Havoc for the Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

11. Ollie

Chapter eleven

Ollie

M y mind was a wreck for the entire week following our steamy encounter in my kitchen. An absolute and utter wreck. It didn't help my situation one bit that the entire town was now gossiping about my supposedly “flourishing” love life with the new dance teacher. Small towns and gossip went hand in hand, but I hadn't been the subject of this much attention since I was back in high school and everyone was whispering not so subtly about the town’s first “unfortunate” teen pregnancy.

By the end of the week, I was simply going through the motions and trying to avoid any unnecessary outings to the best of my ability as I battled with my conflicted feelings and mortification. As soon as Ez had called attention to the fact that I had willingly used my cooking staple as a lubricant for our sexual antics, the spiral had started and didn't show signs of stopping. I felt like a horrible person, a horrible father, just plain horrible.

I wanted to avoid the shame as well as the conflict, so I inevitably ended up avoiding everything. When Ez invited Becs and I to help decorate the cottages, I made up some stupid excuse about studying for exams that were already over and spent the day watching Christmas movies. I blamed them for my tears and felt even worse about myself for the lie when Becs shrugged off my excuse and went back to watching the films without a care in the world.

Even my parents had noticed the shift in my mood, but they could only ask if I was alright so many times before giving up when I would make light of their concerns. It was a game we had played so many times in the past, they were accustomed to my reluctance to share.

When my phone rang yet again with an incoming call from my mother, I knew I had to fess up. If I didn't, there was a high chance she would change their flights and arrive at my door before I was ready to deal with it all face to face. I unearthed myself from the mount of blankets and escaped to my bedroom before answering the call behind closed doors.

“Hi, mom.”

“Oliver, I'm very concerned. Mary said you haven't been out in days! Are you sure you aren't ill?”

“No, mom.” I flopped onto my mattress and flung an arm over my eyes. “I'm just lost in my head.”

“Is it about that man? Theresa told me you were seeing someone. I expected to hear it from you, but I won't be too hurt. You've always been so quiet about these things.”

“God, mom. It was a few dates. Nothing serious.” Even as I said the words, it felt all wrong. The lie sat heavy on my tongue as tears sprung to my eyes again. Frankly, my head was a mess and I didn't know what to think. I wanted him in ways that overwhelmed me, but my mind couldn't reconcile being a father and a partner at the same time. I'd never known anything more than being a parent and the concept of trying to add more to that left me panicking.

“Ollie, sweetie. You're crying.”

“Y-yeah.” I hiccupped on the word and ran my sleeve under my nose. There was no use hiding it.

“Did something happen?” Her voice grew softer and more concerned. I heard a door close in the background and realized she must have gone to a more private location for this talk we were apparently going to have despite my desire to hide from it.

“It's me. I don't know… I don't know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Utterly perplexed, she made a tiny scoffing sound.

“Date? Find more time? Juggle better? All of it. Half the time, I'm freaking out about whether or not I'm being the best parent I can be. I don't think I can add even more.” I rolled to my side and tugged the pillow against my chest.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She laughed and tutted her tongue. “My little worrier. The fact that you're panicking over being a good father means you are one, my love.”

“Hardly. I let her eat cookies for breakfast this morning. I'm actually a terrible father. Oh God.”

“As if we didn't do the same with you. Ollie, parenthood isn't about perfection, it's about intention. Do the best you can with what you have to give and I promise you, it's enough.” She paused until I made a noncommittal sound to indicate I'd heard her. “She'll look back on this in ten years as a good memory. Because you always show up for her. Even when it's hard, you show up and you put in the effort.”

“Yes but… what if it isn't enough? What if trying to date takes away—”

“Oliver… if you and Marissa had stayed together to raise her together, would you consider yourself a bad parent for prioritizing quality time with your partner?”

I winced and groaned. “Bad analogy, mom. It's not the same—”

“Why? Because he isn't her parent? Baby, you aren't being a bad parent for trying to lead a full and fulfilling life. Part of that for some people is having a life partner. Your father and I spent time together without you because it's natural for parents to need something to identify with outside of being a parent. You aren't only a parent, my love. You need to remember that, before you find yourself completely burnt out on all of it.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled, side eyeing the Post-It note I'd saved. My mother’s words gave me a little spark of hope, but the fact that I'd kept Ez at arm’s length for over a week quickly doused it. “It doesn't matter now.”

“Oliver Branson, do I need to get on a plane tonight and drag you out of that apartment myself?”

Despite my morose mood, I laughed. “No, mom. I'll… figure it out.”

“Good. You're a great father and an absolute ray of sunshine when you let the world in. Don't hide from it. You deserve to experience all of life. Now get out of that bed and go wash your face.”

“God, I love you.” I rolled back onto my back with a sigh. “I'm sorry.”

“Shh!” She tutted her tongue again. “I swear, you’ll have me completely grey before my sixtieth. Up. Now. No more sorries. And I love you too.”

Before I could say a proper parting, she hung up the phone and left me staring at a blank screen. Nevertheless, I did feel marginally better than before she’d called.

I was just about to toss my phone aside when it vibrated in my hand. I blinked three times in shock before I was able to kickstart myself to open the message. As if I'd summoned him with my remorseful pining, he'd reached out and I was determined to respond with equal effort after the admonishment from my mother. My heart plummeted when I read the message.

Ez: Ollie, please call me. Everything is a disaster and I need help. Can you call or come to the studio? I don't know what to do and it's too late to cancel the showcase. Please call?

My heart instantly swelled with concern for him. He was always so overwhelmingly confident and capable, so to see his clearly distraught appeal had me aching to reach out and help despite every conflicted feeling I was battling. Before I could let my overthinking stop me, I clicked the button to call him. He answered after the very first ring.

“Olls?”

Again, the pang in my chest had me wincing. He sounded so hopeful and earnestly glad that I answered, so naturally, I felt even more shitty about myself.

“I'm here, Ez. What's wrong?” I sat up with a muffled grunt and pushed my fingers through my chaotic curls, wincing as they caught on all the snags I'd neglected to brush out.

“Everything,” he sighed with a heaviness to his voice that knotted in my gut. “Can you come to the studio?”

“I…” My mother's voice echoed in my head, reminding me that it was okay to do things outside of being a father. Ez clearly needed someone right now. And God, how I wanted to be that someone. “Yes. We’ll be over in a bit.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

We exchanged a quiet parting and I hung up my phone with a soft sigh. Were my thoughts any less jumbled? Not even a little. But I didn't care about that. I couldn't, not when someone I'd grown to care about was clearly in need. Somehow, all the earlier worries that had plagued me all week seemed inconsequential. With renewed purpose and a belly full of nerves, I did exactly as my mother had demanded—I dragged my sorry ass out of bed, washed my face, and left my apartment with my daughter in tow. The funny thing was, it didn't feel nearly as daunting as my mind had made it out to be.

The drive to the studio helped ease some of the anxiety as Becs oohed and ahhed over lights and decorations the entire way. Her youthful joy for the holiday season helped reinstall some of my own sense of wonder. Perhaps I had overreacted. Perhaps, like my mother said, I was simply a chronic worrier. Regardless, I worked extra hard to breathe through my fretting and sent up a prayer to my lucky stars that they would grant me some grace. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn't ruined everything. I really hoped I hadn't. I'd figure it out once I got to the studio, one way or another. The fact that Ezechiel had reached out to me in the first place helped me regain that tiny spark of hope that I thought had withered and died. Fingers crossed.