Olly, Olly

Chapter 5. Home

I woke up the next morning finding I had fallen asleep on the sofa. Last night, Oliver did come inside the house, but we barely spoke. Well, I spoke, he didn't. I tried to start conversations with him, but he was completely shut down. As I continued to try, he just continued in deep thought, and would on occasion awkwardly look in my direction from time to time from the opposite side of the sofa. Never long. They were short glances but he never said a word. I sat there waiting and grew frustrated with every minute that passed. I came to the conclusion he hadn't heard a word I had said, and I grew easily irritated and felt like I wanted to scream. I needed him to tell me what was going on. I knew he had to be curious about seeing me being dropped off by Jackson tonight, but he never asked. I wanted him to. I needed him to, but not one word. He sat there for about fifteen minutes, but as we sat in silence every passing minute felt eternal. Suddenly, in one unexpected swift move, he finally stood, walked over to me, leaned over and kissed me on the head, and quickly walked out the door. My eyes just welted up as tears began to run from my eyes. I was more lost now then I was before. I ended up just staying on the sofa because I thought there was no way I would possibly sleep, with all the questions I had running in my head. In the end, it overtook me and I wore myself out thinking until I finally crashed.

I was feeling groggy. I'm guessing the crying aided the feeling. Finding I was still in the same clothes, I made my way to the shower. I kept trying to shake the lingering feeling that stayed with me, lying dormant, only to reactivate as my eyes opened. While in the shower, I realized that the warm shower wasn't helping me relieve tension, as I hoped it would. I found I had lost track of time in there as my mind ran uncontrollably. In the mist of my mind wandering, I was brought back by the realization that I needed answers. I rushed what was left of my failed attempt of a relaxing shower and threw on some clothes. I set out for the Cartagena residence with damp hair and all, determined to get answers.

I parked a couple houses down, and debated over if I was just wasting my time- after all, I wasn't wanting to be dramatic and make a scene. I debated on just driving away, but finally jumped out of the car and walked over to the front door and placed my finger on the doorbell. I pushed it before I had the chance to change my mind. As I stood there, committed after pushing the doorbell, I found myself breathing deeply. I noticed a shadow approaching through the frosted window in the center of the door. The door swung open, it was Mrs. Cartagena.

"Hello, Aria!" She was surprised to see me. "Was Oliver expecting you this morning?" She asked with concern.

"No, Mrs. Cartagena, he didn't know I was coming. I just- wanted to know if I could speak with him for a moment.

"Oh, I'm sorry Aria, he isn't here. He didn't stay here last night. He stayed over at Amy's house. I do know for a fact that he won't be back for a while. My husband left a little while ago to pick them up, they were going out for breakfast and he had something planned for them."

"Oh, okay!" I replied. "I'm sorry to bother you." I took a step back to leave.

"It's no bother!"

As I said my goodbye, she replied with, "Aria, I was just about to eat breakfast. Would you like to join me?"

"No, no- thank you!" I got it out quickly making sure it came out politely.

"Aria, seriously I made plenty. I didn't know my husband wasn't eating with me this morning and I had already started cooking when I found out. "Seriously Mija, come in and join me."

I smiled as I agreed since she put it that way. Mrs. Cartagena was always very friendly towards me. As kids, anytime we walked into the house after she greeted us, she always asked if we were hungry. No matter the time of day or night, she would fix us up something, and I saw her do it for everyone else. Including Oliver, and his many friends that came rushing into the house. Looking back, I don't know how she did it, but she did. She would even have dinner nice, and hot when Mr. Cartagena would come home, as if, she had just made it. I appreciated it- both my parents worked long hours. I was what you would call a latchkey kid. Getting home from school, I was usually snacking on junk food until my dad came home with takeout. My mom wasn't a very good cook. She tried a couple times when they first married, but my dad just accepted it early on. He gladly accepted with many failed attempted dishes that left a bad taste in his mouth. He would tease her at times about something called pancake soup and bread rolls that she had baked that were hard enough to play football with. He would tease her that he wouldn't dare try and throw it because it could take out a car windshield if a catch was missed. So, he was finally glad when she threw in the towel, he just made sure that we had menus to all the nearby restaurants. Unlike my mother, my dad was a very good cook. Growing up, his dad had a second job as a short-order cook in a diner. He spent many nights in the corner booth doing homework and when his school work was done- he'd jump in the kitchen to help out his old man. At home, he would cook on occasion, when he had the chance but it was rare. He was one of those cooks that could make something out of nothing. Other than that, our refrigerator usually leaned one-sided- well it should have anyway. It was stocked mainly with frozen meals in the freezer, so whenever I came to Amy's, I looked forward to the home cooked food. My favorite was when Mrs.Cartagena offered us small snacks- especially when she would hand us refried bean sandwiches. It was home cooked refried beans on white bread, simple but delicious.