Patchwork Paradise(27)

“It’s fine,” I said. I stood and shrugged into my jacket. “It’s been really hard, but it’s getting better. Oh, I didn’t buy you a drink in return!”

He’d been about to turn to the door, but he looked back and smiled. “Next time.”

On the doorstep of the pub, I lost my courage. We stood under a dripping awning, watching the rain. It had lessened, but we were still about to get soaked.

“I don’t think I can do it.” I hugged myself nervously. “Go home with you, I mean.” I felt like an idiot and startled when he gently touched my arm.

“I understand. And it’s completely up to you, obviously, but I do like you and I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

“Okay,” I said, the relief so huge it came out in a deep breath. “Give me your number and I’ll text you mine. And maybe . . . next Saturday? Or am I supposed to play it cool and not contact you for three days and then check in?”

He laughed softly as he pulled a business card out of his wallet. His hair had started to dry, and it curled around his ears. “Next Saturday would be great. I am on call though, so I might have to leave early. Same time, same place?” He jerked his thumb at the Irish pub behind us.

I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Peter bit his lip. For a split second I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me, but instead he held out his hand and I took it. It was warm this time. I was right. Rough with the gentle scrape of calluses.

“See you next week,” he murmured, and he was gone. My phone buzzed.

You’re going home with this guy after the first date? Jesus, Ollie. Be careful.

Like I thought, no squeeing from Thomas. I spotted my tram across the street and hurried over to catch it, getting soaked regardless. I didn’t try to think about too much on my way home, and after a hot shower, I fell into bed.

I liked Peter. I didn’t want to. But I did, and the thought stabbed me with fresh grief. I was betraying Sam just by thinking like this. The realization turned my stomach. I rolled over and hugged a pillow tight to my chest. Squeezing my eyes closed, I willed sleep to come so I could stop thinking entirely.

Around midnight I was still awake, and my phone buzzed again.

You still good?

I squinted at the sharp light until my eyes adjusted somewhat. It touched me that Thomas was checking in. I felt like a total tool for not telling him I’d changed my mind.

Am home. Didn’t go with him.

A second later my phone rang. “Hello?” I croaked.

“You okay?” Thomas sounded a lot more awake than I did.

“Yeah, man. I’m sorry I forgot to text you back. I was telling him about Sam and we were going to go to his place to talk about it, but I changed my mind. He was fine with it. He’s nice.”

Silence. Then, “You like him?”

My chest hurt. “Maybe. I don’t know . . .”

“What?”

“If I’m ready.”

“It’s okay if you’re not, Ollie. But at least you tried. And next time it’ll be a little bit easier. There’s no time stamp on this, you know? You can make your own decisions about when you’re up for dating.” I wanted to tell him I knew all that, but it was nice to hear. “No one else can tell you what to do. I think . . . I think you’re doing great, actually. You’ve been so strong.” My eyes began to droop. Thomas had a nice voice. Deep and soft. I could fall asleep listening to him talk.

“Hmm.”

“Ollie?”

I woke up a little bit. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you didn’t go home with him.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Thanks for checking in, Thomas.”

“Of course, man. Anytime.”

“Night, Tommy.”

Another silence, then very softly, “Night Oliver.”

I fell asleep.



That week it seemed like someone was screwing with time. The hours at work flew by like a blur, while the minutes at home ticked one painful second at a time. Cleo called, as did my mom, and I talked to them but I didn’t want to see anyone.

I contacted Sam’s old lawyer during a slow hour at work to make an appointment about the house. My stomach contracted when he sounded far less optimistic than I thought he would. His caution made me realize I’d been assuming the will would hold up and I wouldn’t really have to deal with any of this. Sam used to handle these unpleasant things. I’d done more than just rely on him.

In the evenings I drifted around the house, trying to imagine fitting all our things into a different place, and the idea was so wrong it made me nauseous.

The only time I felt somewhat normal was when I was texting with Peter, and that in itself became an unwelcome response. I wasn’t ready for this. Every butterfly that fluttered to the surface when his name popped up on my phone gave me heartburn, and I squashed it down.

But I couldn’t deny it. My entire week consisted of tunnel vision toward Saturday. I wanted to see him again and I didn’t. I wanted to know I was wanted, and at the same time I didn’t want to need anyone ever again. I was scared to death, but deep inside me a flicker of excitement couldn’t be buried. It was like a tiny flame, and every sweet text from Peter fanned it until I didn’t have the heart to starve it of oxygen.