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Maria waves her hand in dismissal. “You always have some space left for dessert.”
I laugh and tell her to bring their best. Maria walks away victorious and Ollie shakes his head. “She doesn’t accept no.”
“I respect that,” I reply.
When we finally stand to leave half an hour and three desserts later, we hug both Maria and Santiago. Ollie shares photos of Tilly and promises to bring her with us the next time.
We walk quietly side-by-side. Half a block in, Ollie’s hand brushes mine. I assume it’s an accident until it happens again, lingering a fraction longer this time. I turn my palm over. He threads his fingers through mine without hesitation as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Neither of us says a word as we keep walking, our joined hands swinging between us. It feels so simple it almost hurts.
At home, in front of the guest room door, Ollie turns to face me. His gaze flicks briefly to my mouth and my pulse loses all control. The air between us crackles with the tension, but he doesn’t move closer or cross the line. He only lifts my hand, brings it to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the knuckles.
“Goodnight, Miss California,” he murmurs and leaves me alone. And I wish tonight would have lasted way longer.
20
OLLIE
“You ready, Oliver?”
I look up at Dr. Patel standing in the doorway holding a clipboard, his expression calm. He’s in his mid-forties, neatly dressed, and his eyes have the steadiness of someone who has heard every version of human mess and lived to tell the tale.
“Yeah. But please, for the millionth time, call me Ollie.”
Oliver has always felt like a stranger’s name carrying too much history. It’s the name my biological father gave me, even though he was gone before I ever had the chance to know him. It’s the same name my mom used when she was still around. Over time, Oliver became connected to the people who left. Ollie is the name that belongs to me—the one used by the people who stayed.
Dr. Patel gestures down the hall. “Come on back.”
I follow him into the office and take my usual seat on a leather couch. A fake plant sits in the opposite corner of the room next to a shelf of books that haven’t moved in all the years I’ve been his patient. A box of tissues that I’ll probably need at some point is positioned on the end table.
Dr. Patel relaxes in his chair. “How’s the last month been?”
“Do you want the short answer or the version that makes you earn your paycheck?” I ask ruefully.
His mouth twitches at my attempt at a joke. “Let’s start with the short answer.”
“I’m doing my best, keeping my head up. But I’m also not doing my best if you know what I mean.”
“Tell me what has happened since we last spoke.”
I lean back into the couch, but the tension in my shoulders refuses to ease. Talking about my current situation feels like reopening the same wound for the hundredth time. I dread the action, but I still have to do it in order to get help for the mental funk.
“My sister disappeared shortly after our last session,” I start, diving into the hardest part headfirst. “Fuck, it still feels weird to say those words.”
“Is this the sister who recently had a baby?”
“Yes, my only sister Livia. She left my three-month-old niece Tilly at the shop without a warning and I haven’t been able to contact her since then.”
“So, your niece is now living with you and you’re her primary caretaker?”
“Yeah. There wasn’t really another option with my brother still in college and our mother not being a part of our lives.”
His expression stays calm, but his eyes sharpen. “How long has this been going on? It was only last month that we last talked.”
“A few weeks. Not even that. It all happened so fast.”
“That’s a major change. Going from your single life to being a sole caretaker of an infant must be challenging.”
“No shit,” I mutter.
