A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,15

her. This is an unfamiliar concept that goes against every rule I have learned. “I dislike being selfish.”

She kisses my cheek. In spite of the intimate way she sucked my semen down her throat six minutes and thirty-seven seconds ago, this kiss feels like a normal interaction. Completely platonic with no romantic undertones. Worse yet, she climbs off me and slips on her sandals then walks toward the front door.

“You are leaving?”

“Yes. It’s late, and we both have to be up early for work tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep with me,” I insist, panic erasing all the happy, relaxed feelings of fifty-seven seconds ago. “Even if I did not pleasure you to orgasm, we are both releasing copious amounts of dopamine, oxytocin, and vasopressin.”

“I don’t know what that means, Ollie.” Her hand is on the doorknob.

I am going to lose more time.

“Those are the human bonding neurochemicals,” I explain, pulling myself up from my position on the couch that I could stay plastered to for eternity. With her. “They light up the reward centers of the brain. The more of them we have, and the more we associate them with each other, the better the chances for conception.”

“Oh.” She smiles over her shoulder at me but turns the knob anyway. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. We’re already bonded. Good night.”

It does not feel like a good night when she closes the door behind her.

This cannot happen again.

7

Olivia

“I’ll teach you to make ziti, sauce, and meatballs that don’t come from a freezer pack at the grocery store. It takes some practice to get the texture just right. We’ll make a list together of all the items you’ll need.”

I’m just about to question whether Italians even serve turkey for Thanksgiving, but my train of thought is completely hijacked when I pull into my driveway.

Mrs. Cucinelli’s voice continues to filter out into the void from the Bluetooth speakers in my car, but my sole attention is focused on the sight of the man carrying armfuls of my clothes—still on the hangers—out my front door then into his.

“Mrs. Cucinelli,” I interrupt. “Have you talked to Ollie today?”

“Why, yes. Of course. I talk to him every day during his lunch hour. It’s part of our schedule,” she replies with worry in her voice. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No. Not necessarily,” I hedge, anxiety kicking around in my chest. “I just wondered if he mentioned any plans for us to move in together.”

Her squeals of delight threaten to deafen me, which is surprising. Ollie’s mom and dad had a cow when we announced our decision to share rent after we graduated from college. They were only appeased by the fact that it was a two-bedroom apartment. It seems having a fake baby on the way has changed her mind. Drastically. Then again, she must already believe we’ve done the deed, so there’s that.

“Now, I know what you must be thinking,” she prattles on after her shrieks of joy die down. “But honestly, at least if you’re living together and engaged, the family will be much more accepting of your decision to wait until after the baby’s birth to have the wedding.”

Nope. Not what I was thinking at all. A fake baby is one thing. A fake engagement? A fake wedding? There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for Ollie, but a line has to be drawn somewhere. It’s time to slowly start letting her down.

“Mrs. Cucinelli, I don’t mean to be rude in any way, but have you ever considered that maybe Oliver isn’t interested in marriage? Or having children?”

“What?” she screams. My windshield rattles with her volume. Thankfully, Ollie is still inside his condo, so he likely won’t have heard that. “Why would he not be interested in marriage or children?”

“Well…” I hesitate. This is a delicate situation. It always has been. Oliver’s family loves him dearly, but there are times I wonder if they understand him at all. “How many girlfriends has he had over the years? He never once talked about proposing to any of them.”

Mrs. Cucinelli chuckles. It’s a much softer sound. “While I don’t necessarily approve of all the lady friends he’s kept, we both know men have a need to sow their wild oats before they settle down.” Her voice lowers even more to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I’m honestly grateful he went through that completely normal phase.”

I was happy for Ollie when he got his first girlfriend, too. And the next, and the next, and