25: Your Mom

That felt like breaking and entering. Jail.

My adrenaline was still pumping through my veins as I hopped into Oliver's car and he drove off. The whole situation was surreal. One second I'm making out with Oliver Grey in his house we broke into and the next we're running away from his angry father. It sacred me to see Mr. Grey like that, I had so many fond memories of him that were now tainted.

I keep to myself in the car, not wanting to break the silence. Oliver's knuckles are white but his face is different, there was a weird glimmer in his eyes, he looks like he's about to cry. But I assume it's the moonlight shining just right on his face.

"You're not gonna ask what happened?"

I shake my head but realize that he's driving so he probably doesn't see my silent reply. I look at him anyway and respond.

"No."

Oliver nods his head and stays silent, not continuing the conversation. Looking out the passenger window, I admire the bright moon and sigh. Speaking into the silence we've been in for the last few minutes.

"Parents are overrated," I whisper.

Back at my house, I let Sarah go home and to bed. It was already 3am and I felt awful having her look over the twins at such an ungodly hour. She told me not to worry, that she wouldn't be sleeping anyway.

I walk her to the door and open it for her. She stops midway out and turns to face me. A smile plays on her lips.

"He's a keeper."

I smile and laugh lightly, turning to follow her gaze that's eyeing Oliver. He's sitting in the chair I usually sit in with his head in his hands. He looks tired, maybe even frustrated.

Sarah makes her way out and I go to stand behind Oliver. I put my hands on his shoulders and give them a squeeze. I try not to think about how muscular and broad they are, trying to be comforting instead of hot and bothered.

"He's been like that since she died."

She?

My heart falls when I realize he's talking about his mom. His truly wonderful mom that lit up any room she walked into. She'd passed away only a year ago, it was a big story for the town news. 'Amanda Grey Passes Away, Community Is Lost'. Gross headline, I hated reading the article, but I wanted to know what'd happened. It was the big juicy gossip of the year.

"Your mom," I sigh out.

Oliver nods his head. He brings his hands up to meet mine that are still on his shoulders and pulls them down to his chest, forcing me to step forward closer to him. He leans his head back and rests it on my stomach. I let out a small exhale and my heart flutters as his hair tickles me.

We stay there in silence. I don't want to force him to share more than he's ready to. The silence is comforting and I start playing a beat on his chest with my hands.

He starts humming along with me, obviously recognizing the song that's suddenly stuck in my head. Not long after, we're both mumbling the lyrics and his fingers are tapping along.

"You are, my fire."

"The one desire."

And soon enough, it's a whole ass concert in the kitchen at 3am.

"Tell me why!"

"Ain't nothing but a heartache!"

"Tell me why!"

"Ain't nothing but a mistake!"

We go back and forth. Me asking Oliver why and him responding back. My singing voice sucks, it's raspy and definitely has some cobwebs. But Oliver's is actually good. I remember the sixth grade musical, the tree and the lead. He's still good at anything he does.

We're jumping up and down, pretending random kitchen utensils are microphones. Oliver has a spatula and I have a big spoon. I'm on the chair Oliver had been sitting in, turning in circles to keep eye contact with Oliver. He's been running around with his arms stretched out pretending he's an airplane. I laugh between each of my lyrics, unable to resist myself.

"I want it that way!" We sing in unison.

"Uh, Hazel?"

I turn to face the small voice that called my name. Braden was standing there with a teddy bear in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired and I realize we woke him up with our impromptu concert.

I jump off the chair and walk up to him, "What's up, buddy?" I ruffle his hair.

"What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing," I smile at him and turn to Oliver who's hiding his spatula behind his back.

"Let's get you back to bed," I extend my hand out for him to grab and pull him down the hall back to his room.

Ben is still sleeping soundly. He's always been a heavy sleeper. Not even the biggest attack of shadow monsters could wake him up.

"Good night, Braden," I tell him once's he's tucked in again.

"Hazel?," he yawns and curls up tighter in the covers.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Are you and Oliver dating now?"

"No," I shake my head and smile at him.

He yawns again and shifts in the bed, "Not yet."

I walk to my room where Oliver is already changed into his sleeping attire. He smiles up to me, a small genuine one, and gives me a nod before going to his bed on the couch. As always, he faces his back to me. I smile at him as I hear small snores.

-*-

"Did you hear?"

I turn to Emma and shake my head. Everyone seemed to be buzzing about something, but I was clearly lost on the big news. Junior year had rolled around, it was almost Christmas. Instead of people being jolly and nice, they were gossiping and naughty.

"Oliver Grey's mom, she passed away."

"Amanda?"

Emma looks at me in shock, "You know her?"

Oh, right. Emma was new. She didn't know that I used to be part of the elite circle of party attendees to the Grey's. Not that the people I'd known since pre-K remembered either. I was only Hazel the Prude, and that was it. It wasn't the best personality trait to carry around, but I made due.

"Uh, she's the wife of the richest person in town," I make an excuse, my hand already messing with my chain.

"Was," Emma corrects me.

"Right," I gaze down, "Was."

I start walking to class and every face I see is filled with pity. I hate the feeling that fills my body when I see all the pitiful glances. I hated pity and having to deal with the superficial feelings of all these high schoolers seemed insufferable.

This is the first time I wasn't jealous of Oliver Grey.

Sitting at lunch was so much worse. I'm sitting with Levi, trying to hold a conversation with him but it's eerily quiet in the cafeteria. I get up and walk out, uncomfortable with the situation. Silence is the last thing you expect from a group of five hundred teenagers.

I'm making my way to the library when I hear sniffles coming from the janitor's closet. I stop in my tracks and lean my ear against the door. I don't know who it is, but I feel the need to walk up to the closed door.

"Hello?" I start, but there's no response back.

It's weird talking to a stranger that was crying on the other side of a wall. I remember, though, how it felt to be at my lowest of lows and no one deserves to feel that way. So, stranger in the janitor's closet, these are some words I wish I had been told.

I keep going, not caring that I didn't get a response back, "Whatever is going on, I believe in you. You're stronger than you know."

I walk away, not knowing if the kid crying in the janitor's closet even heard me. For all I know, I could've been talking to a mop and some cleaning supplies. I look back and see the door opening from the janitor's closet. I don't wait to see who it is, not wanting them to know who I was either. So, I run to the library and sit in the corner, pretending to read some random book.