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“The first month here, I thought I was gonna get hit by a taxi at least twice a day. What about you, are you enjoying the city so far?”
I look around at the crowded sidewalk, the distant skyline glowing in the afternoon sunlight. “Yes, it’s busier than I remembered. Back home, people spend all day outside. There’s always someone surfing or skating or walking around like they don’t have a single responsibility in the world. Here people move from one place to another with purpose, if that makes sense.”
“That’s actually weirdly accurate.”
When we approach the river, Ollie parks the stroller beside a bench and locks the wheels before crouching to check on Tilly. His entire expression softens when he looks at her sleeping face.
“This is exactly what the doctor ordered,” I say once we sit down, stretching my legs out in front of me.
“I hadn’t realized how much I needed fresh air.” He leans back against the bench. “Tilly also seems to sleep better in the stroller.”
“I plan to take daily walks with her unless the weather is terrible.”
“That alone makes you more qualified than me.”
“You’re doing fine,” I tell him again. I have a feeling he’ll need to hear the reassurance often before he starts believing it. We watch boats move across the river and people stroll around us.
“So,” Ollie says eventually, “what’s your taste in music like? You named your plant Stevie, so I’m intrigued.”
“I don’t really have a specific taste. A little bit of this and that. But you should know I’m a huge boy band fan and know all the Backstreet Boys’ songs by heart.”
“Every single one?”
“If any of their songs start playing in public, I physically cannot stop myself from singing along and doing the dance moves.”
“Of course you can’t.”
“Bad dance moves,” I clarify, laughing softly before gesturing at the faded Fleetwood Mac shirt he changed into. “I take it you enjoy rock.”
Ollie looks down at his shirt like he forgot he was wearing it. “I actually listen to everything, too. But I’m super into hip-hop culture, especially rap music from the nineties.” His expression brightens as he talks, more animated than usual. “Gangsta’s Paradise is probably my most-played song ever—absolute masterpiece. I even have a framed art piece inspired by the music video hanging on my bedroom wall.”
“You sound very passionate about this.”
“I am passionate about this,” he says in a serious tone. “Coolio changed lives with that song.”
“Feel free to educate me on some classics later.”
“Coming soon: one deeply unnecessary TED Talk by Ollie Braxton,” he jokes and we both laugh.
Our conversation continues naturally after that. Ollie shares that he got into reality TV after Jax and Soph started dating, since she’s the biggest fan he knows. “I even once stayed up until four, watching an entire season during a snowstorm.”
“You, a dating show fan?” I ask incredulously.
“It started ironically, but then I started enjoying them for real. There’s nothing better than watching the messy lives of other people while avoiding your own.”
The comment hits closer to home than he probably realizes. For months, I did the same thing. Not with reality TV, but by focusing on anything except my own marriage. Grocery lists. Dinner plans. Baby names I wrote down in secret even after Nathan stopped talking about children altogether. Anything that let me ignore the growing distance between us. It’s unsettling how easy it became to pretend things were fine until they very obviously weren’t.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I get that.”
Something in my tone must give me away because Ollie glances at me briefly, though thankfully he doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “My current favorite reality show involves old British people competing in pottery.”
“Excuse me? That sounds fake.”
“It’s not. One lady cried over a ceramic lamp in the last episode.”
A genuine laugh escapes me. “You’re lying.”
“I swear on Tilly’s life. Wait, shit, I probably shouldn’t say that.”
