Wonderful fan fiction peeps it has really been a minute. Life can be crazy sometimes! I am reminded of Shane's words – 'Am I too late'? I hope not, and that the best fan fic readers ever keep on with this saga. I promise, I will not wait as long for the next instalment.
A Present for Sandy
I will admit that I did not have the greatest night's sleep. High drama meant that even though I was absolutely bone-achingly weary, sleep was elusive. For the first time after what seemed like forever, progress seemed to be (almost) happening. Sleep, therefore, was sacrificed on the joint altars of hope and terror. At around six in the morning, I gave up and decided that coffee and concealer were going to achieve more than sleep.
Last night, Oliver and I had agreed that we would go together (squee!) to purchase a gift for Sandy. Oliver's car was still at Joe's, so I was driving to collect him. I didn't have any expectation that I would make it past the front door, but still, it was something. (A little flicker of guilt after my previous stalking of Oliver at home may have flared for a moment, but hey…)
Two cups of coffee and a long shower later, I was faced with a dilemma. What does one wear when meeting the guy you are so obviously interested in (but there has been as much movement as a glacier – actually, given climate change, maybe less) when on a mission to buy dog toys, visit a hospitalised father, and do a drop off to collect a car, with or without lunch? I will not confirm how many outfits were discarded on the bedroom floor, but finally I decided that something casual, something not work wear, was in order. A navy, cap-sleeved tiered cotton dress, oversized beige tote (with a cute little periwinkle cardigan inside in case it turned a little cool), even more oversized sunglasses and beige high heeled espadrilles and I was good to go. I will also not confirm whether or not I contemplated rewording this diary entry so I avoided ending a phrase with a preposition! Eventually, I was on my way after I checked that my car was as tidy as a mad 10 minute clean could get it.
The Oliver who joined me in in my car seemed slightly uncomfortable. (Diary, I think that I have reached the point at which I can gush. He might have been a bit uncomfortable, but slightly casual Oliver certainly was cute. Note: Oliver owns at least two pairs of jeans. Who knew?) Moving on, he looked even more uncomfortable when he saw the name of the retail establishment that we were patronising – 'Dr Doolittle's Pet Emporium featuring Henri's Canine Tailor Shoppe' (yeh, okay it was a bit much). I decided that pretending obliviousness was required. I jumped out of the car before Oliver got ideas of coming to my door to open it, and marched to the store's door, calling, 'Are you coming?' over my shoulder.
What followed was a little healthy competition. It seemed as if Oliver and I both wanted to one-up the other in the pursuit of the best doggie present. I wanted to find the cutest chew toy I could, while Oliver decided that even dogs need mental stimulation and therefore looked for an educational dog toy. We joined forces to find a plush bed for our hero. Those items, as well as a few other items later, and all I can say is that Sandy was one spoiled dog!
After leaving Sandy, we headed to the hospital. All the previous awkwardness was gone, and instead, Oliver spent the trip complaining about my musical selections. Apparently, girl-power is not a genre with which Oliver is overly familiar (or fond). Technologically resistant Oliver might be, but unfortunately, he is clever, and soon worked out how to skip tracks on my car's sound system. He also appeared to be unfamiliar with the concept of 'my car, my music' either. Thankfully, before we came to having a very juvenile spat, we reached our destination.
If my own face hadn't been turning a bright pink, I would have enjoyed Oliver's discomfort as we passed a sign indicating the way to the chapel. Joe, according to the front desk, had been moved into a private room on the fifth floor. After an interesting elevator ride with a frazzled mother and a very unhappy toddler, where I am not sure that Oliver O'Toole didn't use me as a human shield between him and some very sticky fingers, we arrived on the correct floor and made our way to Joe's room.
Joe was seemingly busy flipping channels on his tiny television but turned it off as he saw us at the door. He looked well on the way to recovery, which made me happily teary. I teared up even more when I heard the way that Oliver gave the unsuspecting nurse an absolute grilling about Joe's status. Oliver might say that he was just beginning to rebuild his relationship with his father, but really, the love he had for his dad was obvious in every intense question. Joe seemed to be amused by Oliver's antics.
Joe looked amused, and Oliver bemused as I handed over a handmade card with a small gift inside. One the outside I had drawn a little watercolour sketch of Sands, with the text 'Feeling Ruff?', while inside was a very small gift. Oliver was clueless, but Joe knew what an air tag was. I made sure that he knew I wasn't joking.
That Joe is crafty! After many minutes of lovely conversation, Joe sent Oliver on a quest to get a cold juice from the cafeteria. I was to remain and keep Joe 'company'. No sooner had Oliver stepped out of the room, Joe began to talk. He thanked me for saving him (which I denied – it was Dale and Sandy, not me), then caused me to sit blinking at him like one of Rita's owls. He asked me with a completely straight face what my intentions towards his son were! I began to splutter out a reply before he laughingly cut me off. Then he proceeded to give me some fatherly advice. Oliver, he explained, was going to overthink everything. His default position, according to Joe, would be doubt. He will freeze, he will retreat, and he will assume that he will not be worthy. I think I knew this, but I sunk a little as I listened to his own father spell it out. Then Joe let that bird of hope free. He begged me to not give up, to stay the course and take it slow, for he honestly thought that Oliver and I were made for each other. I had just jumped up to give Joe the beariest hug I could, given he was in a hospital bed and still attached to a drip when Oliver returned. Thankfully Joe's hospital gowned shoulder gave me something to use to dry my eyes. Oliver would have enough questions already, without seeing me weeping like a fountain.
We soon left Joe to rest and made our way to the car. I was aching to push Oliver into getting lunch with me, but thankfully he suggested it first. No diary, this was not a date, just two people catching up for lunch.
And that is about it, diary. Yes, I drove Oliver to Joe's house, but it was quiet, both of us (I hope) enjoying the scenery and the more modern jazz I was happy to introduce to Oliver.
Progress.