Homecoming

Chapter 2: The First Night

If there was one thing that I have learned from the past, it would be: the longer I held on to it, the stronger it stung. I also had my fair share of letting go earlier than I was supposed to. Safe to say, my past haunted me still.

Oliver stood on the porch, his hazel eyes pierced through me like a knife. He shifted his weight to the opposite sides of his feet as he hid his hands inside the pockets of his dark, rugged jeans. It reminded me of a younger version of him—the one that I have gotten used to, which seemed all too familiar. The kind who was timid but confident enough when he wanted to be. The version of him that I madly fell in love with.

"Hey. I wasn't sure if anyone would be here, but I saw that the lights were on. I wanted to check the place out," Oliver explained, his voice was a pitch higher than the usual. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline upon realizing that I was the one who answered the door. His breath hitched, and my chest ached. "I didn't know you came home."

"I landed this afternoon," I replied. I left the door open and motioned to Oliver to come in. I wasn't even sure if he wanted to go in, he might have other plans, but I left him by the doorway. I thought that inviting him in would be the most decent thing to do. I made a beeline towards the kitchen, and Oliver's footsteps were behind me.

"It seems like you're in the middle of something," Oliver said, looking at the mess that was literally everywhere. Most of the chores were done midway.

"I'm tidying the place up a bit, you know, to take my mind off of things. I can't sleep, so I thought of doing some chores," I rambled. I didn't know why I did. Oliver also caught me off guard too. He shouldn't be even here. Why did I even leave the door open again? I could just add that to my long list of collective bad decisions. My emotions were at a record high. My knees were weak, and my palms were sweaty.

"I'm sorry about what happened with your dad," Oliver stated, his voice now back to its normal husky tone that was nothing but music to my ears. "How is he doing, by the way? I dropped by earlier, but they wouldn't tell me anything. I guess they called you; that's why you're here."

I opened the fridge and got Oliver a beer. I reached out to Oliver to give him his drink, and I was met with uncertainty in his eyes. When he took the bottle from my hand, his hand grazed along with mine. His skin was warm and inviting.

"He's stable. He has cancer, but Kathy said everything is still manageable," I said, pouring myself a glass of water. I explained to Oliver the extent of what I understood. Any person would have been overwhelmed when they found out that their dad has cancer, and I was no different. I was completely guilty of not listening as Kathy went on and on about my dad's status. It was easier to ask them later on because I probably missed out on a lot. I wasn't able to process the multitude of information given to me.

Fuck cancer, right? Was I allowed to say that? Could I have a moment to curse the universe to have chosen my dad to carry this burden?

Oliver leaned on the counter and crossed while he held his drink. The amber lights did wonders to accentuate his features. It was so unfair. How could someone be so good-looking under orange kitchen lighting? He hummed in agreement. After a beat, he asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I think I'm fine."

"You think you're fine?"

"Yeah."

To be honest, I wasn't fine. Not even remotely. I honestly felt that I was managing. Barely managing. But for some reason, I didn't want to tell Oliver that. I didn't want him to care.

"How long are you staying for?" Oliver asked.

I wondered why he did because we weren't on speaking terms. My mind searched for answers while he stood in front of me, comfortable to act enough as if he lived here. The tension was inevitable, but neither one of us mentioned a thing. Even if Oliver acted completely brazen, the uneasiness radiated from him in crashing waves, and I drowned in them like a helpless swimmer. It was as if he skirted around what he wanted to say or that he was still stunned by the fact that I was within arm's reach.