A Bird in the Oven Read online

  In fact, I feel worse because Liv’s car pulls into her driveway. She looks mad even through the windshield.

  When she slams her car door way harder than she usually does, I know she is mad. She stomps over to where Mr. Hooper and I are sitting, her hands on her hips and her nostrils flared. She actually does look like an angry bull.

  “What did you do to him?” she accuses, glaring at Mr. Hooper.

  “He helped me fix the lights,” I admit in the interest of calming her, even though I am still feeling like an ass.

  “Then why is your hand bleeding?” She is not calming down at all.

  I glance at my hand. It is bloody and raw from where I have been scraping it against the concrete. “That was a decorating accident,” I lie. “Which is why I needed Mr. Hooper’s help.”

  “Ollie,” Olivia sighs and rubs her forehead. That means she is feeling frustrated. “I know we’re behind a week on decorating, but I don’t have time after work to do this. Can we please wait until Saturday?”

  “We do not have to wait,” I insist. “I have time this week, so I am doing it.”

  This is another lie. I do not have time after work to decorate our condos for Halloween either. We are already a week behind schedule. I have learned that sometimes, it is better to rearrange the schedule than continue to fall behind long-term. This rearranging is also not conducive to a good mood and pleasant outlook on life.

  Liv stares at me. She does not look happy at all. I hate when Liv is unhappy more than I hate when I’m unhappy.

  “I know you’re mad at me, but can I please at least bandage your hand? I’ll help with the decorations after that.”

  “You just said you do not have time during the week. And I am not mad at you!” I am mad at myself.

  Mr. Hooper rises from his seat beside me. “Well, I’ll let you kids get to it. I should probably start putting up my own decorations. Do we get many trick or treaters around here?”

  Liv and Mr. Hooper discuss how much candy to buy. I tune out their conversation and stare at my bloody hand. I need to pull myself together. This is the kind of behavior I have not allowed myself to engage in for twelve years.

  My front door bangs closed with a loud sound that startles me.

  Liv is gone, but Mr. Hooper gestures toward my door. “You’d better get in there, or she’ll just come out here to bandage you up.”

  She certainly will. However, I am not ready to be alone with her. I still do not have a plan. The last time I opened my mouth without a plan, bad things happened.

  I cannot ask again, but Mr. Hooper seems to understand what I need.

  “Oliver—who is not my real son—she already knows. I don’t think you have to hide it from her.”

  “She does not know,” I argue. “Why do you think we have been friends this long?”

  He squints at me. “I don’t think that’s your problem. The real problem might be the blond woman with the big…” He holds up his hands in front of his chest to simulate large breasts. “…who was coming and going from your condo just a few weeks ago.”

  “That is not the problem. That is part of our deal. They always leave when I cannot hide it anymore. The problem is this lie I do not know how to get out of. Liv is mad at me about it. I do not blame her.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you about the lie you’re caught in with your family, but I do know this. Women want to be the center of your attention. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

  He walks away, whistling.

  I hate that stupid analogy. Now I want cake, and I do not have any.

  I follow the sound of Liv calling my name, acutely aware I am not going to get any cake from her.

  She is waiting in my bathroom with the first aid kid opened and her supplies laid out on the counter. No cake in sight. She gestures toward the sink. “Wash your hand first. I’ll do the rest.”

  An even worse feeling sinks into the pit of my stomach. Maybe Mr. Hooper is right. I blurt, “Do you only live next door to me because you think I need someone to take care of me?”

  “No.” Her expression is closed off. “I live next door to you because I need someone to kill spiders for me.”

  “You could find another man to kill spiders for you,” I suggest while washing my hand. The pain feels good. It matches the pain in my head and in my chest.

  Liv sighs then hands me a towel. “And you could find another woman to take care of you, so believe me, I know I’m not necessary in your life.”

  Holy shit. Mr. Hooper is right about one thing at least. “They only want me for sex and to spend money on them. I can do those things. They do not want to take care of me.”

  “I know,” she says through gritted teeth. “That’s why I hate them.”

  She has never verbally admitted she hates the women I date. I guessed, but this is the first time she is saying the words.

  “Liv,” I say as I sit on the toilet and hold my hand out to her. “I am an adult. I do not need to be taken care of.”

  Her lips form a smirk, but she still does not look happy. “Oh, yeah? Then bandage your hand yourself.”

  “I cannot. It is a two-handed job. I only have one good hand.”

  She pulls her lips in between her teeth, and her shoulders shake. She is trying not to laugh.

  That makes me feel a little happier. I love making Liv laugh.

  She is not laughing anymore as she dabs ointment all over my scraped hand. “Ollie, I’ve been thinking…”

  I already know what this is about. I have been thinking about it, too. It might be my last chance. If this does not work, then I will let her go. Exactly as Mom thinks I should.

  “If you are concerned about me being any good at it, I can promise you, I am.”

  Her nose scrunches in confusion. “Bandaging?”

  “No. Sex,” I clarify. “I am very skilled at it. I have had much practice.”

  “Please don’t say those things to me, Ollie,” she whispers as she wraps gauze around my hand. It sounds like she is going to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly. The last thing I want is to make Liv cry. “If you are worried about getting pregnant before Thanksgiving, I have done some research. Neither of us have been tested for fertility, but barring any issues with the pipes, there are some techniques that sound very promising.”

  She laughs, but there are still tears in her voice. “You’ve been researching, huh?”

  “I have.” If I can just get a little control back over this situation, I will feel much better. “You want a baby, and I just so happen to have a very skilled baby maker. Give me a chance, Liv. If I do not get you pregnant by Thanksgiving, then I will be the one to confess to my family. You can get artificially inseminated like you are considering anyway. I will even go with you. For…moral support.”

  That is a much better option than her finding a man to marry and having a baby with him. If that happens, she will not have time for me anymore.

  She is still crouched on the floor in front of me between my legs. She puts her hands on my knees and glances at the tile beneath us.

  A million images of other things I would like her to do in this position fly through my mind, but I shake them off. I need to focus now more than ever, and I have been off my game all week.

  “Do you even want a baby?” Liv whispers, still staring at the ground. “Because this wouldn’t just be my baby, Ollie. It would be yours, too.”

  I am prepared for this question. “I would love to have a baby with you, Liv. I will be a very good father. I have researched that topic, too.”

  She shakes her head but does not look at me, which is a good thing. It is honestly easier for me to think clearly this way. “Are you a father already? If you have such a skilled baby maker and all…”

  I am not prepared for this question. If I had fathered a child, I would have told her. She would likely be the first person I would tell. “I have not made a baby with any of the women I have engaged in sex with, no
. I am always very careful, and I make sure they are, too.”

  “Oh,” she whispers, nodding her head at the ground. “Okay. That’s…good to know.”

  I am not willing to follow all of Mr. Hooper’s advice, but testing one of his theories may be a good idea. I am already in this unplanned experiment anyway. “I will not have sex with anyone else while we are trying to make a baby. I will also spend all of my time and money on you.”

  She sniffles, then laughs and rises to her feet. She crosses her arms over her chest and still doesn’t look at me. She stares at the wall. “That might not be enough, Ollie.”

  5

  Olivia

  I used to dream about the day Oliver Leonardo Cucinelli promised me all that.

  In middle school, I practiced writing his name as my own over and over. Oliver and Olivia Cucinelli. Our names sounded so cute together. So meant to be. We became friends in fourth grade when I moved to Pittsburgh because we share the same birthday. Our classmates sang to both of us, but I was a new student. The teacher didn’t have a special birthday pencil, sticker, and paper crown for me.

  Ollie gave me his. Our names are close enough, so he scratched out the V and R. He put in an extra L then got mad at himself. I didn’t want him to be mad on his birthday, especially not when he was being so nice to the new girl by giving me all his special birthday gifts. So, I accepted the sticker and pencil but told him to keep the crown. And that’s how Ollie was born. He seemed to like the new nickname much better than a pencil anyway.

  Everyone called him that until we graduated high school. He decided it was time to mature into an actual Oliver in college, but he never gets mad when I still call him Ollie.

  It’s like our little secret now.

  I really prefer that over the new one.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders. “What might not be enough?”

  Oliver responds well to data not to tears.

  “I’m almost done with my period, so there will only be a five-day window twice within the two-month timeframe we have to work with. We’ll be cutting it very close by Thanksgiving. Even if we follow all your very promising techniques, the most fertile time in a woman’s cycle only allows for a thirty percent chance of pregnancy.”

  “Thirty percent is better than zero percent,” he murmurs. “I find those numbers highly suspect anyway. The human race is far too numerous for those statistics to be accurate.”

  I laugh through my tears. Ollie folds me into his arms, pulling my head to rest against his chest. His muscles go from taut to lax beneath me.

  He strokes my hair and whispers, “What have we got to lose, Liv?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…” I bury my face against his chest and inhale his comforting scent. He smells like clean. That’s the only way to describe it. No cologne, no overpowering man soaps. Just…clean. Pure. And oh, so Ollie. “We could lose our friendship, your mother’s respect, the ability to date for a few months. I’m sure there’s more. I just can’t think of it right now.”

  He pulls me back to look into my eyes. His dart back and forth between mine. A gentle hand caresses down my cheek in one long, slow motion. “We could date each other for the next few months. If you would like that.”

  I am a horrible, horrible person for even thinking, let alone saying, “I would like that very much. I would love to date you, Oliver.”

  A wide smile spreads across his face until his teeth gleam at me. It’s so unfair for me to be taking this chance and depriving the women of Pittsburgh of all this handsome man has to offer. “I will date the hell out of you, Olivia.”

  “I will be the best sex partner and baby making receptacle you’ve ever had,” I promise in return. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop myself either. Not when he’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  He frowns at me. “I have never had a baby making receptacle before. There is no basis for comparison.”

  I can’t agree to this under these circumstances. I step back, putting safe distance between us. “Ollie, if we’re going to do this, we need to lay some ground rules.”

  “Of course. Okay.” He nods then tries to stuff his hands in his pockets but only succeeds in wincing when the tape and gauze on his injured hand catch in the material. He holds the offending hand with his other and glares at it. “Let me guess. Best friends forever only. No falling in love, romantically. I give you a baby and then we split custody. That is fine. I can agree to that.”

  “What?” Sometimes, I swear his imagination is far more vivid than mine. “No! I mean…of course, it will be your baby, too. I would never dream of depriving you of custody. We don’t have to fall in love, and we’ll always be best friends, but…”

  His shoulders slump. He gazes at the floor. “But…what? I have thought of all eventualities.”

  “I would appreciate it very much if you do not make reference, comparison to, or any other factual inference about the women you’ve been with in the past.” There. I said it. And it did not sound at all jealous or catty.

  His brow is pulled low and his glasses are slightly lower on his nose than usual when he glances at me. “I would also appreciate the same in regard to the men you have had sex with in the past. Many men enjoy comparing penis sizes. I am not one of them.”

  I stifle a laugh. I haven’t met a man yet who compares to Ollie, which is how I got into this situation to begin with. No one is smarter, sexier, funnier, or more loyal than him.

  He grins. “I do not have to compare. I know mine is bigger.”

  We laugh, the joyous sound bouncing off the tile around us. I missed this over the past week. No matter how hard I—or they—try, no one makes me as happy as Ollie does in the most mundane moments of life.

  As our laughter dies down, the weight of our agreement settles between us. Ollie’s eyes seem to dart everywhere and nowhere at once. I peruse the sculpted body that he’s finally willing to give me a taste of.

  My breath catches when he steps so close that our chests brush together with every heartbeat.

  “Do you like to be kissed?”

  I glance up at him. “Yes. Yes, I do. Do you not like kissing?”

  I cling to the foolish hope he’s had some sort of Pretty Woman agreement with all the women who’ve shared his bed. They’ve had all of him before. What’s so wrong with wanting to keep a tiny piece just for myself?

  “I do not, no,” he breathes even as his good hand toys with a strand of my hair. He rolls it between his fingers and seems completely mesmerized by the movement. “Do you have any idea how many bacteria reside in the human mouth? It is a perfect petri dish—a moist, warm environment. However, if you enjoy it, I am also well practiced at kissing.”

  A burning tickle overtakes my throat. Fresh tears spring in my eyes. I whisper, “No mention of previous women, please. I need you to remember that part. We don’t have to kiss if you don’t like it. It’s not necessary for impregnation.”

  “I do not want to kiss you,” he whispers, his breath harsh and hot against my face. He slowly backs me up until I’m against the wall, his body pressing heavy against mine. He tips his head forward, his gaze intent on my mouth. “I wish to share breath with you.”

  What breath? I don’t have any. He’s taken it all away. I’ve never even read poetry more romantic than his words.

  His lips brush against mine. As promised his mouth is already open as he inhales deeply against my own. “Open for me, Liv.”

  I can’t do anything else. He can have all the breaths I’ve ever taken. I don’t need them anymore because Oliver is kissing me, and oh God, it’s so good. My imagination could never have done this moment justice.

  He tastes just the way he smells—clean, pure, with a hint of mint. His motions are slow and measured as he explores my mouth with his tongue. He laps against the roof, slides across my teeth, sucks my tongue into his own mouth.

  I moan from the ecstasy of it all. I could orgasm just like this, without him even touching me where an incessant throb has tak
en up residence between my thighs.

  He pulls back to grin at me. “I told you I am good at it.”

  The pulsing between my legs dies a slow, painful death. Burning air rushes back into my deprived lungs. I gently nudge him away. “Yes, you are. We’ll have to save that for approximately ten days from now though. In the meantime, we have Halloween decorations to put up.”

  He follows me out the door. “Actually, how long have you been on your period already? We might have less than ten days until you ovulate. I should fertilize you regularly for the five days prior to ensure optimal viable sperm count. I do not know when to start boning you if I do not know the exact timing of your cycle.”

  I almost laugh as I turn down the hallway and walk down the stairs. “I’ve been bleeding for five days.”

  “That means we should begin regular copulation in five days not ten. We may want to consider only three or four days from now just to be certain.”

  I do laugh as I hit the landing on the main floor. I laugh until tears are rolling down my face.

  “Too eager?” he questions, a deep furrow in his brow as he stares at me completely losing it.

  “No, no. Exactly as eager as required.” I wipe my cheeks with my hands. “Thank you for being better at research and math than I am.”

  He grins again. “That is what I am here for. If you could make a baby yourself, you would not need me at all.”

  “Come on, baby maker.” I gesture toward the front door. “We have things to do before we can get down to business.”

  I need to keep business at the front of my mind. Ollie is offering me a taste, not a lifetime. I’ll be more practice for honing his already amazing skills and nothing more. The odds of me getting pregnant in the next two months are slim to none. I don’t have to be good at math to understand that after Thanksgiving, things will never be normal again.

  He glances at his smartwatch when I pick up the string of lights by the front stoop. “After we are done here, we will not have time for a date. Can we do movie night? Would that be an adequate concession until I can take you to dinner tomorrow?”