Page 18 of Oliver
I shake my head. “I took the afternoon off to get ready for the trip.”
He grins and rests his head back on my chest. “Do you like being an accountant?” he asks.
“You know what I do?” I say, surprised. “I never told you.”
“Mom mentioned it, I think.”
I nod. “Truthfully, no, I hate it.”
“Why do you do it then?” he asks, tilting his head up to look at me.
“Because my father was paying for my education and my housing, and insisted I go into a worthwhile vocation. It was either this, or being a doctor or a lawyer. Neither of those suited me. I am good with money, but I don’t enjoy it. I hate being stuck inside all day and sitting at a desk. It’s never been me. Though I can’t complain about the wages.”
“What would you do if you had a choice?”
I bite my lip and he smiles. “What? Tell me.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?” I ask, and he bites his lip this time. “You’re already laughing,” I say, but I’m chuckling as I do, and poking his ribs. He shrieks and cackles and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. His laugh is vibrant and absolutely lovely, and it makes my chest ache with fondness.
“Come on,” he says, after I’ve stopped tickling him, his cheeks rosy and his eyes sparkling. “I promise I’ll be good.”
“I’ve always loved the outdoors,” I say. “I love nature, and working with my hands, the idea of bringing something to life, letting it grow and flourish, do what it's meant to do. But I also really love the aesthetic side of things and seeing how things come together to compliment each other. I’d spend hours as a kid, just looking at gardening or landscaping magazines and books at the library. I still do sometimes. I’d love to get a job in landscaping, or possibly at a nursery, taking care of plants. I really love the idea of designing the landscaping, though.”
“Really?” he says. I nod.
“Mmmm,” he hums, running his finger down my chest. “I can see this beautiful body out in the sun and dirt, sweaty and sexy as fuck. Doing all that bending over.”
I laugh. “I think you’ve watched a little too much porn.”
He laughs, too, but then his voice is soft when he says, “I think that’s really beautiful, Oli. I like hearing you talk about something that clearly makes you happy. Your dad didn’t like that idea? The landscaping?”
“He was horrified when I told him. As if I had said I wanted to work on porta potties. Told me no son of his was going to be crawling around in the dirt for a living, that I needed to get my head on straight, and find a job that would actually allow me to take care of a family some day and not be a disgrace to the Jones’ name.”
“Shit, he sounds like a real charmer,” Hunter remarks, and I chuckle.
“He’s something, alright.” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear and he presses his lips to mine again.
“Tell me about your family,” he says once he’s pulled away and his head is resting against my chest once more.
I sigh as I continue to stroke my fingers through his hair. “Both my parents come from money. My father is an anesthesiologist who grew up in London and went to the finest schools. His father was a doctor. A renowned brain surgeon actually, and his mother was a famous model. He met my mother in college, and she dropped out after two years to get married. A couple of years after that my twin sister and I came along.”
“You have a twin?” he asks, looking up at me yet again.
I nod. “Olivia. And a nephew, Freddie.”
“Are they homophobic, too?”
I pause, thinking about how Olivia stood up to Mother when we were there that night I met Hunter. How she defended the gay boy Mother was gossiping about. And the way she looked at me afterwards, and asked if I was okay. I think about the phone call we had after I proposed to Amanda, when she asked if this was what I really wanted. We never talked about it growing up. I just assumed she shared our parents' opinions. Why wouldn’t she? We’d both had it ingrained in us since childhood just how disgusting and perverse being gay was. How it was a stain on a family's name. An egregious sin.
I’ve wanted to say something to my parents for ages, but I never found the courage. Yet every time I didn’t I felt a piece of me being smothered. Felt myself pulling that closet door a little bit tighter each time. I’ve never felt like I could be honest with anyone in my family about the questions I had in regard to my sexuality, because I’d been sitting at that dinner table for thirty-six years hearing my parents’ comments and knowing that if I let it slip that I might be interested in men, if I ever acknowledge the fact that I might not be straight, I could lose everything. Facing their wrath, their disdain, their disappointment. Seeing the disgusted looks on their faces. I didn’t know how to do that. I wasn’t brave like Olivia was.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe she would accept you. Maybe you wouldn’t have to lose everything.”
“Maybe,” I say, and kiss his hair. “I’m still not sure I’ve fully accepted it myself yet. I’ve spent so long denying any attraction to men because I didn’t want it to be true, I don’t really know how to be the me that I’ve kept hidden for so long. I don’t know how to be okay with that version of myself.” Tears fill my eyes and my chest heaves slightly. He pushes up and looks at me, and I blink as he wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“I’m sorry you don’t have the parents you deserve,” he says. “I’m sorry you felt like living a lie was safer than being yourself. You don’t have to pretend with me, Oli. You can be whoever you are. You’re safe with me.”