Chapter 17- Ellie
I’m standing on Oliver’s front porch, staring at the door like it personally offended me.
My heart is pounding.
My palms are sweating.
And I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Why did his mom invite me?
Why today?
Why when he’s not even home?
I almost turn around. Twice.
Instead, I pull out my phone and type the only thing my panicked brain can manage:
Me: I’m here… pray for me.
He replies almost instantly.
Oliver: You’ll be fine, my beautiful. They already love you.
My stomach flips.
Of course he’d say something like that — soft and warm and steady in a way that makes me feel like maybe I’m not about to pass out.
I take a breath.
Then another.
Then I knock.
The door swings open before I can even blink.
“Ellie!” his mom beams, pulling me straight into a hug that smells like vanilla and laundry detergent. “Come in, sweetheart!”
Sweetheart.
Oh god.
I’m going to die.
I step inside, trying to smile without looking like I’m about to collapse. The house is warm and cozy, and something delicious is cooking — something with cinnamon, maybe. It feels like walking into a memory I didn’t know I had.
“You look beautiful today,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like she’s known me forever.
I blush so hard I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames.
A quiet voice comes from the hallway.
“Hey.”
I turn to see Oliver’s sister leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely, nail polish in hand. She gives me a small, easy smile — not overly excited, not awkward. Just… chill.
“I was gonna do my nails,” she says. “You can join if you want.”
Her tone is calm, casual, like she’s inviting me to sit with her at lunch, not enter her brother’s personal universe.
“I’d like that,” I say, relieved.
She nods once, then gestures toward the couch. “Cool.”
We sit together, and she starts painting her nails with practiced ease. She hands me a bottle — a soft lavender shade — and I start painting mine too.
After a minute, she glances at me.
“Oliver’s been less annoying lately,” she says, deadpan. “I’m assuming that’s you.”
I laugh, surprised. “I… hope so?”
She smirks. “It’s a compliment.”
I like her.
A lot.
She’s calm, observant, and surprisingly sweet in her quiet way. She asks me about school, about my favorite music, about the book I’m reading. Nothing invasive. Nothing overwhelming.
Just… normal.
And for the first time today, I feel myself relax.
After a while, his mom pokes her head into the living room.
“Ellie, sweetheart, you can see Oliver’s room if you want.”
My heart stutters.
Oliver’s room.
I nod, trying to act casual even though my soul is leaving my body.
When I step inside, the first thing I notice is the smell — warm, clean, familiar. Him.
His hoodie is draped over his chair.
A photo of him and his grandpa sits on his dresser.
Of course, his PlayStation and all the controllers.
My chest tightens.
I sit on the edge of his bed, running my fingers over the comforter. It feels weird being here without him… but also comforting. Like stepping into a part of him he doesn’t show everyone.
A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts.
His mom peeks in, holding a photo album.
“Look what I found,” she says, smiling mischievously.
Oh no.
She sits beside me and flips it open — and there he is. Baby Oliver. Chubby cheeks. Overalls. A tiny hat that looks like it was forced onto him.
“His grandpa used to call him bubbles, they were inseparable.”
His sister appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Oh god,” she says, smirking. “That one’s legendary.”
I take a picture of the photo. I can’t help it.
This is blackmail gold.
“You have to send him that,” his sister says, completely serious.
“I will,” I whisper.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes.
Oliver: How’s it going? Are you surviving?
I grin and send the baby picture.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Oliver: I’m never forgiving you.
Another bubble pops up immediately.
Oliver: I miss you.
My heart melts into a puddle.
When it’s time to leave, his mom hugs me again, softer this time.
“Come back anytime,” she says. “You’re good for him, Ellie.”
My throat tightens. I manage a small smile. “Thank you.”
His sister gives me a little wave from the couch.
“See you around,” she says, calm and cool as ever.
As I walk down the porch steps, the evening air cool against my skin, something settles quietly inside me.
A warmth.
A certainty.
A truth I’ve been tiptoeing around for days.
I’m not just dating Oliver.
I’m becoming part of his world.
His family.
His life.
And the thought doesn’t scare me.
Not anymore.
“I love him,” I whisper to myself.