13. Olly
THIRTEEN
OLLY
After laying out our dumplings feast on the coffee table at Clark’s place, which was way homier than mine—I really needed to rethink some of my choices—we popped on a movie and consumed dumplings until we were both content.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I was actually faced with food.
There were still times when I had to coach myself on how to eat with other people and not come off as a starving orphan, which I had been.
Before my adoption by the Parks, I was in three different homes, and there was never enough to eat to really feel full.
Sometimes, no, often other kids stole food right off your plate, so I learned fast at age eight to fight for every mouthful and take no shit when it came to protecting what was mine.
By the time I got to the Parks, I was like a feral cat at the dinner table, and Mother Park made sure to include me in the cooking whenever I had time, because if I could see that there was an abundance of ingredients and food to eat, I could actually manage to relax and not be grabby or otherwise rude at the table.
So I restrained myself around the dumplings, instead of heaping my plate to the sky and eating like it was going out of style.
We were discussing something kind of mundane, which I assumed would keep my blood pressure nice and low and not cause any stress at all for the baby or me.
“Once I did a bit of research, I was sold on Montréal,” Clark was explaining. “So I made a home there, in that city, for a while. I went to McGill.”
“Queen’s,” I countered, a challenging grin on my face. “Now we must be rivals, hmm?”
“Yes, rivals over who gets the last dumpling,” Clark said, and his smile grew less sad and more genuine.
He moved his chopsticks quickly, but I, who had not grown up all over the world and was no expert with chopsticks, had the advantage of being scrappy.
I knew what it was like to sit around a table and need to fight over what food there was.
So I reached out my other hand quick as lightning, grabbed the dumpling, and pulled an immature move: I licked it.
“Hey! No fair. Ref, I want to review the tape!”
“It’s too late, Evans. This delicious little fellow is mine, now,” I added in a maniacal laugh, and then popped the dumpling into my mouth.
When we were done, Clark urged me to put my feet up on a cushion he had on his lap.
I was underneath one of the super-soft blankets I had at my place, but this one now lived at Clark’s as I had been here so often.
He reached underneath to tug one of my socks off, then the other, and said, “Oops, I forgot the lotion. I have this really great unscented stuff that they use in hospitals, I can put it on your feet, and on your belly bump if you’d like.
” He lifted my feet and headed down the hall, giving Becky her chance to whoosh across the room and jump up on the couch, her front half draped over my thighs.
Her cute face positively beamed at me, and she smiled a doggy smile, tongue out and ready to lick.
I leaned forward to rub her ears and down between her shoulder blades, which was her scratching bliss spot, and quick as lightning, she shot her tongue out and got my cheek.
Laughing, I managed to say, “I love you, Becky, but I think I’d rather have a kiss from your papa.”
“Oh, really?” an amused voice came from the entrance to the living room.
Clark grinned cockily as he advanced toward the couch carrying a small basket, and Becky jumped down as if she were giving us her blessing, walking with her tail wagging to her doggy bed and toy collection in the warmest corner of the living room.
“Well, perhaps,” I teased back. He advanced to the couch, and I let the blanket covering me fall away.
I wasn’t at all cold anymore, as I felt heat rising in me at both Clark’s words and the way his body moved as he advanced upon me.
His intentions were also broadcasting loud and clear, bringing their own kind of heat with them.
There was a joyous noise only I could hear, a distant and deep whale song, my inner world at peace with what I hoped my outer world held.
When he reached the head of the couch, Clark placed the basket on the coffee table and extended a hand to me, and since my dizziness had passed, I took his hand and stood to meet him, a slight shudder of fear running through me.
I had never done anything sexual with anyone other than Joey or Shepard, and I’d never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him right now.
“Hey, relax,” he said, running his hands up and down my arms in a soothing motion.
“If it’s alright, I would very much like to kiss you right now.
Remember, you can always say no, or stop.
” I shivered, but this time not out of fear, and looked up at him, nodding.
He really wasn’t that much taller than me, but just enough that he would have to dip his head down a bit to line up our mouths.
It looked like he couldn’t help but grin, and he cupped my chin, crashing our mouths together.
So it wasn’t very elegant, but his enthusiasm made up for the lack of grace.
Clark held me up by wrapping his strong arms around me as he kissed me to a degree that had me legitimately afraid the curtains might catch on fire due to the heat running through my body and my brain.
He moved his hands to my hair and undid my bun, letting the hair clip drop to the floor.
Then he moaned into my mouth as he felt my curls tumble down to my mid-back, and he swapped from kissing my mouth to nuzzling into my hair, and I could hear him inhaling the scent.
Fuck, she smells so goddamn good. I could play with her all damned night and be ready for more in the morning.
Oh my god, what are you doing to me, Olive...
no, that’s not right. It’s Olly, and they’re driving me fucking crazy.
I froze. He used my pronoun “they” in those thoughts he was letting leak.
I really needed to teach him how to shield himself, because while many people did it naturally, Clark let anything he was passionate about broadcast far and wide.
He slowed down and was starting to pull away when I got an arm free of his bear hug and grabbed the back of his head, sliding my tongue into his mouth.
After one of those weird moments that felt like an eternity but also seemed to last no time at all, he pulled back and said, “I...yeah, fuck, wow.”
I snort-laughed and gave him another quick peck on the cheek.
Becky had wandered over and was dancing around our feet, and I felt content.
Almost whole. Like if I wanted it, this could be my family...
one day. Five weeks did not a family make, at least in my view.
Firm friends, though? That was definitely already on the table.
I went home from Clark’s after the most blissful foot rub ever, and I let him put moisturizer on my tummy.
That was hard. Not just because I had Clark’s hands roving around my torso, but because he could see my scars.
I didn’t much care about the stretch marks from my first pregnancy, but my body was like a story told in scars, each one representing something traumatic.
I sort of flinched every time I felt his fingers on one, and then I just decided that I either was going to be at peace with this now, or never.
I picked up his hand and put his fingers on what I thought was the ugliest, biggest scar, just underneath my breasts.
“This was part of removing my gall bladder. I have five scars thanks to that, and they all healed okay, but this one is stubborn. It still wants to be this big, puffed up and red thing, two years after the fact, mind you. One day, if you’re interested, I can tell you about all of them.
I’m just not prepared to do that now.” Clark nodded and bent down, lightly kissing the scar I hated so much.
I put my hand through his hair, and we just lay there on the couch for a long moment.
I realized that his ear was right over my bump.
“Sorry, I was trying to hear the baby,” Clark said, and I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me at his tenderness and calm acceptance of my body and my baby.
“Don’t apologize for that, Clark. Never.” I went home that night feeling torn. How could I be breaking all my rules about getting close to people, and how could breaking those rules feel so damn good?
Luckily, our costume creator, Bob, had time to see us today instead, and was sympathetic when he found out I had to go to the hospital yesterday.
He was seeing us at his apartment in the early afternoon, so we decided that as this might be one of our few chances to share a meal at a restaurant while still gainfully employed, we went to another of my favorite diners, a chain with a spot right downtown near the public library.
He’d ordered a delicious brioche covered with a mountain of fruit and a side of bacon, and I got a crepe stuffed with raspberries, and I swear the extra custard was for the baby.
We were talking about ourselves, mostly because Clark felt an urgency to get to know me better, and I was keen on slowly letting out the secrets I carried.
Though some conversations were better in private, this diner was full of people, buzzing with the background mix of talking, dishes being moved around, cooking in the open kitchen, and a few fussy children. No one was paying attention to us.
“So this might be a weird one to ask, but I have reasons,” he began.
“Where do you stand on religion? Personally, I’m a fan of many religions, the kind that try to genuinely help people, but I’m presently a follower of none.
And I never will be a follower of any.” He sliced his brioche while I tried to formulate an answer by staring at my crêpe.