to let Mom's affair go.
I motion to the stereo. "Isn't this enough misery?"
"There's a limit?"
My laugh is light. Easy. "For you, no. But for me. The pain of listening to Nirvana… it's all I can take."
"You want to play Lorde, don't you?"
I press my hands together. "Please."
His eyes flit from the road to me. "Are you begging?"
"If that's what it will take." I hold up my hands. "Please, Oliver Flynn, the powerful and merciful. Please change the music to Lorde before I go insane and pick up your cell and toss it out the window because that's the only way to stop this awful grunge music."
"Well, when you put it like that." He shakes his head you're ridiculous and hands me his cell.
"Thanks." My fingers brush his as I take it. Mmm. His hand just feels good. Warm and strong. I already want it everywhere.
And I am not thinking about that. Nope. Music. Songs.
I'm playing one. Something.
Melodrama. Right. There. I pull it up on Spotify. Cut Kurt off mid-sentence in favor of my favorite Kiwi songstress.
Green Light flows through the speakers.
"Ah… so much better, don't you think?" I hold the cell to my chest. Lean back in the chair. Let my shoulders soften. Maybe everything else is fucked up. But I have music. I have a friend who will go to Ikea with me. I even have a lunch of veggie meatballs to fear.
Oliver's eyes flit to me again. He takes in my expression with a smile. Shakes his head. "Terrible." But his smile only gets wider.
Every song, he shakes his head terrible.
Every time, his smile gets a little wider.
We park, climb the stairs to the second floor, scan the fake rooms for possible furniture.
"You could take Daisy's room, you know?" Oliver steps into a fake studio bedroom. It's tiny. Only a futon, a TV, a two-person table, two chairs, a fake sink, microwave, stove.
"She said the same thing." I follow him into the space. Not that there's much of it. He's right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to push onto the couch and mount. "But it's hers. I don't want her to feel like she can't come home."
He nods. "I think that too. About moving."
I run my fingers over the futon. Black. Soft. Not at all supportive. "That she'd visit less."
"Wouldn't she?" His voice softens.
"I don't know. She could still see you. But she… she'd be disappointed."
"I know." He shakes his head of course she would. Sits on the cheap futon. Pats the spot next to him. "This is probably what I could afford. If I want to move into a place near the shop."
"You're moving out?"
"Eventually." He folds one leg over the other. Looks up to me. Are you going to sit or not?
I do. But he's so close. Too close. God, he smells good. Like his earthy shampoo. "Eventually, in a few weeks. Or eventually… eventually?"
"I don't know." He presses his palm into his knee, pressing his leg into the cushion. "There's shit with my dad. I'm trying to deal. To keep my promise to Daisy, to stay here all year, but he's too fucking annoying."
"New shit?"
"Kind of."
Hmm. Gabe and Oliver do have an uneasy relationship.
And the tension at any shared dinner is incredibly thick. Like, they barely talk to each other thick.
Gabe tries, but Oliver shrugs it off.
And not in his usual quiet I'm hanging on the sidelines way. In a more leave me the fuck alone way.
But what's changed? Gabe always gives Oliver shit about drinking.
Oliver always shrugs it off.
Only now Daisy is at Berkeley.
And I'm here.
"Is it me?" I turn to Oliver. "If I'm giving you grief, you can tell me."
"Of course, you're giving me grief. You're a pain in the ass."
"Hey!"
"You said I could tell you."
"Not in such a rude way," I say.
"Just acting like you."
"When am I ever rude?"
"When?" He raises a brow really. "What about when you threatened to throw my cell out the window?"
"I was warning you. About an involuntary response."
"When you order me to make you dark roast."
"You love that."
He chuckles maybe. "It's still rude."
"But you do love it."
"I might." His eyes flit to my chest. "But only 'cause it reminds me of other times with bossy women."
"You like bossy women?"
"Not going there. Not with you. Not right now."
"You brought it up," I say.
He pries his eyes from my chest. "Even so." He turns to the fake TV. "It's not you. It's other shit. Without Daisy here, it's not worth it."
"Is it really that bad? He's never