Page 51
“Well, hello there,” I murmur, brushing my fingertip against her stomach.
Tilly rewards me with a squeaky sound that makes Ollie laugh under his breath. “She truly loves Brooklyn.”
“Or attention,” I say and grin as Tilly grabs clumsily at my finger.
Ollie reaches for one of her hands too, and the three of us are connected in the middle of a park like this is another thing we’ve always done.
“I still sometimes can’t believe I made it here,” Ollie says eventually. “The City is nothing like Nebraska.”
I angle my body toward him, giving him my full attention, Tilly between us. He leans back on his hands, looking out at the water. His jaw works as if he’s chewing on the right words. “I grew up in small towns where everyone knows everyone and not always in a good way. Everything I did or said was monitored and reported back to whoever I was staying with at the time. The longest I stayed in the same foster family was three years.”
I nod, trying to picture him as a little boy bouncing between unfamiliar houses and strangers who could decide overnight whether he stayed or left. My childhood was the complete opposite. Family dinners. Beach mornings before school. Parents who showed up to every recital and soccer game no matter how busy life got. Hearing him talk makes me realize how easy it is to take stability for granted when you’ve never had to survive without it. It’s such a contrast to his experiences.
Mine was full of sunshine and laughter. His was rainy days and storm clouds.
“I used to think I wanted to leave as fast as possible,” he continues, eyes tracking a ferry cutting across the river. “Now I know I just wanted to build a life of my own. Something my foster parents couldn’t take away from me.”
I look at him, really look. His posture is somewhat relaxed, but there’s a permanent alertness. I’m starting to understand why though. “You were brave for taking the steps to get where you are today.”
He shrugs, but his lips twitch in that half-smile. His eyes flick to me, then away. “Maybe…or maybe it’s stubbornness. It comes with the territory when you’re in a system with no way out.”
“How old were you?”
“When they took me and my siblings away from our mother?” I nod, so he continues. “It was shortly after Chase’s birth, so I was six. She, um, had a nervous breakdown as a result of years of addiction.”
“Where is she now if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Honestly, I have no clue.” He picks at the grass, shredding it between his fingers. “We lost touch when I was in middle school. But I have learned to let go.”
“What about your father?”
A humorless huff leaves him. “We have different biological fathers, who are no-shows, so the state took us in and put us in different families at first.”
My hand rests on his forearm. “Oh, I can’t even imagine how hard it was.”
“Mm.” He glances down at where I’m touching him, but doesn’t move away. “I still go to therapy; my monthly session is coming up soon. I might have to do them more regularly to deal with the sudden changes in my life, though.”
What he has shared reframes everything I've noticed about him. The way he always seems to notice what people need before they ask. The patience he shows Tilly. The way he makes space for everyone around him without expecting anything in return. No wonder people feel safe in his presence.
“That explains a lot.” I tell him.
His eyebrows lift. “Yeah?”
“I mean the way you are with people you care about,” I say softly. “You pay attention to everything. Like you’re always trying to make sure nobody feels alone or unsafe.”
“Most people don’t notice that.”
His gaze catches mine fully then, steady enough that my pulse stumbles. “I’m trying to get better at believing people stay. My therapist has also shown me ways to cope. He often reminds me to stay focused on my present and future rather than my past. It helps to have goals and dreams, too,” he adds.
“Like what?”
“I want a family one day. Everything I missed growing up.”
The words land softly and still manage to knock the air from my lungs. I force a smile, but it feels brittle around the edges. Family. The word has always been warm and positive to me. I look down, suddenly very aware of the faint scars hidden beneath the fabric, reminders of the operations I have had.
“You okay?” he asks, concern threading through his question.
I stare at Tilly between us, fingers twisting together in my lap. I hadn’t planned on talking about this today, but the words press at the back of my throat. Still, part of me wants to keep the truth locked away and pretend my heart doesn’t crack every time someone mentions kids as if having them is guaranteed.
