Chapter 21
The rest of the weekend proceeds like a dream. Saturday morning, I wake up alone, but Olan’s warmth lingers next to me. Remembering last night, my body aches for him. Having him inside me. Feeling connected in a way I can’t recall. Falling asleep surrounded by the heat of his body. A deep breath to center myself, a quick prayer of gratitude, and I’m ready to consider abandoning my current cocoon of bliss.
The noises and voices downstairs clue me in. He’s with Illona. Grinding and gurgling noises, the faint aroma of coffee, and something sweet whir my stomach awake. He’s cooking. In addition to everything else, Olan Stone got up to make breakfast. Rolling over to where he slept, I shift my head to his pillow. The faint scent of coconut and shea butter remains, and I breathe it in, wishing I could keep my head here a little longer.
“You up, Marv?” Olan pokes his head in, attempting to whisper but failing miserably.
“Excuse me?”
“Ah, you are up. Illona was asking for you.”
“Did you just call me Marv?”
He looks down with that bashful face, and I know he’s blushing. I want to drag him into bed and kiss every inch of him.
“I like it. It’s… sweet. You’re sweet.”
“Coffee’s brewing. And we’re making waffles. Chocolate chip waffles.”
My stomach gurgles at the mention of food. He turns to head downstairs, and I call out to stop him.
“Olan, wait. What about Illona?”
“What about her? She’s downstairs waiting for you. Us. Get up, lazy bones.”
I wrestle into my orange hoodie and flannel pajama pants and head downstairs. I know Illona knows I’m here. I know she suggested her dad and I share the room. I know all this, yet I have no idea what to expect this morning. At the bottom of the stairs, Illona appears, like a tiger waiting to pounce, throwing her arms around my waist, pressing her head against my side, shouting, “Marvin!”
“Illona, good morning! What’s for breakfast?”
She wears pink and purple fleece pajamas with ponies on them. Two braids lie on either side of her head, and immediately I envision her sitting patiently, her dad carefully tending to her, and again, I am moved by how patient and loving he is with her.
“Waffles! Do you want yours with chocolate chips or without chocolate chips?”
I give her an are-you-seriously-asking-me-this-question? look.
“With chocolate chips!” she shouts to her dad.
“Please, and thank you.”
We sit around the wooden table which is filled with knots that I trace with my fingers, and pour copious amounts of maple syrup over waffles stuffed with chocolate chips. We talk and sing and laugh, and it feels so correct. At one point, Olan reaches over to squeeze my shoulder, and my body stiffens because I’m hyper aware of Illona. She’s caught up singing the latest teen-girl-group sensation power ballad to us. Her eyes land on her father’s hand where it rests on her teacher’s body and she doesn’t flinch. She simply keeps singing. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe. Right. Worthy. Hopeful. Loved.
* * *
The weekend continues to play out like the love collage in a sappy romantic movie. We take walks, have another picnic, and introduce Illona to The Muppet Movie . Her face and reactions when Kermit rides his bicycle are priceless. On Saturday afternoon, we take the golf cart to the convenience shop for more coffee because Olan underestimated how much coffee a queer Jewish kindergarten teacher spending a long weekend with a student and her phenomenally handsome father drinks. As we exit the store, a strange voice calls, “Olan! Buddy!”
“Ralph, I forgot you live on the island full time,” Olan says as they shake hands.
An older gentleman, easily in his late sixties, Ralph wears what appears to be the island uniform: an old baseball hat, old flannel, old jeans, and old sneakers. Peaks Island – where everything’s old… but in a quaint isle way.
“Yeah, I’m over on Reed Ave., the far side. And who is this?” He’s looking down at Illona, who’s grasping her father’s hand and standing slightly behind his long legs.
“This is Illona.”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you. It’s so lovely to finally meet you!”
“And this is my buddy, Marvin.” He motions to me.
“Marvin is also called Mr. Block. He’s my teacher,” Illona adds, feeling less timid by the second.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you both.” Ralph smiles. This man oozes charm and sweetness, and my head races to connect the dots and figure out how they might know each other. Olan doesn’t seem to know many people in Portland, let alone out here on the island.
“How long are you here? I see you rented a golf cart. You know I have an extra van. The key is right under the driver’s seat mat. I’ll text you my address. You can always borrow it. Don’t even have to ask. Just come get it.”
“That’s generous of you, Ralph, but I thought Illona might like the golf-cart experience.”
“True, very true. There’s nothing like poking around the island in one of those buggers.” He nods to our parked cart. “Well, you have my number. If you need anything or if you come back, you know how to get in touch with me.”
“Thank you.” Olan nods.
Illona waves at Ralph, and I say, “Nice to meet you.”
We pile into the golf cart, and as we drive off, Ralph stands and waves kindly. Olan has put his arm around Illona and grasps my shoulder. He’s clearly not the slightest bit concerned with this man knowing who I might be. We ride back to the cottage and Illona finally asks, “Daddy, who was that man?”
“Oh, he’s a friend of mine.”
“Okay,” she replies.
“I didn’t realize you have friends on the island,” I say, fishing for more.
“What can I say? I’m a friendly guy. I have friends in lots of places,” he says with a wink.
I wake Sunday morning with my head on Olan’s chest because, apparently, even in my sleep, my body has taken to navigating to it like a homing pigeon. Olan’s body radiates warmth and smells like the mint soap in the shower. He appears to be sleeping and I do my best to remain still, staring, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. My heart thumps at the thought of him. Of us. I imagine a world where I’m allowed to wake up next to him every day.
Olan’s left eye creeps open and he returns a sly grin. His long fingers move to gently rub my head and tangle my curls.
“What are you staring at?” he grumbles.
“You. Just you.”
“I’m slightly obsessed with your hair,” he says.
“Yeah, I kinda got that.” I turn my head to look at him. “Olan Stone, do you have Jewfro envy?”
“I’ll have you know, my afro earned me the nickname Black Einstein in college.”
“Um, you realize that is completely hot.”
“I mean maybe to you, but not most people. And definitely not me. Please don’t call me that.”
“One hundred percent hot. And I won’t. I promise,” I say, tousling his hair.
The sun rises on our last day and heading back to the mainland awaits. Back to life, back to reality. No, not the music. Not now. I don’t need it.
Lying here, our bodies tangled tight and the nearness palpable, I want to know more about him. When we’re together, I feel so close to him, but there are moments I feel he’s holding back. There’s a wall up, and I can’t figure out why. And if this, whatever we have, can continue, we must start removing bricks from the wall.
“You know, you’re an amazing guy,” I say.
“Really? How so?”
“Hmmm, let me see. You’re the most attentive dad. Watching you parent Illona makes my heart swell. Truly. You’re thoughtful and kind. Whenever anyone needs something, you’re right there before they can ask for help. And you’re sexy as hell,” I say, tracing his jaw with my thumb.
“Are you trying to make me blush?”
“No, but if it happens, I’ll consider it a bonus. Can, can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Shoot.”
“What happened with Illona’s mom?”
Olan lets out a sigh. I realize I’ve hit a sore spot, but I’ve told him about Adam, and want to know more about him and Illona. She hasn’t seen her mother in person since they moved.
“Okay. Let me start by saying Isabella is a wonderful person. We’re working on being friends, and it’s an adjustment, but I do care for her. Isabella and I met in high school. She saw something in me I don’t think I knew myself. I mean, I knew I was intelligent, but I didn’t recognize my potential. I never even considered AP classes until she suggested them. And when the time came, she helped me with my Stanford application process. I’d never really been interested in dating, and she knew that. We took things slow. Our relationship slowly developed. Everyone thought we were the ideal couple, which put pressure on us. Well, me.”
My head rests on his shoulder as he fiddles with my curls.
“At college, a different kind of pressure surfaced. Being the only Black person in my program, my family’s expectations, I made some harmful decisions. All my life, I’ve never fit in. At Stanford, I finally started to believe I could. Desperate to belong, I let some of the guys in my dorm influence me. Before college, I’d only had one beer. Ever. My father actually gave it to me at my graduation party. I hated it.”
My lips curl up thinking about Olan’s face after a sip of warm, bitter beer.
“But with these guys, there was liquor. Seemingly, unlimited. The partying got out of hand quickly. Isabella would visit, and, well, I guess I didn’t realize just how bad I had gotten until she came. She was worried. Scared. I knew she was right, but the stress kept intensifying. Within a year of my parents dropping me off, I had a problem I didn’t know how to fix. Apparently, drinking more was not the solution. I ended up in an outpatient facility, and even though it was challenging, I know it was essential. I was finally sober and part of a twelve-step recovery program, and Isabella and I married soon after graduation and started Stone Aerospace. It took a few years to get our bearings, but once Illona was born, the business really exploded. We spent so much time together working that we forgot to be a couple. I channeled all my energy into work. It wasn’t healthy. We just, well, people grow apart. It happens. I still love her, but I’m not in love with her. Isabella stuck with me through those tough years, so even when our relationship shifted a couple of years ago, I didn’t want to abandon her. Now I understand she’s a strong woman. Thinking of her that way was actually silly of me. We’re much better off as friends. The truth was, I didn’t know how to be sober and alone.”
As Olan recounts his story, tension starts building in my head. I’m listening and trying to remain calm, but my heart begins to sprint. Flashbacks to my childhood, stepping over my mother on the floor, the smoke detectors blaring over food left on the stove, my Aunt Helen taking me for an entire summer because my mother went to rehab. These images spark in my head, making me dizzy, and my ears begin ringing. I keep my head planted on his shoulder because I can’t hide the advancing panic on my face. Taking deep breaths, in and out through my nose, willing myself unflustered.
“So you’re sober? That’s why you don’t drink?”
“Yes. Completely sober.”
Wetness dots the corners of my eyes. I do not fancy crying in front of Olan right now. More deep breaths.
“Last year, things started coming to a head with Isabella and the business. I had a slip up. One drink. One time. I called my sponsor, and he came right away. I upped my meetings. It hasn’t happened since. That was almost a year ago. It’s part of why we moved. I needed a fresh start, and Portland has an amazing recovery community. Things have been going extraordinarily well. You’re a significant part of that, too.”
He gives a soft, hesitant smile, and I lift my head to examine him and wonder what else he hasn’t told me. I swore – with what I went through with my mother, watching her struggle and how it impacted our relationship and my life – I would never be with an alcoholic, recovering or not. And yet here I am, lying on Olan, his daughter in the room down the hall, things feeling more and more like hanging out is morphing into something deeper. I need to speak, but I’m afraid of what might fumble out.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I was, well, uncertain about it. And honestly, afraid. I took bumping into Ralph yesterday as a sign. He’s in the program with me. He’s a stand-up guy. We sit together at meetings every Tuesday. He’s not my sponsor, but he checks up on me. Bumping into him was a sign for me to talk to you.”
“But, Olan. My mom, I’m not sure you understand. My mother is an alcoholic. Yes, she’s sober now, but growing up, with a parent like that, it does things and, and, that’s why I, I, I…”
Olan sits up and takes my face in his strong hands. I want to pull away, but he holds me firm and turns my head so we’re only inches apart.
“Marvin. I’m so sorry. And that’s why I take it so seriously. I never want Illona to experience that. Before my relapse last year, and it was one drink, one drink, I hadn’t had a sip since college, twelve years. And it was literally one drink, and I knew. I stopped. I called Isabella and my sponsor immediately.”
“Is that why you split up?”
“It was a long time coming. A lot of it had to do with running a business together. And my working too much. It wasn’t healthy. Marrying the first and only person you’ve ever dated complicated things, too.”
“Wait, so you’ve never been with anyone but her? Not even a hook up?”
“No, I told you. Hooking up isn’t for me. Only Isabella and now, you.”
I try to take this in and process it. I’m a few years younger than him, but even with a six-year relationship, I’ve dated and slept with my share of men. I know Olan’s seriousness and nerdiness might make him, or even others, hesitant, but he’s so damn attractive. It’s hard to believe I’m only the second person on the planet to be intimate with him.
“And why doesn’t Isabella see Illona?”
“They chat and video call. I’ve urged her to visit. I know it’s far, and we’re working on being just friends, but Illona needs her mother, too. We’re approaching a better place, and I hope that will change soon. Isabella knows she’s welcome.”
I’m sitting in bed without clothes and I’ve never felt more naked. My head feels milky, thick, foggy. Images from my childhood careen toward me like a train. Lying on my back is the only reason I haven’t passed out. Throwing clothes on, grabbing my bag, and running out feels a tad dramatic, but my urge to flee overtakes me, and keeping this bottled in makes it worse.
“Listen, I probably should go.”
“Marvin, please don’t. Let’s make breakfast. We can talk some more once Illona gets up. She can play in her room.”
“No. I really need to go. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, and don’t go. Please.”
I lift my head off his chest and begin to push myself up.
“Olan, I care about you, but please understand. I need to… I need space, to process this.”
I get dressed, throwing on the T-shirt I wore last night, my hoodie, and jeans, shoving clothes in my bag without much care. Moving swiftly, I do my best to remain unflustered and not appear frantic. Fear of what this means crushes me and the need to be away from Olan overwhelms me. I do not want to have a panic attack here.
“I’ll text you. I promise,” I say.
“Marvin. Wait.”
I stop at the bedroom door. It’s quiet. Illona either hasn’t woken up yet, or she’s keeping herself occupied in her room. Olan jumps up from the bed and stands there, naked. On the outside, he looks so fucking perfect and wonderful, but there’s clearly more under the surface I need to process. He jogs over and gathers me in his arms. As a reflex, I return the embrace, but my heart feels hesitant. I pull away, and he gives me a quick kiss, soft, on the lips. Even as my mind flutters and races, my lips respond to his touch.
“Please text me and let me know when you’re back.”
My lips make a thin, barely-there smile. I nod, turn, and head to the ferry. The early hour means I’m only one of a few as we head back to the mainland. Feeling desolate and confused, I wrap my arms around myself and watch the city come into view under cloudy skies.