Page 55
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I wanted to.”
The simple words shouldn't mean as much as they do, but after months of feeling like an obligation, being around someone who chooses to show up feels dangerously easy to get used to.
I move carefully on the couch and feel it. That awful, sinking realization. I do the quick mental math and curse under my breath.
“What is it?” he asks, instantly alert.
“I’m running out of pads and tampons.” I say as heat creeps up my neck. “I never got more after my last period.”
I push myself upright and Ollie’s at my side in a heartbeat. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“The shop is literally down the street.”
“You can barely sit up without wincing.” I open my mouth to argue, then another cramp answers for me. “Tell me what you need,” he says. “Brand. Size. Wings or no wings. Give me all the details that will help me find the right thing.”
All I can do is look at him with wonderment. Nathan would've rolled his eyes, called me dramatic and told me to go myself. “You’re serious?” I double check.
“One hundred percent.”
Clearing my throat, I tell him, “Uh, the overnight ones with wings and two different sizes of tampons for normal and heavier flow. Any brand will do, but try to look for organic cotton if possible.”
He nods like I just listed car parts instead of period supplies. “Got it. Anything else?”
“Chocolate?” I offer weakly.
“Almond Joy is already on the list.” Of course he remembers my favorite chocolate bar.
Ollie is back fifteen minutes later. “Mission accomplished,” he says, holding a bag from the nearest shop.
“Thank you for getting everything, even if it was probably embarrassing.”
He sets the grocery bag down and lowers himself beside me. “Periods are normal,” he says simply. “Millions of people deal with them every day. There’s nothing gross or shameful about your body doing what some bodies do.”
“But my ex—”
“Was a small-minded jackass who treated you so poorly,” Ollie interrupts me. “That was his own damn insecurity masking itself as judgment.”
I imagine the contrast between my ex—who was awkward, shaming and leaving me to scramble on my own every month—versus this unflinching and understanding man in front of me.
“I spent years feeling embarrassed. You’ve no idea how nice it is hearing that and not being treated like I’m disgusting.”
“Not even a little. It’s biology.” His hand brushes mine, a gentle reminder that I’m not facing this alone. “It happens. You deal with it, I support you, we move on.”
I take a slow breath and admit, “It’s refreshing not having to pretend I’m okay when my insides are killing me.”
“You never have to pretend with me. Besides, if it was men who were dealing with periods, there would be a lot more research and ways to ease them.”
“You’re unfortunately right.”
“So how about I run you a bath and you relax for a bit before I order us food from that one Nepalese restaurant you like?”
My eyes mist over his kindness. “I would love some momos.”
Three days after the brutal start of my period, Ollie suggests a board game night and I’m more than happy to agree. The idea of a relaxed evening at home with him and Tilly tucked safely away feels amazing. Necessary, even. There’s comfort in small rituals like choosing the game and planning snacks.
I sit cross-legged on the rug in front of the hallway closet, going through a stack of board games he keeps there. “No,” I mutter, sliding another one aside. “That one takes too long and needs more than two players to be fun.”
