Polaroid Cancer

Oliver lays there stroking Casey’s hair absent-mindedly; both of them undressed and comfortably warm. Casey nuzzles up closer to him, permits a loud yawn and drapes an arm over his chest. Letting out a long sigh, Oliver says softly, “mornin’ beautiful.”

“Good morning, handsome,” Casey replies, “you excited to go and have lunch with my dad?”

“Ahah, yeah, I ‘ope ‘e likes me,” Oliver admits, looking down and glancing to the right, away from Casey.

Overlapping her hands and resting them palm down on his chest, Casey places her chin there and stares up at him, “He’ll love you. He’s nothing like my mother. I actually like my dad. The only reason dad would ever be a jerk is if mother is forcing him to reinforce her authority.”

“She seems like a bit of a controlling… er, cun- woman.”

Casey bursts laughing, “Oh man… you got that right. She’s been like that for as long as I can remember.”

“It… it seems like yeh let ‘er push yeh around, though.”

“Yeah, I guess I do… it’s just, it’s hard for me to stand up to her. It’s been me against her, and my dad never had the balls to stick up for me. He was afraid of losing her; which is beyond me why he would want to stay with her for this long.” Casey rolls over onto her back and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I love them for some sick reason.”

“They are yeh parents. No matter ‘ow fucked up they are.”

Casey grunts in agreement and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She feels the blossoming warm touch of Oliver’s hand on her lower back; goose-bumps sprout up and down her arms. The guilt of what her and Tom did two nights ago still grips her intestines like a snake latching onto its prey.

I have to wait until after Jayde’s funeral, she thinks as she peers imploringly over at her fiancée, I need his strength until after that. As selfish as it sounded, it was true. He can leave if he wants to, I swear I won’t stop him. “You ready to go to lunch with my dad in a couple hours? He’s been blowing up my phone with texts…”
Oliver lets out a hearty laugh, “Yeh know it.”



A waft of smoke fills Oliver’s nostrils as soon as he steps into the small pub. The lights are dim and dark shadows cast on the customer’s faces; they look ghastly, malevolent even, and Oliver can’t help but think of when he was high on cocaine; how everyone appeared so distorted and twisted. He blinks his eyes a couple times and spots Casey’s father waving excitedly at him from across the room.

“Hello, Oli,” Brian says enthusiastically.

“‘Eyy.”

“Have a seat, have a seat.”

Oliver sits down, giving Brian an awkward, lop-sided smile.

“You’re an awfully skinny fellow,” Casey’s dad remarks, taking a sip from his beer and staring back at the menu laying on the table. “I hope you’re feeding my daughter well.” Brian chortles good-naturedly after saying this and pats Oliver roughly on the back.
“Uh, yeh, o’course,” Oliver forces a laugh.

“What would you-” The waitress stops mid-sentence and stares avidly at Oliver; his eyes, on the other hand, are firmly locked onto the menu; trying desperately not to run away from Brian. The girl staring at him is completely dismissed, until: “O-Oliver Sykes?”

“Uh-hm?” He answers absently, his eyes un-glazing as he looks up at the petite waitress.

“You’re Oliver Sykes!” The girl squeals quietly; at least she’s polite enough to keep her voice down, Oliver reflects as he fiddles with a napkin.

Giving a bright smile, he asks, “Yeah, erm, can I get somethin' t’drink, miss?”

“Yes! Anything, what would you like?”

“A…” Brian tilts his beer mug and gives a toothy grin when Oliver glances briefly over at him, “I’ll ‘ave a Heineken, I s’ppose.”

“Excellent, coming right up.” She says way more perky then what was necessary.

Oliver writes her off in his mind as soon as she had left from their table, and returns his attention back to Brian. Things were definitely a lot more different when he’s not being gallant and saving his woman from her crazy mother. Now he just felt awkward and at a lost.

“Sooooo, Mr. Gonna-be-Marrying-My-Daughter, what exactly do you do?” Brian asks in a serious tone.

“I tour with me band Bring Me the Horizon an' run a clothing line out in England,” Oliver replies, resting his arms on the table and staring back, “Casey an’ I sometimes go for months without seein’ each other. Unless she comes with. I love it when she does.”

“You uh, you don’t go…” Brian trails off, ruminating, “galumphing around with other girls do you? When she’s not on ‘tour’ with you?”

“No. I wouldn’t ever cheat on ‘er. She’s the best thing that ‘as ever ‘appened to me.”

“I apologize for being so crass, Oli. I just… I want to make sure my daughter is safe. Again, I say, you seem like a respectable man, and I’m trusting your word that you don’t do things with other girls.” Brian smiles lightly, “I know her mother is rather crazy, but she really does mean well; even if she doesn’t come about it in a not so… positive way.”

“It’s a’right, Mr. Wolton. Casey is safe with me. I won’t abandon ‘er.”

“I’m keeping you on your word,” Brian says, taking the last swig of his beer.

“Here you go, one Heineken. Would you like a refill, sir?” The waitress, whose name tag read Fiona, asks Brian with an overly animated grin. Her eyes keeps trailing all over Oliver and they catch on his ring finger every so often.

“Okay, I can’t help myself, but are you really engaged?” She blurts out.

“Uh, erm, yes. I am.” Oliver stares up at her in mid-motion of taking a drink from his Heineken bottle.

“Can you tell me her name?” Fiona asks boldly.

Oliver gives her an incredulous look, “No, I can’t. It’d be rude an’ she likes ‘er privacy.”

“Oh,” The girl appears ridiculously crest-fallen and she slouches away, muttering over her shoulder, “I’ll come right back with your refill.”

“I deal with it a lot… it’s nothing m’not used to an’ I know ‘ow to handle it.”

Brian and Oliver talk for the rest of the afternoon way into the evening. By the end of the night, Oliver and Casey’s father are laughing loudly, cussing about how shitty people can be and swigging down the alcohol like they’d be dead in the hour.

“So… so Heather comes up to me, holding this little brown object and asks ‘Is this a peppermint paddy?’ and I say ‘No, it’s the cat’s shit!’” Oliver bursts out laughing and slams his hand on the table; Brian chortles deafeningly with him, using Oliver as a support from falling out of his chair.

There are tears in Oliver’s eyes by the time he catches his breath; his heavily tattooed chest heaves in and out as he wipes at the corners of his eyes.

“Aye, I better git goin’ to me fiancé,” Oliver remarks, “T’was nice gettin t’know yeh, Brian, an’ I ‘ope we can do this again.”

“Me too, Oli, me too,” Brian says, after they give each other a hug, “Thanks for being there for my daughter yesterday.”
“Of course.”
Both of them part ways with a final wave.