Olive Blossom
‘What on earth are you doing here, again?’, the thought crashes into my brain as I cross the threshold into Strawberry Patch Nurseries shop, ‘I know that seeing Oliver again was… nice’. I’m desperately censoring my own thoughts even as they bully me. Oh, come off it, it was much better than. I wonder if he can still do that thing…’
“Oh, shut up Laura”, I growl at myself, trying to get some control in the situation, ‘oh god, don’t let him notice how sweaty my palms are right now’. Being inside my head today is like trying to herd a mob of schizophrenic kittens, ‘Why am I so ridiculously excited?’
There… right there, Oliver is standing behind the payment counter, and he’s as handsome as ever, ‘Remember, Laura.. Don’t look him in the eyes’. I wonder if they are still as dreamy as they were at Uni.
I’m supposed to be at work, and like a teenage kid, I just had to skive off to drive all the way over here, to see a man who left me years ago, ‘What the heck are you doing, girl?’.
I haven’t been the same since the other week, since he touched my hand… since we talked and laughed together. Yet here, now, I glance around desperately for a bathroom, I could easily pee myself.
Forcing my railing mind to quieten, I gather the last gram of courage I have and edge my way towards the counter… and Oliver.
Oliver’s back is turned as I approach, his broad shoulders hunched over something on the counter as still as muscular as ever, and I can see their lines through his jumper. My heart’s doing a tap dance in my chest, and I swear he must be able to hear it. ‘Get a grip, Laura,’ I scold myself. ‘You’re a grown woman, not some lovesick teenager.’
But then he turns, and our eyes meet, and suddenly I’m twenty again, lost in those warm brown eyes that always made me feel like I was the only person in the world. He’s tall enough that he has to lean forward to comfortably place his large, manly and slightly callused hand flat on the counter. Oliver’s eyes flash in recognition, then quickly cloud with something else. Wait, is that fear? Does my mere presence frighten this wonderful, kind, gentle man?
“Laura,” he breathes, and the way he says my name… It’s like a caress, like a prayer. I watch as his eyes widen, filling with… is that hope? Tears? Both?
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. All the witty remarks I’d rehearsed on the drive over have evaporated like morning dew. ‘Say something, you numpty!’ I yell internally. ‘Anything!’
But before I can get my brain and mouth to cooperate, Oliver’s reaching under the counter, his movements quick and nervous. He pulls out an envelope and a small package, holding them out to me like an offering.
My hands are shaking as I take them. ‘What’s happening?’ I wonder, my mind reeling. ‘Is this real?’
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I look up at Oliver, searching his face for… I don’t know what. An explanation? A sign? But he just nods at the items in my hands, a silent encouragement to open them.
The package first. My fingers fumble with the wrapping, and I’m acutely aware of Oliver’s gaze on me, of the charged silence between us. And then…
“Oh,” I gasp. It’s the little blue bear. The one I won for him at the fair all those years ago. I’d thought it was lost forever, like us. But here it is, a bit worn around the edges, but unmistakably the same bear. And nestled beside it, gleaming softly, is a silver locket.
I look up at Oliver, questions bubbling up in my throat. But the look on his face — vulnerable, hopeful, terrified — stops the words before they can form. Instead, I reach for the envelope with trembling fingers.
Inside is a card. Hand-painted, beautiful in its simplicity. And there, in Oliver’s familiar scrawl, is a single word that makes my heart stop.
“Sorry.”
That one single, two-syllable word says more to me in this instant the all the books of the Bible combined. My heart explodes within me as I look up and see those eyes again, full of tears, which are cascading over his cheeks entirely unnoticed as he searches my face for a response.
I have never seen anyone look more open, more honest, or more vulnerable at the same time, and I am forced to look away from that longing, the yearning I see there, the… love.
Oliver must have had all this ready, in the hope that I might come here today, and he was right. I had told myself that it might be nice if we could be friends again after all this time, ‘But you can’t, can you, El? He’s always been your soft spot, you may as well accept it and ‘fess up’
Scenes of our life together, come unbidden before me: wrestling on the sofa, cycling in Holland, sunbathing on the beach, and in every last one, we’re happy.
‘Don’t do it girl, you don’t want another broken heart’, that damned whiny voice is back. The one that always predicts doom and disaster. Well, this time… this time, I’m ready for it. This time it can bugger all the way off, and then it can keep going.
“Oh, god! I forgave you years ago, you silly, silly man!” My arms are exploding forward to ensnare this quivering man-shaped bag of tears before me, and hauling his shocked and slightly frightened face to mine.
Then I’m kissing him. Not some small, polite, ‘nice to see you after so long’ kind of kiss, but a kiss of truly epic proportions which has enough force behind it to cause a continental shift, and more passion than a hundred years’ worth of Romeo and Juliet. This one action gifts Oliver and me, forgiveness, trust, renewal, so very much… love.
Tender flash fiction. Held in a breath. Lived in moments.
— One Long Breath… Held
If this lingered with you, leave a heart or a word below. I’d love to know which part stayed with you.
