Chapter 8 #2
“Today,” I announce, “we will go to Albertson and frivolously spend my husband’s hard-earned cash on shiny things.
Tomorrow we will stock up on perishables.
For now, we eat.” I make a point of emptying a generous amount of maple syrup over the pile of food on my plate.
I offer the bottle to Oliver and arch an eyebrow at him.
“You know how I feel about watching you eat, little one, don’t you? ”
He blushes and shares a knowing look with August before sliding back into his own chair. “I’ll be a good boy for you, Master,” he promises.
I know he will be.
After all three of us have had a good amount of food in companionable silence, I see August lift his gaze a couple of times to study Oliver. He’s not just watching our boy eat like I have been. Something’s on his mind, I can tell.
And I can probably guess what it is.
When our little treat finally looks up at the same time and their eyes meet, August smiles and places his cutlery down, wiping his mouth with a napkin before speaking.
“Oliver?” he begins. “I’ll be thrilled to buy you some presents.
But did Tallis also mention that I’d very much like to send you some money as well?
That way, you can decide what you want to do with it yourself. ”
Called it.
Oliver mimics August by putting his knife and fork down. I frown, not wanting him to allow his food to go cold. I’m not convinced he’s full. But this is a tricky conversation, so I can appreciate that he would feel vulnerable trying to talk with his mouth full.
I realize I can always reheat his plate in the microwave, which placates me. So I also pause my breakfast in solidarity. I don’t want to appear like a greedy pig at the trough while they’re having a heart-to-heart.
“Um, yes,” Oliver says with only a hint of reservation in his voice. “The Master did mention that. He also said you could donate it to charity for me if I wasn’t sure.”
August smiles as he reaches out for Oliver’s hand. My heart swells when he happily gives it. Our boy isn’t feeling so overwhelmed by this conversation that he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s good.
“How are you feeling about it now?” my husband asks.
Oliver looks at their hands for a beat before meeting August’s gaze again with a little smile. “Um, I think—like the presents—I’d be okay accepting money from you now I know you. It wouldn’t feel weird. It’s basically your love language, isn’t it?”
August chuckles and nods. “It does give me a sense of peace, yes, baby boy. I’m lucky my job is my passion and that it pays obscenely well. But I don’t need it all. I want to make the world a slightly better place by sharing it.”
“That’s really nice,” Oliver says, but then he frowns a little. “It feels like people can be so selfish and materialist sometimes. But I think happiness makes you happy, doesn’t it, Daddy?” He smiles again, and I’m glad. I don’t like seeing him fret.
“That’s right, darling,” August says softly. It warms my heart seeing this young man understand my husband so well after only meeting him yesterday.
People appreciating August is what makes me happy.
And when they do what I tell them.
I’m a simple man, really.
“I still like the charity idea, though,” Oliver continues, getting more animated, practically bouncing in his seat. “So, I was thinking…whatever you were thinking of giving me, maybe you could divide it in half? Some for me and some for a good cause. Would that be asking too much?”
I can see the doubt flicker behind his eyes, and I refuse to let it linger.
“That sounds like an excellent solution,” I interject before raising my eyebrows at August. “What do you think, sweetheart?” This is something I actually don’t want to bully my husband into. He has to be on board, otherwise, he’ll feel used and hollow.
But he beams at me. “I think our little treat has a heart of fucking gold, Master,” he gushes, bringing up Oliver’s hand to kiss his fingers. “I’d absolutely love to do that. What charity did you have in mind?”
“Um…” Alarm bells go off as I watch Oliver close down. It would be tempting to tell him he doesn’t have to say if he doesn’t want to. However, I don’t like that he’s swung so fast to feeling ashamed.
“It’s nothing illegal, is it?” I demand, wondering if I’ve missed something vital about him.
The color drains from his face, though, and he hurriedly shakes his head. “No, Master! Nothing like that! I just…” He sighs. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you because it doesn’t just affect me and I didn’t want you to think badly of me or…or my mom.”
I glance at August, but of course he has no more information than I do.
It occurs to me in this moment that we usually don’t know anything much at all about our subs other than what’s needed for scenes.
But I have no reservations about pushing Oliver for more details.
I can’t fight the urge to discover all I can about him, especially if it’s causing him distress.
“Your mom?” August repeats, obviously feeling the same way I do.
Oliver glances between me and my husband, then a look of resolve flashes over his face.
I wonder if he’s recalling his desire to trust us.
I want to assure him that he can, but actions speak louder than words.
If there’s nothing for his mother or him to be ashamed of, then of course we won’t judge them and we will show that to him clearly.
He puffs out his cheeks and nods, like he’s made a decision. “I want to give the money to the shelter that helped my mom and me when I was a baby. When she left…when she escaped my dad.”
I think I do very well not to flip our kitchen table over with the unbridled fury that rushes through my entire body. The idea of a man being such a coward that he would brutalize his wife and infant son makes me want to burn the whole world down.
Instead, it becomes obvious to me that the far better reaction will be to give a generous donation to a place that has no doubt helped countless victims start new lives over the years.
“Your mother sounds like a remarkably strong and brave woman,” I say, managing to keep my voice in check.
I can see August swallowing and blinking away tears, so I speak for him, taking charge because I know what he’d want if he wasn’t lost for words in this moment.
“We will give the shelter the most we can before the tax threshold kicks in. Also…I don’t know your mother or whether it would be appreciated.
But I think August and I would like to send her something as well. ”
Oliver squirms guiltily in his seat. “I was going to give her whatever you gave me,” he admits with a nervous laugh.
“She sacrificed so much to help get me to college. Even with a scholarship it was tough. I still have some loans, which is why I work a couple of jobs around studying. If I could pay her back even just a small amount, it would mean the world to me.”
I share a silent look with my husband, raising my eyebrows in question. He nods back, approving my plan that he’s presumably guessed.
Money is, quite frankly, a ridiculous concept that destroys so many lives.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve just met this young man.
His mother deserves some compensation, like he said.
Of course we’ll do our due diligence to research the validity of his story before blindly writing checks.
But I sincerely doubt he’s conning us, and I know for a fact we won’t even miss the money.
Whereas for Oliver, his mother, and this charity, it could be life changing.
“What’s the most we can send tax free, my darling?” I ask August. I know the answer, but I want Oliver to hear it from my beloved. It’s his job in tech that makes all this possible, after all.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” August says, warm pride glowing from him as he watches Oliver’s reaction.
Our little treat appears to bluescreen, freezing in place with his eyes bugging out and his jaw slack. So I make sure to hammer the point home before he can recover and argue.
“Excellent. So that’s twenty for the women’s refuge and twenty for our good boy to share with his mother as he sees fit.”
The only reason I don’t insist on giving Oliver and Ms. Carver separate amounts is because she’s a stranger to us and he might not want to explain the nature of our relationship to her. But also, I have a feeling August and I will find many other ways to spoil Oliver in a more direct way.
Oliver finally comes back to life, his eyes filled with tears. “Y-y-you can’t do that!” he cries, getting visibly distressed. “That’s insane! You only just met me! That’s…you can’t…”
He looks like he’s going to pass out or shake apart, whichever happens first. So I immediately slip from my seat and pull his chair out by the legs so I can kneel at his feet with my hands on his thighs.
“Breathe, Oliver,” I command.
He stares at me, his chest shuddering. But he does as I say.
“Good boy,” I continue, rubbing my thumbs against his bathrobe. “Good boy. That’s it. Just keep breathing.” August moves to hug him from behind, and for the next couple of minutes, we simply let him calm down. “Okay, how are you feeling now?”
“Um, orange,” Oliver says with a wince.
However, I shake my head and smile. “Good boy for using your colors, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
He looks up at August then back at me. “It’s just that’s an insane amount of money. You don’t know me. I…I can’t accept it.”
“But you’re not accepting it,” I remind him with a smirk. “People donate to charities every day. You just pointed us toward this particular one. And you don’t have to keep a single cent of your share if you don’t want. You can send it all to your mother.”
“You could tell her you won the lottery,” August suggests with a chuckle.