20. Nova
nova
“I thought Camden Market was for tourists.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Especially on the weekend.”
“It is,” he admitted, that stupidly charming grin spreading across his face. “Who cares? Let’s be tourists for the day.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. He had this way of making everything seem lighter, like it was okay to let go for a while.
“Alright, fine,” I sighed, giving in. “But if it’s packed, I’m blaming you.”
“Blame away.” He held out his hand.
I hesitated for a second before sliding my fingers into his. His hand was warm, his grip steady, and he looked down and paused, watching as our hands interlocked before he guided me into the market.
The air buzzed around us, lively and chaotic, with the sounds of laughter, sizzling food, and vendors shouting out their deals. My stomach growled again, loud enough that Ollie stopped mid-step and turned to look at me.
“Alright, love?”
I rubbed my stomach and sighed dramatically. “The pomegranate is hungry.”
“Why do you call her fruit names?”
It was funny how he personalized her. It was easier for me to compare her to a fruit so that I wasn’t constantly reminded of her imminent arrival, but he so easily humanized the baby by calling her, her.
“Every week, the baby’s size is compared to a fruit. Actually, this week is a mango . . . I think. I haven’t checked yet.”
He pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly scrolling. “Nineteen weeks, yeah? Let’s see . . . Mango.” He grinned, tucking his phone back into his coat. “Right. Let’s find you one.”
Before I could protest, his hand was in mine, and he guided me through the maze of stalls with surprising determination. It wasn’t long before we stopped at a stand selling fresh mango slices, sprinkled with tajin.
I took a bite, the tangy sweetness mixed with the spice making me groan in delight. “This is amazing,” I admitted, licking a bit of juice off my thumb.
As we walked on, we passed a stall with rows of hats on display, all different shapes and colors. Ollie slowed, eyes scanning the options before he grabbed one.
“You’re freezing,” he said matter-of-factly, plopping a cream-colored knit hat with an obnoxious pom-pom on top of my head.
“I’m fine.” I tugged it off.
“You’re not.” He pulled it over my ears with a smirk. “And the pomegranate deserves one, too.”
I watched in horror as he grabbed a miniature version of the hat, also with a ridiculous pom-pom, and held it up triumphantly.
“Obnoxiously matching. Perfect.” He teased me while handing the vendor some cash.
“You’re insufferable,” I muttered, adjusting the hat.
“And warm,” he added with a grin.
We continued until we came to a vendor overflowing with plush toys. Ollie’s hand was warm and steady as he guided me inside. My eyes wandered across the shelves until they landed on a soft plush moon with a sweet little face embroidered on the front.
“Luna would love this,” I said, picking it up and running my fingers over the stitching.
He grabbed the stuffie and shoved it under his arms. “Let’s get it for her.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t, but I will.”
We walked around the stall a few times. “Luna’s been like a sister to me for so long. She didn’t have a family growing up, so Mami kind of took her in. We’ve truly been inseparable since.”
“She’s wild. You guys are like polar opposites.”
“Kind of.” My hand grazed a plushie that matched the moon. It was a little golden star with the same stitched happy face on it. “She uses her humor and her extroverted personality to mask a lot of the shit inside. I wear mine more openly.”
“Is she dating anyone?”
“She was dating two guys when we left, but one of them was an alcoholic, too. The other was older than us, and I think he got caught in the crossfire of what went down.”
Before I could say anything, he grabbed the plush star and held them both up.
“You deserve something special, too,” he declared, heading straight to the counter.
“You don’t have to do that. I can get it.”
He waved me off. “I’m rich, remember.” He winked, and I grabbed his arm and squeezed.
“Thank you,” I whispered, getting as high on my tiptoes as I could. He leaned down slightly so I could press a kiss to his cheek.
Once the plushies were paid for, he grabbed the bag and we walked side by side through the market.
“I used to love looking at the stars,” he said casually, glancing at the plush star poking out of the bag. “Out in the countryside, the sky’s clear as anything. In secondary school, we’d have bonfire nights and lie on the ground, watching the night sky.”
I laughed, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “I bet that was an excuse to hook up with girls.”
He stopped and turned to me, feigning offense. “You wound me, Nova. I was a gentleman.”
I raised an eyebrow, and he smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, maybe a popular gentleman.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him, the sound surprising me with how light it felt. “Popular, huh?”
“Very,” he shot back, his grin wide and unrepentant.
As we continued walking, I glanced over at him, my smile lingering. He made everything feel easier, like the weight of the world wasn’t entirely on my shoulders for once. With Ollie, I didn’t feel lighter—I could breathe.
We turned into a shop that smelled like cedar and lavender. Knitted scarves, blankets, and tiny baby clothes lined the shelves. I wandered slowly, trailing my fingers over soft textures, stopping at a display of baby blankets.
I hadn’t bought anything for the pomegranate. Not a single thing except the stupid hat Ollie had insisted on earlier. Yet, standing here, staring at these blankets, it hit me like a freight train.
The weird part about depression was how quickly it snuck up on you.
Moments ago, I felt fine—light, even. But while clutching onto these blankets, my walls were closing in.
My chest tightened as my mind spiraled through the endless list of things I needed for the baby.
Crib, bottles, clothes, diapers. Everything. Too much.
I shrank under the weight of it all. Small. Invisible.
I didn’t want to be small. I wanted to be tall, bigger than this.
“See any you fancy?” Ollie’s voice broke through my storm of thoughts.
I didn’t answer right away. When I turned to him, the tear rolling down my cheek betrayed me. His eyes softened, and in an instant, his arms wrapped around me.
“I-I’m overwhelmed by it,” I admitted.
“It’s okay to be overwhelmed,” he murmured, holding me tighter. “Take it piece by piece. One thing at a time.” He pulled back to look at me, keeping his arms around me. “What color is your favorite?”
“Red,” I whispered automatically.
He grinned and gently guided me to a different shelf where a stack of red blankets waited.
“Can I help you?”
“Help me?” I echoed, my lip trembling.
“Yes. Can I pick one out for her?”
How did he do that? How did he make everything feel personal?
The shopkeeper appeared, and she reached for the blanket Ollie had picked up. It was a beautiful scarlet color, with delicate flowers embroidered along the edges.
“A lovely choice. A color that feels like spring.”
I nodded, blinking through tears. “I like that one. I imagine that’s what spring would look like at your parents’ house.”
Ollie’s grin spread slowly, warm enough to melt away the cold knot of anxiety. He brushed his fingers against my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
“You’re right.” His voice was deep and calm. “It is a beautiful scarlet color.”
Before I could even think about reaching for my wallet, Ollie handed over cash to the shopkeeper.
“Ollie, I can pay—”
“Nope.” He grinned as he grabbed the wrapped blanket and pressed it into my hands. “This one’s mine. Don’t fight me on it.”
I stared at him, biting back a smirk. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are. Holding my hand.”
My mouth opened to argue, but before I could get a word out, he laced his fingers through mine, tugging me gently down the street. The warmth of his hand in contrast to the cold air made my heart stutter, but I wasn’t about to let him see that.
“Let’s get something proper to eat.” He led us toward the food stalls.
We stopped at a stall selling Cornish pasties, the buttery smell wafting through the air. He ordered two, and before I knew it, we were sitting at a small table near an outdoor heater. The orange glow lit up his face, making his eyes seem even warmer.
“Alright,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a conspiratorial expression. “This is a serious question, since we are on a date and all.”
I laughed. “Hit me.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“10 Things I Hate About You,” I deadpanned.
He froze, staring at me like I’d confessed to a crime. “You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You pick that—the most American thing ever—and here I am with Four Weddings and a Funeral as mine.”
I laughed, full and loud, shaking my head. “You’re such a cliché.”
“Says the Scratchy Itch herself,” he shot back, grinning. “Here’s one for you—what’s your favorite guilty pleasure song?”
I paused mid-bite, narrowing my eyes. “Define guilty pleasure.”
“You know,” he said, waving his hand. “Something you wouldn’t admit to anyone, but you secretly love.”
“Fine,” I said, setting down my pastry. “ ‘Call Me Maybe.’ ”
His jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“ ‘Call Me Maybe’?” he repeated, blinking in disbelief. “The one where she throws herself at the pool boy?”
“Yep.”
He groaned, running a hand down his face. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
“What about you?” I cocked my head and crossed my arms. “What’s your guilty pleasure song, Mr. Judgy?”
“ ‘Dancing Queen.’ ”
It was my turn to gape. “ABBA? That’s your guilty pleasure?”
“Hey.” He pointed at me. “It’s a classic. You can’t not dance when it comes on.”
I laughed. “This is absurd.”
“What? Getting to know each other?”
Ollie leaned over the wooden table and, with his thumb, gently pushed away some stray pastry that hadn’t made it into my mouth.