25. Oliver
CHAPTER 25
OLIVER
I shuffle paper, pens, and knickknacks across my desk, trying to arrange the chaos into something resembling order. It’s a futile attempt at normalcy on a morning that’s anything but. The numbers and figures on the contract before me might as well be in ancient Greek for all the sense they make.
I need to focus. Need to get it together.
But it’s no use. Nora’s face swims before my eyes, her voice echoing the words that have knocked my world off its axis. Pregnant. She’s pregnant. And despite the myriad of emotions tangled up inside me, there’s an undercurrent of something else — something that feels suspiciously like excitement.
A knock on the door pulls me from my reverie, and I bark a curt, “Come in.”
“Hey, boss. You wanted me to look over the Phelps file?” Alex, one of my assistants, steps in, his tone eager, eyes bright.
“Change of plans,” I say, forcing my attention back to the papers strewn across my desk. “Could you take this contract down to… actually, hold on.”
I pause, scanning the document for the hundredth time, pretending to search for something I’ve missed. The truth is, I need a moment longer to wallow in thoughts of Nora. To wonder about the tiny life we created and what it means for our future.
“Oliver?” Alex prompts, tilting his head slightly.
“Right, sorry.” I shake my head, clearing the fog of daydreams. “Can you get these to Nora? She’ll know what to do.”
“About that…” Alex hesitates in a way that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next. “Nora called in sick today. Said she wasn’t feeling well.”
Sick? My heart clenches at the thought of Nora alone, dealing with whatever sickness that must have hit her. Is it something related to her pregnancy?
The urge to rush to her side battles with the responsibilities that anchor me to this office. In the end, I stay firmly seated in my chair.
“Okay.” I manage to keep my voice steady. “Just leave them with me, then. I’ll handle it.”
“Sure thing.” Alex places the file back on my desk, eyes lingering on me for a moment too long. He can probably see the worry etched on my face, the distraction I can’t quite hide.
“Thanks, Alex,” I say, dismissing him with a nod.
As soon as the door clicks shut, my mind races with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. What if something’s wrong? What if Nora needs me and I’m just sitting here, shuffling papers around like they mean anything compared to her and our baby?
“Get a grip,” I mutter, pushing back from the desk. But my hands are shaking, betraying the cool exterior I’m desperately trying to maintain.
I stare at the closed door, half-tempted to go after her, then back at the silent phone on my desk. I should call her up instead and make sure she’s okay.
“Work,” I whisper, a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty. “Focus on work.”
But as I try to bury myself in my tasks, every fiber of my being knows the truth; I’m just killing time until I can see her again, until I can figure this whole mess out.
The phone rings, a shrill echo in the silence of my office. I almost don’t answer, my head in a fog of work and Nora’s absence. But it’s Dad, and who knows if he’s calling with good or bad news. I ignored his last couple of calls — not exactly the new leaf I planned on turning over when it comes to him.
So I swipe at the screen, pressing the speaker to my ear.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to sound normal.
“Oliver, son. Just wanted to give you an update.” His voice is surprisingly upbeat, considering the circumstances. “Chemo went well today. Knocked me on my ass, but the doc says that’s to be expected.”
Relief washes through me. “That’s great to hear, Dad. Really.”
“Yeah, yeah… but enough about me. How’s Nora?” he asks, and there’s a subtle shift in his tone, like he’s squinting over the line, trying to read my face.
“Uh, she’s, uh…” I stumble over my words, scrambling for an excuse. “Under the weather. Called in sick today.”
“Sorry to hear that. You okay? You sound off,” he probes.
“Everything’s fine,” I lie, glancing at my watch, feeling the walls close in. “Actually, Dad, I’m swamped here. Can we catch up later?”
“Of course. Take care of yourself, kid.”
“Will do.” I hang up before he can ask any more questions that I have to lie about. I sink back into my chair, rubbing my temples. The truth is a boulder in my throat, heavy and immovable. A baby… Nora and I are having a baby.
The door swings open without so much as a knock, and Ben strides in, all confidence and perfectly pressed suit. “Ollie, we’ve gotta roll out. The client’s waiting at the restaurant. You got the files ready to go?”
“Right, yes,” I mutter, grabbing the folder off my desk, the one thing tethering me to reality right now.
“Everything cool?” He eyes me, a flicker of concern beneath his professional facade.
“Fine, just fine,” I say, plastering on a smile as we head out the door.
At the restaurant, conversation swirls around me. I nod where appropriate and laugh on cue, but my mind is miles away, tangled up with Nora. Does she regret telling me? Is she lying alone somewhere, scared and uncertain, just like I am?
“Oliver, what’s your take on the proposed expansion?” asks the client, snapping me back to the present.
“Expansion is… It’s necessary. Growth is key,” I say, parroting lines I’ve said a hundred times before. But my heart isn’t in it.
Throughout lunch, I shuffle food around my plate, pretending to eat while lost in thought. Nora might hate me for my lack of composure through all of this, for my inability to immediately embrace this new reality. And now, she’s unreachable, a silent void where her voice should be.
I could call her up; it should be that easy. But the truth is that it’s anything but. Because how can I call her up when I have nothing to say? Not yet, anyway.
“Should we consider a stepped approach to the investment?” Ben chimes in, seamlessly picking up my slack.
“Stepped approach,” I echo, my voice distant. “Yeah, minimize risk.”
Ben shoots me a look, clearly noting my disengagement, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I can think about is how the ground has shifted beneath my feet, how the future is suddenly an abstract painting — beautiful but indecipherable.
Maybe I should step back from Nora. Make it a clean break and just support the kid financially. But even as the thought crosses my mind, it feels like a betrayal. A child needs their father, doesn’t it?
Then again, don’t they deserve better than a distracted, overwhelmed mess of a man? That’s who I will be if we maintain a relationship. I could never be truly available, not in the way every kid deserves.
“Oliver?” Ben nudges me, pulling me back once again.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “What were we discussing?”
“Never mind, we’ll cover it later,” he says, giving me a long, searching look that I don’t meet.
The meeting drags on forever, or maybe it’s just me, stuck in a loop of dread and longing, counting the seconds until I can escape and maybe, somehow, set things right.
The clink of silverware against porcelain finally fades as the last of our clients shake hands and file out of the upscale restaurant. I’m left staring at the remnants of a medium-rare steak, cut into pieces so small they could pass for a child’s meal. I haven’t touched more than a few bites.
“Oliver,” Ben says, his voice low but insistent. “You’ve been off all through lunch. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I answer too quickly, pushing my plate away with a clatter that feels too loud in the now quiet space.
I can feel Ben’s eyes on me, analytical and probing, but I don’t meet them. His gaze is like a spotlight I can’t escape, and I’m not ready to perform.
“Come on, man, you’re usually on top of your game. You barely spoke up during the discussion about the expansion plans.” He leans in closer, and I can tell he’s not going to let this go without a fight.
“Ben, seriously, drop it,” I snap. The words come out harsher than I intend, and something shifts in his expression, a mixture of concern and irritation.
“Fine,” he says curtly, signaling the waiter for the check. There’s a new distance between us, one that I’ve put there with my own hands, brick by defensive brick.
As we walk out onto the bustling street, a cool breeze sweeps past, offering no relief from the heat rising inside me. I hate myself in this moment — for snapping at Ben, for avoiding my dad’s questions, for not knowing how to deal with the news of Nora’s pregnancy. It’s like I’m watching myself ruin every good relationship I have, powerless to stop it.
But then there’s Riverside, the property I acquired after years of negotiations. It’s the biggest project I’ve tackled yet, a sprawling development that could make or break my career. The pressure is immense and suffocating, and it’s all I’ve got to cling to — a tangible goal in a sea of uncertainties.
I need to focus, to pour everything I’ve got into making sure it’s a success. No distractions, no slip-ups. That’s what I keep telling myself, even as guilt gnaws at my conscience, reminding me that I’m failing Nora. I’m failing the baby.
“Look, Oliver,” Ben tries again, his tone softer this time. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to handle it alone.”
“I said drop it, Ben!” My voice cuts through the noise of the city, and he noticeably flinches.
But I can’t seem to rein in the frustration, the sheer panic clawing at my throat, threatening to expose every vulnerability I’ve fought to keep hidden.
“All right.” He holds up his hands in surrender, and I know I’ve pushed him too far.
As he walks ahead to hail a cab, I fall into step behind him, feeling the chasm widen with every step.
I should apologize and try to explain, but what would I even say? That I’m terrified of being a father? That the thought of balancing family and business feels like a puzzle with missing pieces?
I feel like a terrible person even admitting those things to myself. I can’t say them to someone else.
Instead, I stay silent, hating myself more with each passing second because I know deep down that I’m making choices I might regret forever. But Riverside won’t build itself, and right now, it demands every shred of attention I can muster.
“Let’s just get back to the office,” I mutter, sliding into the cab after Ben, already dreading the mountain of work waiting for me. A mountain that seems like the only thing standing firm when everything else is slipping through my fingers.