Page 103 of The One I Need
His movements are so gentle and tender it only affirms what I’ve finally figured out. With every brush and swipe, I feel another part of me washing down the drain, and because of Oliver, I know it’s going to be okay.
Gone is the unhealthy relationship with my parents.
Gone is the mental abuse Matt put me through.
Gone is the emotional neglect and hurt I felt for years at the hand of people who supposedly loved me.
In their place is now a life I want to live. I have a job I love. A best friend who saved me.
A man who loves me.
And I love him. I love him so fucking much.
Chapter36
Oliver
Thankgoodness Wes owns a huge home with an equally huge driveway. That’s the only way all these cars are going to fit when all is said and done.
Today is Magnolia’s birthday, which means we were to drop everything we were doing to come out for the celebration. That was a direct order from the about-to-be-seven-year-old, and as Izzy has quickly realized, you don’t say no to Magnolia Taylor.
“Is this a kid’s party or a concert?” Izzy asks as she carries the birthday present in one hand and holds my hand with the other. “There was less traffic at Coachella.”
“Knowing Mags, probably both.”
Normally a Taylor child birthday party isn’t this big. Wes prefers to do two parties for his kids—one for the child’s friends and then the one for adult friends and family. Or as Magnolia likes to call that one, “the money party.” We can all thank Godfather Uncle Simon for that one after his gift of crisp, one hundred dollar bills last year.
But the Taylors are about to leave for three weeks for a family vacation, so for this year, the parties are combined. And by the number of cars parked, I’m going to guess that most of the seven-year-old population of Rolling Hills is in attendance—most of whom will be in my class next year—as well as all of Wes and Betsy’s family and friends.
All of the friends who don’t know that Izzy and I are a real thing now.
“What’s wrong?” Izzy asks as I suddenly stop.
“We forgot to tell everyone.”
Izzy’s eyes double in size. “Shit, we did, didn’t we?”
In our defense, we’ve been…preoccupied. Yeah, we’ll go with preoccupied. It’s currently Saturday, and we got back to Nashville on Thursday. Since then we haven’t left Izzy’s condo. Or talked to anyone. Or been fully clothed. The only contact we’ve had with the outside world is the messages we’ve typed to the food delivery drivers.
“Are they going to be mad?” Izzy asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Nah. They’ll get over it. I mean, they’ll give me shit for sure, but that would have happened no matter what.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
I look toward the house, where I can see a bounce house peeking from above the fence. I hear the sound of music and laughter from adults and children. All my life I wanted to attend one of these kinds of functions with the person I loved. The few women I was dating when a birthday party or gathering was happening either came with me to these things, and they complained the whole time or had a very important thing to do and couldn’t make it. When I told Izzy about this party today and that it would require us entering the outside world again, she wasn’t mad. She wasn’t upset. She didn’t all of a sudden have to wash her hair. Nope, my wife got up, got dressed, and took me to the department store, where we bought Magnolia way too many toys.
She’s the one I was always meant to be here with. None of those other women or people I thought I was in love with. So I’m going to enter this party the only way I see fit—with Izzy’s hand in mine.
“Together,” I say as I clasp our hands together. “We go in together. That's the plan.”
We start walking toward the gate at Wes’s fence that leads to the back yard. Only this isn’t just a yard. It’s big enough to be its own piece of property. It has a huge pool, hot tub, and room for today’s additions of a bounce house, a station for face painting, and a photo booth where Disney princesses are currently taking pictures. Oh and a patio where all the adults can hang with what looks like an open bar.
This party has Betsy written all over it.
“Uncle Oliver!” Magnolia says as she leaps into my arms. Luckily she’s done this plenty of times, so I know to brace for impact.
“Hey, birthday girl.”
