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“I was keeping that day clear ’cause”—Oliver exhaled slowly—“’cause that Sunday was the first anniversary of my mother’s death.”
Georgie’s boot scuffed the sidewalk as she came to a sliding halt in front of the Toronto Reference Library. “Oh, Oliver!” She covered her mouth, but the compassion in her wide gaze grew. “If I’d…” She gathered him into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said gently, her voice cracking. “Here I am bellyaching about breakfast when you’ve been dealing with…with the worst.” Her breaths puffed short and quick against the shoulder of his coat. “I’ve been so selfish. God, I hope you can forgive me.”
Oliver let go of their shopping and eagerly reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her. “I would if there were something to forgive. How were you to know if I didn’t tell you?” He closed his eyes briefly as she gave him a squeeze, the warmth of her embrace a much-longed-for comfort. “I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of me. I was evasive and vague, and obviously I’m not very good at sharing stuff like this. Not like you.”
“Oliver, you just lost your mum.” With a sniff, Georgie lifted her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. “It’s a lot to deal with—at any age. And as for telling people, you don’t have to, not if it makes you upset or uncomfortable.”
“I’ve told a few people.” Oliver swallowed thickly, moved by Georgie’s swell of emotion. “Most looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them up. I instantly regretted it.”
Pressing her lips together, Georgie rubbed his arm. “I know, grief is tough enough without having to manage the reactions of others. Sometimes I wish we taught students how to speak and listen to the bereaved. How to just be there for someone grieving without feeling awkward or needing to fix it for them.”
“Because they can’t fix it,” said Oliver. “No one can.”
Tears spilled through Georgie’s lashes as she nodded. “If only everyone knew that. The world would be a much kinder, more supportive place.” She wiped her cheeks. “Losing someone is the loneliest feeling. But no one should have to go through it on their own. Especially not on anniversaries or birthdays…”
“That’s what surprised me,” said Oliver. “The anniversary was difficult, but the anticipation leading up to it was worse in a strange way.”
“One of grief’s dirty little secrets.” Georgie exhaled softly. “I wish I could’ve been there for you. Next year if you want company—the week before, the day of—let me know, okay? I’ll book a day off and we could do things your mum enjoyed. Or we can flip through photo albums or stay in and watch movies. Whatever you want.” She enveloped him in a bear hug again. “Just say the word and I’ll be there. Deal?”
But I won’t be here. His heart plummeting, Oliver winced over her shoulder. “Deal.” An ache swelled in his chest.
Georgie loosened her embrace and Oliver followed suit, meeting her empathetic gaze.
“Thank you for being so kind, so…Georgie.”
She wiped her face, swiftly removing all teary evidence. “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me.”
His smile quivered. “I’m sorry. For disappearing, for hurting you…for everything.”
“Me too.” Georgie sniffed. “Friends again?”
Friends? A flood of longing surged through him, the chance to be more vanishing quicker than the warm breath he’d exhaled. I’ve fucking blown it. He nodded, masking his disappointment. “Absolutely.”
She squeezed his forearm and let go.
Oliver collected all but two of their shopping bags as Georgie had already claimed the others. Walking toward Bloor Street and the subway, she happily swung her bags while regret tangled Oliver’s thoughts. If only he’d spoken up, if only he’d declared his true feelings like Rafferty insisted, before they went inside Canadian Tire.
But would that have changed things? Made Georgie see him as a potential love interest? Oliver glanced over, catching her excited “Ohh!” when she spotted a bus shelter poster advertising The Bodyguard. He slowly shook his head. Probably not. And despite Georgie’s kind intent to make amends, her “friends” remark flashed amber like a cautionary traffic light. In its wake, Oliver couldn’t really disclose he’d been hoping to ask her out, not without a shitload of self-imposed humiliation raining down on him.
He snuck one more glimpse of her delighted smile and dipped his chin, the twinge in his chest throttling yet another breath. Damn it. Staring downward, he pretended to adjust the twisting shopping bag handles laced through his fingers.
His erratic movements drew Georgie’s attention. “Tell me more about your mother. What’s her name?”
Ahhhh. If there was a way for Oliver to fall for her even more, Georgie had just found it. People always changed the subject and moved on to something fun and frivolous when he mentioned his mother or her death, but not Georgie. Georgie embraced it.
Oliver broke into a soft smile. “Linnéa.”
“That’s beautiful. What was she like?” asked Georgie.
“She was my world. She was kind, gentle, protective. Had a quiet manner. Loved animals. Loved chocolate chip pancakes.”
Georgie grinned. “Like mother, like son.”
“We were a lot alike with a few exceptions.”
“Such as?”
Oliver swapped one of the shopping bags to his other hand. “She didn’t travel much. Had a lifelong fear of flying. But she had a full social life in Sweden. She enjoyed dancing, swimming, and entertaining. She regularly threw these big dinner parties that brought together people from different walks of life.”
