Thank you guys so much for all the support! I promise I read every comment and cherish every vote x
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Two weeks later
Oliver hunched over the front counter, biting his lips as he scrolled through the banking app on his phone. He'd just gone negative by a couple hundred dollars in his account in order to pay the landlord for the previous month. Shit. His credit score had already taken a huge bite; he didn't need this now.
"Oliver? Is everything alright?" Katie asked from her position behind Register Two.
"Yeah, I'm just worrying about money shit."
"Oh, that's rough," Katie came over, leaning on the counter next to him. "Like what, bills?"
Oliver almost laughed. Bills. He'd kill to be in high school again.
"Yeah, bills," he said, keeping a straight face. "Electricity, water, heat. Rent, which I'm still a month behind on. Gotta pay for car insurance, my phone, school. And the fucking hospital, Jesus. Can't forget that."
"Fuck," Katie whispered. "What are the hospital bills for?"
Oliver looked at her, and her face immediately turned red.
"I'm sorry! That was way out of line, crap."
"No it's okay," Oliver said. "They're for my..."
His... what, exactly? Saying husband felt weird, like they were some old married couple. And they were obviously more than boyfriends. Oliver twisted the ring on his finger, grounded by the feeling of it. Baby was more than a lover, more than anything, really. What he felt for Baby was insurmountable.
"My husband," he eventually just said, figuring it was the truth and he might as well say it. "He has cancer."
"Holy shit what?" Katie asked. "You have a husband?"
Oliver just nodded.
"Whoa, okay," Katie's eyes flicked him up and down. "I didn't even know you were gay, much less married."
"It's kind of a recent development."
"Being gay or the marriage?"
"Marriage," Oliver gave her a blunt look.
"Well congratulations," Katie said. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"We're acquaintances, work acquaintances at that."
"But it's a big deal! Getting married is a big deal."
Oliver looked down at his phone screen, which had gone black so he could see all the scratches in it. His own reflection stared back, tired and sad. He didn't want to tell Katie that with everything going on, getting married felt like the least big deal out of a laundry list of deals.
Fuck, laundry. He had to do a load when he got home.
"You... said he has cancer?" Katie asked quietly.
Oliver picked at a spot on the wooden counter, swallowed, then nodded.
"I'm so sorry, Oliver."
"It's alright," Oliver choked out. "He's going to be fine. It's just the getting there that sucks."
"Well, how are you going to pay the bills?" Katie asked. "If you don't mind me intruding like this."
"No I don't mind," Oliver shook his head in defeat. "Everyone I know knows I'm bankrupt. It's practically public knowledge at this point. I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Ask for a raise?"
"I'm already manager, Katie."
A customer walked up the counter, then, clearing her throat. Oliver immediately turned to her with a smile plastered to his face.
"Hello ma'am, did you find everything alright today?"
She smiled back and handed him a couple books. He scanned them all and handed them back to her in a bag after she'd paid, the motions relying more on muscle memory than thought at this point.
"Thank you for shopping at Pages, have a nice day!"
He heaved a great sigh, watching her go. Then Katie was talking to him again, getting his attention by tapping him on the shoulder.
"You need a second job," she said.
"Katie I'm in school," he told her. "Between class, here, and the hospital I have no time to do anything else. I feel like I'm being swamped as is."
It was all overwhelming. He went to bed every night stressed about tomorrow, and every morning he woke up stressed about yesterday. He couldn't go to class without being terrified for Baby, he couldn't go to the hospital without thinking about all the homework he wasn't doing. He'd been waking up in the middle of the night to help Baby puke. He'd been skipping class to sleep. He'd been standing in the kitchen in the mornings, alone and dazed, thinking about how the cancer could spread to Baby's heart. It was this big circle, this big mess of terror that made even hopelessness sound like a decent alternative.
The cursed reciprocity of dreaming, Oliver thought, is that the fear of the unknown bites hope before it can get off the ground.
"Is there anything you could do from home?" Katie asked, bringing him back to the conversation.
Oliver blinked, then shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Well, you're an English major, right? What about writing?"
Oliver was about to shake his head again. Baby was a writer, not Oliver. All Oliver could do was analyze classic lit. But then a spark of a memory shot through is head.
"Katie, I think you might be onto something."
*
The school newspaper was located in the Monk building, a decrepit old thing on the East side of campus. Oliver had to rely on Google maps and a lot of asking around to find it. Once he did, finding the office once inside the building had proven an even more difficult task. After about half an hour of searching, Oliver tiredly opened the wooden door marked "The Gothic Times".
Inside, the room was quiet and mostly empty. A couple kids sat around at computers, desks crammed up next to each other. A girl that looked to be about Oliver's age sat behind the front desk. She looked up surprised when he came in.
"Hello," she said. "Er, what can I do for you today?"
"What, don't get very many visitors?" Oliver smiled, looking around at the dusty room.
"No, hardly any in fact," the girl smiled back. "So what brings you all the way up here?"
Oliver walked forward, rummaging in his backpack as he went. He placed a folder onto the desk, which was stuffed full of papers.
"I'm actually looking for a job," he began. "My name is Oliver Eze and I--"
"Whoa, whoa," the girl cut him off, eyes big. "You're Oliver Eze?"
Oliver blinked, confused. "Yeah?"
"Jack!" the girl suddenly whirled around to address one of the other people sitting at a desk in the back. "Jack it's Oliver Eze!"
The boy she'd addressed stood up in a frenzy, almost knocking his chair over as he went. He came up to the front, eyes wide behind a pair of wire rimmed glasses.
"Holy shit," his voice was wheezy as he spoke. "So you're Oliver."
"Um, am I supposed to know what's going on here?" Oliver felt very out of his depth.
"This is our editor in chief, Jack Lauren," the girl at the front desk supplied. "We've all been talking about your review ever since it was published."
"Wait, what?"
Jack clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder, and Oliver turned to him in confusion.
"My review?"
Jack grinned at him, and it took up his entire face. "Dude, if you were on staff here that review could've gone up for a state award. I'm not even joking. It was so good it even had our advisor reeling."
Oliver's knees went a bit weak. He reached for the nearest chair and sank down into it. It was good? What the hell were they even saying? Oliver had never been good enough to win anything in his whole life.
"Are you... are you guys being serious?"
Jack laughed, sitting down in a chair next to him. "I'm being dead serious. That thing was brilliant. You've got some real god damn talent."
Oliver just ran a hand through his chair, letting out a long exhale.
"I have never been in this kind of position before," he eventually said. "Thank you, just... thank you."
Jack gave another laugh. "Of course man. What brought you in here anyway?"
Oliver had nearly forgotten about his original intent, the folder of his work still sitting on the front desk. He stood up and reached for it, suddenly super self conscious. What if his other work didn't measure up to the review he'd already had published? They'd be expecting greatness now. He couldn't disappoint them.
"Well, I was actually coming here to look for a permanent position on the staff," Oliver started. "I know it's a lot to ask, and it's already halfway through the year. But I really need this job."
Jack didn't even hesitate. "Is that your work?"
Oliver nodded.
"Let me see."
He handed over the folder, and Jack started flipping through. His eyes scanned the pages so quickly it looked like he was only checking page numbers. But Oliver stayed silent, watching as Jack skimmed through almost every article he'd written. It took him about fifteen minutes. Then, Jack set down the folder and looked Oliver head on.
"Have you ever worked in a newsroom, Oliver?"
Oliver nodded. "I interned at the Jersey Journal last summer."
Jack whistled. "And did you write anything for them?"
Oliver shook his head. "Mostly copy editing and coffee runs."
"That sounds about right," Jack said. "I interned with them all of last year, and barely got to copy edit four things. But don't worry. That's not what you'd be doing here."
"Thank god."
"Agreed," Jack grinned. "How fast are you able to write reviews?"
Oliver flashed back to the conversation he'd had months ago with Professor Earle.
"I can write two a day if you'd let me," he said.
Jack laughed again, and stuck out his hand. "Oliver Eze, you're hired."
Oliver balked, shakily taking Jack's hand as he shook it. "Wait, really?"
"Yes really," Jack grinned. "As soon as I read that review I knew I wanted you on my staff. I would've come seeking you out if you hadn't shown up here."
"Holy shit," Oliver whispered.
"Holy shit," Jack repeated. "So here's the deal. We'll keep in touch, and you'll get most of your assignments via email. You'll be able to write from home, and send in your finished articles before deadline so they can be edited. For arts reviews, which is where I want you, we pay ten cents a word. You'll have to come to a meeting in person in a few days, so we can go over the details with you. But as of now, just wait for us to contact you."
"Wow," Oliver stood up from his chair as Jack did so, reaching out to shake his hand again. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. Just write like this and we won't have a problem," Jack said, gesturing to the folder of papers as he handed it back to Oliver.
Oliver sputtered out another thank you. He took the folder and left in a daze. It wasn't until he was outside in the chill that he realized that he'd been sweating profusely, and his hands were shaking as they clutched the folder. Holy fuck. He'd just gotten a job at the school paper.
He shoved the folder in his backpack then fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Once procured, he sent out a message.
me: crack open the champagne we've got a celebration on our hands tonight
It took several minutes, but just as Oliver got to his car he responded.
baby xx: what happened???????
Then, seconds later:
baby xx: we don't have any champagne
Oliver laughed, and felt the exhilaration in his chest.