23. Oliver

TWENTY-THREE

Oliver

I glance down at my watch. It’s almost eleven, and I’m exhausted. I extricate myself from Tita Tess’s third degree about ‘my new girlfriend’, and go to find Georgia. I don’t have to look very far, however, considering this apartment can’t be larger than one thousand square feet.

I walk down the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms, and find Georgia with my sisters and nieces in my old room, now Ma’s craft room. They’ve unfolded a mahjong table, the four of them teaching Georgia how to play. The youngest, Maya, is sitting in Georgia’s lap to help her with her hand.

I lean in the doorway and watch them for a moment, pondering the sight. Georgia just fits in seamlessly, like she’s been here with us, with me , all along. And the strange thing is—I can’t say I’m surprised.

Paloma, my older niece, notices me standing there.

“Hey, Tito Ollie! Wanna play?” she asks.

I move to her and kiss her on top of her head. “No, Paloma, I’m tired. I was actually thinking of leaving, and I was going to ask Georgia if she wanted me to walk her home. ”

My four family members let out a collective “awwwww,” while Georgia and I roll our eyes.

“I mean, I’m not going to make you walk home by yourself,” I tell Georgia. “I can call you an Uber if you’d prefer.”

“I can call my own Uber if I’d like, thank you very much,” she tells me.

“Georgia is an independent woman who don’t need no man,” Maya, eight, says.

Paloma pinches her sister. I realized today just how physical my family is with one another, with all the smacking and poking and touching and pinching and hugging and kissing. Georgia must think we’re insane. “Georgia should walk home with Oliver,” Paloma tells Maya, giving her a Look.

“Agreed,” says Izzy. “You never really know with Uber drivers. I read an article about a woman who was kidnapped by her Uber driver, and then she was sold into sex trafficking.”

Tala smacks our sister. “Izzy, ano ba ?” she shrieks, cutting her eyes to her girls.

“Don’t worry, Mama, we know what sex trafficking is,” Maya says solemnly.

“It’s truly horrific,” Paloma says.

“It’s estimated that over forty million people worldwide are victims of human trafficking, with women and children disproportionately affected,” Maya adds on sadly.

Tala smacks Izzy again. “What are you teaching my girls, Iz?! Maya is eight , for fuck’s sake.” She sighs, turning to her girls. “I see you’ve done your research. What do you think we can do about it?” she asks them, the consummate teacher.

“Raise awareness,” Paloma says.

“Donate to charities,” Maya adds.

I motion to Georgia. She stands and moves around the table, giving everyone a hug. “I’m going to make Tito Ollie walk me home,” she tells everyone. “I’m not in the mood to take an Uber anymore. Or ever again, really. ”

“It was really nice to meet you, Georgia,” Izzy says with a giant hug.

“Yeah, George, you rock,” Tala agrees, already using a nickname. “Come to dinner again soon.”

I wander outside to leave them to their goodbyes, looking for my parents. They’re in the living room, chatting with some of my titas. “I’m gonna head out, guys,” I tell them. My parents stand up and pull me aside.

“We really love Georgia,” Ma says, kissing my cheek. “Thank you for bringing someone home to us.”

“She was wonderful, Ollie,” Dad agrees.

“I didn’t bring her home, Ma—you literally dragged her here.”

“You work so hard, Ollie. It’s nice to see you so happy and relaxed,” she replies, ignoring me.

“Your mother and I know what a demanding job you have,” Dad says, “and how hard it is to find a partner who understands such a crazy schedule. It’s a taxing day. It’s really the reason your mom and me worked so well,” he says, putting his arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

I think on that for a second, remembering the long hours together in my office after school for the last few weeks, but then shake my head. “Guys, that’s fine, but there is nothing going on here,” I tell them, for what feels like the millionth time. I drop my voice. “And I’m her boss. It could never work. I’ve only known her for two months, at most. Besides, she drives me insane.” I add on that last part weakly.

“Psht, that won’t ever change. I still drive your father insane, even after forty years,” Ma says, kissing the arm that’s wrapped around her shoulder. “Besides, you’re good at sneaking around, Ollie,” she says, waving her hand at me, gesturing towards my body. “Except to me. I always knew you were sneaking out late at night to go to the arcade with your nerdy friends. ”

“What?!” Dad asks incredulously.

“See,” she says smugly. Her eyes light up at someone behind me, and Georgia appears by my side. My mom wraps Georgia in an embrace. “We love you, Georgia. You are brave. You are bold. You are always welcome here. Come back for dinner soon.”

Georgia looks at my mom with an indescribable look on her face, then hugs my dad. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I had such a fantastic time. The food was amazing.”

Ma claps her hands with glee. How did she know just the right thing to say to her? “I made you baon ,” she says, running to the kitchen, pulling a plastic bag labeled “GEORGIA” from the counter, filled with gallon zip bags of food. She wraps the bag around Georgia’s wrist. Thinking about it for a second, Ma takes the bag from Georgia’s wrist and puts it on mine instead. “You walk her home, anak ,” she tells me.

Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “I was already going to.”

“Good boy,” she says, patting my cheek.

It’s chillier now, as we walk south towards Prospect Heights. The air smells cold, punctuated with the smell of burning wood from millionaire gentrifier’s fireplaces. Each of my hands is occupied with ten-pound bags of leftovers, a good thing, in case I get any weird ideas. We walk at a leisurely pace, in a companionable silence, no rush to get anywhere.

I see her shiver, so I pause and place the bags on the ground. I dig into my jacket pocket for my beanie and shove it on her head.

“Thanks,” she murmurs begrudgingly.

I don’t hear, because I’m currently fascinated by the way my hat looks on her waves. I have the urge to run my hands through them. Through sheer force, I urge my hands to pick the bags up instead.

We keep walking.

“I think I’m obsessed with your family,” she says, quietly.

I chuckle. “You don’t think they’re crazy?”

“Oh, they’re absolutely unhinged,” she tells me seriously. “But I think that’s why I like them. They’re so…much. Warm. Loud. Accepting. They literally just met me, and I feel like I’ve known them my entire life. Your Tita Tess invited me to her seventy-fifth birthday party right before we left.”

“Some would call that ‘disrespectful of boundaries.’”

“I love that.” She looks wistful for a moment. “What I’m confused about, though, is how someone like you came from someone like them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re all… you,” she says, walking like a robot, or someone who is about to have explosive diarrhea and is trying to hold it in. “And they’re all….” She dances like a maniac, waving her hands in the air and kicking her feet.

“So I have IBS, and they are on PCP.”

She laughs. “Something like that.”

I ruminate on that for a second. “I’ve always been like this. Growing up, everything was just so… chaotic. My parents were both teachers. They always came home from school exhausted and kind of angry and loud and frustrated. My sisters… well, you’ve met them. I spent a lot of time holed up in my room. Reading, playing video games. I just wanted quiet.”

She nods. “You just wanted order.”

“Peace. Control, really. Yeah.”

We amble in silence for a bit. I walk closer to her, wanting to feel our arms brushing together.

“I picked up some positive things from them, too, though. They’re not all bad,” I say then, feeling the need to defend my family somehow. “Under all that chaos, they’re hyper competent people. They’re resourceful, clever. Quick to… seize command.”

Georgia smiles. “You’re totally right. You seem so different from them, but you definitely have that in common.”

Suddenly, I realize I know nothing about Georgia’s personal life. “How about you?” I ask, feeling like I need to rectify that immediately. “What are your parents like?”

“Dead,” she answers, matter-of-factly.

My heart sinks. “What?”

“They’re dead.”

“Sorry, I-I heard you the first time. I’m… really sorry.”

She shrugs. “They were in a really bad car accident a few years ago. I miss them every day.”

“I’m sorry. Again. Do you have any siblings?”

“Nope, just me. Eloise is basically my sister, though.”

I nod, remembering her friend from that time at the farmer’s market. “Where’d you two meet?”

Georgia smiles, then, almost a full wattage, and I am strangely relieved. “We’ve known each other almost all our lives. We grew up across the street from one another on Long Island. We went to college together, and then we moved into our place here in Brooklyn right after. We’ve been together ever since.”

“You really are sisters, it sounds like.” I get a full watt smile, then. “I should probably meet her for real. Seems like I should meet your family, since you’ve met mine.”

She grins. “Good luck. She hates you.”

“Probably fair.” We cross Atlantic Avenue and make our way into Prospect Heights. “What were your parents like?” I ask her, after a few silent blocks, wanting badly to take her hand, but settling for hearing her voice again.

It’s warm when she says, “They were the best people on the planet. Chaotic, messy, loud, full of love and hugs. I learned from the best. I’m just like them. ”

“I can see why you like my family so much, then.”

“Yeah. They remind me of mine.” We reach a renovated corner brownstone on one of the side streets. “This is me.”

I look up, impressed. “This is nice.”

“Eloise is a baller. She’s like actually a bajillionaire. We always joke that I should quit my job and just be her tradwife.”

“Something tells me you’d hate that.”

“Yep,” she agrees. “But I’d be really bad at it, anyway. I’m a terrible cook, and I can barely keep my own room clean.”

“And you’d mouth off and complain all day, instead of taking it like a good girl.”

We stare at each other. I don’t take it back.

I slip her plastic bag off my wrist and hand it to her, making a point to touch her fingertips. Her hand drops comically fast with the weight of the bag. “Well, you won’t have to worry about cooking for a while, at least.”

She smiles. “You should take your hat back,” she says, tilting her head towards me.

I remove the hat from her head. This time, I luxuriate in the feeling of her hair between my fingers, lightly brushing her scalp with my nails and running my hands through the soft strands, tangling them slightly so I can pull on them. A soft tug, at odds with the way I want to yank them back. She stares at me, eyes electric blue under the glow of the streetlights.

I glance down at her mouth, and take note, for perhaps the hundredth time, of the fullness of her bottom lip.

I feel the need to say something. “I should fire you for what you did earlier,” is what comes out of my mouth.

Georgia doesn’t react. “Why?”

“You didn’t follow my direct orders.”

“So?” She steps closer.

“That was very disobedient of you.”

Her pupils dilate. “Was I a bad girl?”

My hand moves of its own accord. I take my thumb, and I press down on her bottom lip, the source of my every waking nightmare. “As your boss, I would say you need to be punished.”

I feel her tongue brush my thumb. She draws the tip into her mouth. Or maybe I push it in, just past my fingernail. She sucks. Every ounce of blood in my body rushes to my cock.

Someone behind us shrieks. We both take a step back, as a group of drunk twenty-something’s stumble by.

“Thanks for walking me home, Oliver. You can punish me on Monday.”

I don’t respond, watching her perfect ass walk up the stoop instead.