“He brings the wrong uniform,” I added. “Shows up in paisley when everyone else is wearing all black.”
The story spun on, but I hardly followed it. The best part, the real enchantment, was Oliver. As the story grew more and more ridiculous he began laughing. Not the careful chuckle of someone trying to blend into a new space, but uninhibited, bubbling up from somewhere in his belly, cracking through his hesitation. It lit up his whole face and brought color to his cheeks.
I literally lost the plot and I didn’t care. Oliver’s happiness was the only storyline I wanted to follow, the only arc I wanted to see deepen and flourish.
When the bonker balls tale ended, Ezra said, “We have achieved peak nonsense.”
“Peak nonsense is my daily existence,” I said. “But tonight’s brand was particularly inspired.” I pointed to Oliver.
“Me?” he asked.
“Totally,” Micah said. “You’re a genius story contributor.”
Oliver ducked his head, but not before I caught the smallest smile tugging at his mouth. “I had good collaborators.”
I wished Oliver would give himself more credit. His creativity had sparked half the detours that made our story come alive. But he struggled to own his part in it. No surprise there. He’d spent too long with someone who never let him claim anything he achieved. In Vincent’s world, every success Oliver earned got twisted back toward him, reframed to look like it only existed because of Vincent.
I wanted to break that pattern and have him relearn that he could honor other people’s efforts and still claim his own, to grow into the kind of man who said “I did this” and believed in its worthiness.
“The story wouldn’t have been half as brilliant without what you added to it,” I said.
“Agreed. Having to build off your bits was my favorite part,” Micah said.
“Thank you,” Oliver mumbled.
The conversation drifted into easy, comfortable chatter, then faded into a quiet lull. Ezra and Micah were snuggling, murmuring to each other in voices too quiet for me to catch. Beside me, Oliver sat slack with contentment, his eyes half-lidded. I took a chance and let my fingers brush his hand. After a beat, he turned his hand, clasping mine.
“Ready to head out?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“You two calling it a night?” Ezra asked when we both stood.
“I think so. It’s been a good night, though,” I said.
“Before you go, Oliver, let me give you my number,” Micah said.
“You . . . really?”
“Really! We can hang out without these two hooligans hanging around. It’ll be awesome,” Micah replied, reading off his digits as Oliver entered them into his phone.
“And you have a standing invitation to come with Luke anytime,” Ezra added.
“Thank you, thank you both for welcoming me into your home. I can leave you with some cookies and brownies, if you’d like. There’s more than enough to go around.”
“Don’t need to ask me twice. I will happily accept more of those snickerdoodles,” Micah said.
With desserts rationed and goodbyes exchanged, we packed up and stepped outside.
Once in the car, Oliver said, “Thank you for inviting me. Your friends are as first-rate as you described.”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Do you think I fit in? With them, I mean. I didn’t embarrass you? Or reflect poorly on you?”
The thought that he might’ve spent the visit not only navigating the natural anxiety of meeting new people, but also silently fearing his presence could reflect poorly on me, hit me. Oliver’s nerves hadn’t solely been about meeting strangers, they were about meeting my people, about whether he’d measure up.
Vincent had probably turned every social interaction into a stage, with Oliver forced to play his part. Hit the marks. Say the right lines. Wear the mask Vincent chose. And if he slipped up, even a little, there were consequences. Punishments doled out for stepping outside the script only Vincent was allowed to write.
