Chapter Twenty-Five #2
With one hand on the steering wheel, he slides the other down my thigh.
There’s a not-so-subtle grip to his touch, and that’s all it takes for the spark to ignite low in my belly, but it’s more than that needy desire this time.
There’s something else firing up inside of me, something that unfurls with hundreds of little tendrils, spreading everywhere through me, the feeling both delicate and persistent.
I don’t have time to dissect whatever this is because the SUV slows to a stop as we pull into a parking lot.
We’re in the middle of Boothbay proper now, the harbor just steps away to the east, rows of multicolored businesses behind us to the west. It’s clear that tourist season is basically over because the town has essentially emptied out.
It’s just our car and a few others in the big cement lot.
Oliver is out of the car and opening my door before I’ve even unbuckled my seat belt.
The bag he packed is already slung over his shoulder as helps me out.
The sun is warm on my face, the salty ocean breeze cool on my skin, and his hand sturdy in mine, so I’m content to let him lead me wherever.
I don’t even feel the need to badger him about what he has planned; I’m happy just to be here.
“This is good,” he says as we approach one of the picnic tables set in a patch of lawn not far from a small playground, where a handful of kids are running around. “We can eat first.”
I sit on one side while he settles in opposite me. He unloads the small bag and hands me something wrapped in foil. It’s still warm and smells distinctly cheesy.
“My personal breakfast angel. Thank you.” I unwrap my breakfast to find he made us scrambled-egg-and-cheese bagel sandwiches. The first bite is so good a moan slips out of me. He smiles sheepishly before taking a bite of his own—his way of saying, You’re welcome.
For a while, we eat in companionable silence.
We sip our coffee and listen to the calls of the seagulls circling the water and the bells from the boats.
Every now and then, the laughter of the kids on the playground floats over on the breeze.
It’s all so perfect and easy that I don’t think about anything else other than the two of us sitting here on a fresh fall morning, eating the food he woke up early to make, enjoying each other’s company.
“Before, when I told you about Bea,” Oliver says once he’s finished his sandwich and wiped off his hands with a napkin. “This was where we spent most of our time in the summers. Right here, at that playground.”
“Really? The same one?”
“They redid it years ago so the equipment is different, but yeah,” he replies. “I know you want to know what I was like when I was a kid, so if you turn around, you can see it.”
I pull my sunglasses off my face and look over my shoulder.
My brows knit together as I scan the jungle gym, where a few children are clambering over each other.
A girl shoots down a slide, her friend right after her.
To the left of this is a swing set, where a little boy sits by himself, idly swinging with no real enthusiasm. He’s far away from the other kids.
A lump forms in my throat. I force myself to swallow past it as I turn around and ask, “Do you mean that one boy off by himself ?”
“How’d you know?” Oliver is smirking, but he’s still wearing his sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes, can’t tell whether he finds this amusing or sad.
“Yeah, that was basically me. I was a total loner. Still am, in some ways. The only child of two parents who probably shouldn’t have had a kid, so I spent all my time with one adult who did her best, but I had no social skills when it came to people my age. ”
“You do now,” I point out, because even though I’m grateful to hear about these parts of him that he keeps locked away so tight, I want him to know how I see him now.
Passionate, clever, thoughtful—maybe a little aloof at times, sure—but the kind of person anyone would be happy to have in their life. Me included.
“That’s debatable.” He shrugs. “I spent all this time bouncing from place to place with my parents and Bea, and my mom and dad never really took an interest in me, to the point that I always wondered if something was wrong with me. Why have me if you don’t want to spend time with me, you know?
But I had everything I needed and more. When I showed an interest in music, they made sure I had the best of the best when it came to private teachers.
And then, when I got older, people I met always wanted to know more about my parents—my mom’s family money, or my dad for his work.
What could the Barlowes do for them? What dollars could they squeeze out for a fundraiser or could they get Robert in for a special guest concert or whatever? ”
I have to stop myself from holding my breath as he keeps going. I’ve never heard him talk this much about anything. Ever.
“It was that way all through college, too. Everyone wanting to know what my dad was up to, what wisdom he might have bestowed upon me, if he would make an appearance at school. He’s the whole reason I didn’t go to Harvard.
I didn’t want to be his literal legacy there.
I wanted to try to be me somewhere else. Just me.”
He pauses, so I reach for his hand. Even with the shield of his sunglasses, I can see his attention shift from the playground to where my fingers skate lightly over his skin. It’s not unlike the way he comforted me at the restaurant weeks ago.
“All I ever wanted was for someone other than Bea to see me,” he says softly. “To choose me. Not because of my family—whom I rarely talk to—but because they wanted me, whether as a friend, a colleague, whatever.”
Us, I think. Just us.
“I see you, Oliver.” I stand up, round the table, and sit back down right next to him. I can feel the tension in his body when I lay my head on his shoulder. “I choose you.”
He slings an arm over my shoulder and tucks me underneath the crook of his arm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.
I think… it’s just weird, being back here again.
The last time I was here, I was alone and didn’t really leave the house.
I guess being here with you is stirring up all this bullshit or something.
Or maybe it’s the therapy finally working. ”
“Don’t apologize. I meant what I said. I choose you, okay? I like getting to know you,” I reply, then lighten my tone and add, “Especially this version of you that’s been in therapy for a while.”
He huffs out a laugh. I can feel his muscles relax as relief washes through me. I snake one arm around his back and hug him tighter to my side.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask cautiously.
“Go for it.”
I bite my bottom lip as I consider how to phrase this. “Why this career, then? Why pursue music if you wanted to be separate from what your dad does?”
He leans back and pulls his sunglasses off his face.
He scans my face as I do the same, searching for any signs of distress or anger—the clench of his jaw, the pursing of his lips.
But there’s none of that today, save for a hint of sadness in those green eyes, especially when he sighs and says, “Because I love it.”
That—that I understand. For all the ways that Oliver and I are different, we share this in common.
This fire that burns between us to build our entire lives around making music, sometimes at great cost to ourselves—that’s what brought us together thirteen years ago, and what brought us together again now.
I have no way to say this with words, so instead I kiss him.
When we pull back from each other, a little breathless, he checks his phone and startles. “Shit. We’re gonna be late.”
“Late?” I blink, a little dazed as he jumps to his feet and starts dumping our trash into the bag he brought.
“Come on. We have a boat to catch.”
TODAY 10:14 AM
Rebecca
10:14 AM
Omg. You have to go Chris’s dinner!!!
10:20 AM
Seriously this is the networking opportunity of a lifetime. The first time I went to one of these dinner things, I got my next three gigs
10:22 AM
Let’s grab a drink before!!