Pretty Bird

It wasn't like Oliver to be so fickle.

In any other decision, he would narrow his eyes, his mind rapidly going over the pros and cons of each situation, until he could look me right in the eyes and say "That one." It was actually a great quality I always admired in him; he picked the restaurants, he picked when things happened and what we were doing, he made all of the major decisions. It never bothered me because I have always been the kind of person who always has trouble speaking their mind, especially when it comes to a polarizing choice. It all comes back to my years of social awkwardness, to my crippling anxiety disorder, to my hollow clinical depression. In my mind, making a decision meant not turning back. Making a decision meant that I could offend people, especially if I chose something they didn't like. Making a decision also made me look rude, and selfish; words my mother would always use on me when I asked her for attention when Evan was sick.

This time, though, Oliver was about as quiet as I was; just going over the choices over and over in his head, his eyes not locked in decision, but scanning lazily in mild interest. He would reach out, rub the petal of a single flower between his thumb and index finger, his lips pressed tightly together. And, instead of telling me which he preferred like I expected, his eyes would wander over to another flower, and he would examine it. I turned to the short Italian man who was accompanying us, shaking my head softly and giving him a sympathetic glance.

"We need more time." I managed to speak, my voice barely over a whisper. The man just nodded, and rolled his eyes at us before turning around, leaving Oliver and I alone in the florist's shop.

I narrowed my eyes at the man's back, before turning to Oliver, who was still staring intently at a bouquet of lilies. "Is something wrong, Oliver?" My voice was still soft, but my annoyance was clearly visible.

"Hmm?" He stopped staring at the flowers and turned to me momentarily, before giving me the up and down with his eyes. "No, I'm just looking."

"Do you like anything?"

He shrugged, his eyes falling back down onto the lilies, and then the plumerias.

"Oliver, what's wrong? Seriously, ever since we got in the car you've been extremely quiet. I don't want to have to plan an entire wedding without your input."

He sensed the annoyance in my voice, his shoulders cringing, as if I was sliding my nails down a chalkboard. "I like the lilies. The white ones."

"It's not about the flowers."

He turned to look at me again, his eyes still just staring straight through me, as if I was made of cellophane. "I'm just a little upset with you, alright. But I don't want to ruin today. Can we please just determine what we like? I like the lilies. These white ones, and the calla ones or whatever they're called, the tall ones with the yellow inside."

"Why are you mad at me?!" I kept my voice low, but my facial expressions were anything but muted. My eyes had gotten wide, my eyebrows raised, my hands outstretched in front of me, towards Oliver.

"You made me look like a fucking sod in front of Tom." Oliver's stare was still cold. "He's my little brother, I know how to comfort him, you know."

"What?" I lowered my hands, bringing my arms across my chest now. My memory scanned back, until I landed on the day when Tom was crying on the sofa, and I had subtly told Oliver to go away. "Oh, that."

Oliver rolled his eyes and nodded, his arms now crossing his chest too.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Oliver. I just knew he was really upset. I didn't want either of us to say anything wrong. He just needs some place safe to fall right now."

"Some place safe to fall? What are you on about, love?" He asked stepping closer to me. I could see the emotion in his eyes now. Whenever Tom was mentioned, he instantly became softer, as if he needed to protect his little brother. "He and Caroline have issues just like any other couple. They're fine. They fight just as much as we do."

"Did you ever run over to Nicholls' flat crying because I yelled at you for not going shopping with me?" I raised my eyebrow and looked up at him skeptically.

Oliver sighed, his arms unfolding across his chest. "Christian, they are so stressed right now. Can you imagine having a baby at 18? Of course they're going to be...on edge." The long, skinny fingers of his left hand reached out, snagging themselves into one of the front pockets of jeans. "Don't make it worse than it already is." He pulled me close, his familiar hipbones fitting in their spot against my stomach.

I curled my arms around him too, just as his arms slid around my waist. "I don't know, Oliver. I honestly think Caroline is insane. You have no idea what she said to me when I went up there to apologize to her."

"What then?" He asked, his eyes locked on mine all over again.

"She said that she 'had to do what she had to do'...I think she meant to get pregnant on purpose."

"Why the hell would she do that?" Oliver scoffed.

"Because, I think she thought that Tom was going to break up with her. I think she knew that he wasn't happy anymore. And now she trapped him."

Oliver rolled his eyes again, letting out a tiny laugh. "You have an incredibly active imagination, Serra."

"No, Oliver, think about it. Was Caroline ever right for Tom? No. You know she takes complete advantage of him, and you've seen how she can be. She is completely over-demanding, she thinks she is amazing, and she just can never be bothered to take anyone's feelings into consideration but her own. And Tom is too giving for that! He'll just give and give and give until he has nothing left or until he just can't do it anymore! And now this baby is coming and now Tom says he actually hates Caroline...he said he hates her! He never wants to be around her, touch her, be happy with her. He's only still there for his kid. And Caroline can't see that and one day, she is just going to push too far and Tom is going to have a meltdown. And me and you are going to have to be on the sidelines, figuring out what the hell to do about it!" I exhaled heavily, not realizing I had forgotten to breathe during the entire rant. "I'm worried about that kid, Oliver. It doesn't deserve what it is getting born into."

Oliver's eyes had made a complete 180 from the beginning of our conversation; they were now warm and comforting, the brown overpowering the green as he stared deeply into my eyes. His hands removed themselves from my waist, and moved their way up to either side of my face, his fingers under my jawbone, his thumbs right under my cheekbones. "Christian," He whispered, my eyes unable to stop looking into his. "Have I ever broken a promise to you before?"

I shook my head no, and pressed my body closer into his.

"Alright. Now, everything is going to be alright, okay? Maybe you're right. Maybe Tom and Caroline will never be happy together, maybe that baby will never get to experience having two parents around at the same time. I don't know. What I do know, is that that baby is going to have the best father in the world, the best grandparents in the world, and the best aunt and uncle in the world. Okay? Everything is going to be alright, love. I promise." He stared into my eyes for a few more seconds, as if checking to make sure his words made it into my brain, before he gently pressed his lips to my forehead.

I exhaled deeply, and inhaled again, taking in the soft scent of his body wash and the scent of fabric softener. I let my body melt against his, let him take away all of my anxiety about the situation as he pressed his lips onto my forehead, his touch gentle and delicate. "You're right." I murmured, pulling my body back, and out of his. "I trust you."

"And I'll never let you down." He smiled sheepishly, his fringe falling into his eyes.

I was about to go in for another kiss, a real kiss on the lips, when stupid little Italian guy walked up again.

"Do you know what you like?" He asked, clearly unaware of simply apathetic to the fact that he ruined our 'moment.'

Oliver opened his mouth first.

"We need just a little bi-"

"No, we like those white lilies over there, and those calla lilies. The ones with the yellow." I smiled and pointed Oliver's picks to the florist and then at Oliver, whose cheeks tinged pink as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

The florist gave Oliver a strange look, which he continued over to me, before nodding and turning around, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"I don't think he likes us." Oliver said, as soon as the florist was out of earshot.

"If anyone doesn't like us," I started, smiling up at him. "I just blame the tattoos, Sykes. We don't look like the proper wedding type with lilies and white lace and dinner receptions."

"To be honest, I never thought I'd be doing this myself," He smiled back, his eyes staring down at my engagement ring. "But I guess things change when you meet the right girl. You feel the need to take her, put a ring on her finger, and give her everything she wants. And of course, I'll get everything I want as well. All I want is you."

______________________________________

"Do you know how many people you want there?" I called, my fingers scrolling the page on my laptop down as my eyes scanned the page, trying to find numbers and figures.

"100? 200?" He called back from the kitchen, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was sketching, again. It was fine, but it just seemed impossible for me to do anything work related after such a hectic time like Fall dropping. But, he always surprised me, even in the simplest ways.

"Alright then. And you're happy with an evening reception? We will just give everyone drinks, not dinner. I refuse to coordinate the mass feeding of 200 of your friends." I looked up and laughed, hoping to catch his attention. He looked up as well, rolling his eyes at me.

"Well, that 200 includes your friends and family as well, you know."

I scoffed, giving him a skeptical look. "What family, Oliver? And I don't think Blake is going to be able to make it."

"Well, your parents. Don't they want to come?"

"Haven't talked to them in years. They don't even know I moved to England. Don't you know all this already?" I looked back down at the website on my laptop, mildly annoyed.

"Right." He mumbled, returning back to his drawing.

"I've found it. We now have a place." I smiled triumphantly, cracking my knuckles. "We are set for April 2nd."

"Mint, love." He replied, his mind obviously deeply focused on the sketch.

"And with the lilies, I think my 'accent' color or whatever should be green."

"Green?"

"Yes, green and white. Not like, gross green though. A nice one. A pretty one. And of course black, as well. Black, green, white."

Oliver shrugged, giving me a brief second of eye contact before he started shading his sketch, his hands gripping his pencil at an angle as he dragged it across the paper in small, fast strokes. "I'm sure it'll look fantastic, love. As long as it isn't peachy. Nothing can be peach."

"Ugh," I made a fake gagging noise, rolling my eyes for dramatic effect. "That color is disgusting."

He was about to speak, until the ringing of the phone cut him off. The timing was so perfect it almost could have been on purpose. He dropped the pencil on the piece of paper, rising from the kitchen table and taking the phone in his hand out of the kitchen.

"Hello?" He answered, as I watched him. He leaned against the wall, phone to his ear, looking completely and unequivocally bored. "Oh, right, that sounds perfect. What time?"

I took my eyes off of him, changing my website from the venue location to plain google, ready to look up more wedding details. It was already November, meaning that we were coming down to the wire as far as setting plans for the wedding went. Normally, people planned these things in like, 18 months. Oliver and I were much too impatient, though. We wanted to get married right after my 22nd birthday, which was in March. Speaking of birthdays, Oliver was turning 23 on November 20th, and I still had absolutely no plans. He was about to fix that problem for me, though.

"Alright, its booked." He said, hanging the phone up and sitting across from me on the love seat.

"What's booked?" I asked, setting the laptop off of my lap and next to me on the couch. My lap was warm from the power of the laptop resting on me seconds before.

"I have to go out of town. For Drop Dead."

"Oh, a business trip? How grown up and professional, Oliver." I smiled at him, trying to get the same emotion out of him. "When and where to?"

"See, that's the thing..." He smirked, his eyes glimmering even in the dim lights of the flat. "I'm not going alone. I've decided to take Tom."

"Baby Sykes? Good, he needs to get away."

"We're going to Germany. Berlin. To meet with the new buyers."

"Oh..." I could feel my smile go from genuine to a little bit more week, my whole body reacting to the word 'Berlin'. "Well, you'll have fun."

"You will as well, love."

"I won't have fun waiting for you and Baby Sykes to come home, Oliver." I reasoned as if it was the easiest concept in the world, rolling my eyes.

"No, you won't be doing that. I'm taking you with me as well, love."

"What!?"

"And you can't say no. Because we will be gone from November 18 to November 23. And you're obligated to celebrate my birthday with me."

"Ugh, for fucks sakes, Oliver..." I just stared at him, anger welling up inside my body. I tried to take a deep breath, in order to suppress and dissipate some of my anger, in order to not lash out at him. "You're doing this on purpose."

"I at least want you to tell them, Christian. At least give them the opportunity to know you."

"Trust me, they don't care. Not all of us can have amazing parents like Ian and Carol."

His stare was intense, ripping apart my soul. "Please, just do it for me. I want to at least have met them."

I just stared back, before I felt my shoulders hunch forward, my body giving up. "Alright, alright. I'll email them."