True.