My Second Condition

Date: May 19, 1997 | Location: London, England

POV Oliver

"That's enough for today," said Frank, his kickboxing coach. Oliver dropped to the floor and struggled to catch his breath.

"Kid, what's gotten into you today?" Frank asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Everything's fine. I just needed to burn off some energy," Oliver managed between breaths.

That morning had affected him more than he'd expected. Over the past three years, Mill Grove had actually started to feel like home. As reluctant as he was to admit it, Margaret, Beatrice, Helen, and even the people from the church choir and the gym had grown on him.

"Everything's fine? Are you fucking kidding me, kid?" Frank shot back. "You came at me like a wild animal."

Frank lifted his shirt slightly and showed him the red mark where Oliver had accidentally hit him.

He looked at Frank's fat stomach, where a clear imprint had already begun to form.

"Oh, so that's why the impact was so soft. It wasn't the padding after all," he said with a provocative grin.

"Argh, shut up and get out of here. I don't need that nun on my ass again because you go home with a black eye," Frank snapped.

Oliver grinned. He knew perfectly well that the beer belly was a sore spot for his coach. He had found that out during one of their sparring sessions, when he'd taunted Frank that he was too fat to catch him in the first place.

Frank had proven him wrong almost immediately. He had actually tried to pull the punch in time, but Oliver had dodged in exactly the wrong direction and moved straight into it.

An accident Margaret had shown remarkably little understanding for.

Oliver laughed, gathered his things, and headed home.

Home. At least for now.

On the way back, his thoughts drifted to Marge again. Before her fall, she never would have let him walk back alone. Since then, he'd tried to take as much off her shoulders as he could. He carried her bags, took out the rubbish, and had even tried to help her in the garden.

"What the hell have you done to my roses?" she'd yelled at him—the first and, so far, only time she'd ever done so—before banning him from ever setting foot in her flower garden again.

Oliver laughed at the memory. Marge was an incredibly proud woman. She would never willingly admit that she needed help. She was the one who helped others, not the other way around.

But Oliver still had an ace up his sleeve.

A few minutes later, he passed Helen's house. His gaze lingered on the windows for a moment, and his thoughts turned to Bea.

He would miss her, that much was certain. But the study was exactly what she needed: individual support from specialists, children her own age with the same disability, and most importantly, some distance from him.

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Over the years, she had developed a dependence on him that wouldn't be good for her in the long run.

Being apart didn't mean they had to lose touch. Quite the opposite. Bea was part of his new family.

Accepting that alone had taken him a long time. Sometimes it had almost felt like a betrayal of his old family, as though he were replacing them simply because he had started to love people here again.

But he wasn't. He had to keep living. He couldn't stay trapped in the past forever—or, in his case, the future.

By the time Oliver pulled himself out of his thoughts, Mill Grove was already in sight. There was still one thing he needed to deal with.

When he arrived, he headed straight for Margaret.

"Come in!" he heard her call before he'd even knocked.

Very ominous, he thought as he opened the door.

"We need to talk," she said, giving him a stern look.

Oliver stopped and blinked a few times. He was having a serious case of déjà vu, except this time, apparently, he wasn't the one about to get his ass chewed out.

"Yeah, we need to talk," he replied as he sat down on the sofa opposite her.

"Olli, this isn't a discussion. You're going to that interview, and you're going to do your best. No games."

"My second condition. You promised," he replied calmly.

Margaret stared at him in shock. More than two years had passed, and not once had he held her to that promise.

"What does that have to do with anything? If anything, that's all the more reason for you to go!" she demanded.

Oliver didn't answer. He simply looked at her.

Margaret pressed her lips together. It was obvious she wasn't willing to accept that.

"Don't be stupid, Olli," she said, her voice noticeably sharper than before.

Oliver merely shook his head. He could see how hard she was trying not to lose her temper. This was his future they were talking about, after all, and he wasn't even giving her a plausible explanation.

"I may be old, but unless my memory is failing me, you're the one putting your own well-being and safety at risk right now," she said, clearly agitated.

Oliver wasn't entirely sure whether she meant Oxford or whether she was about to come after him herself.

"Sister Mar—" He stopped and took another deep breath. "Grandma Marge, unless you make sure there's someone here to help you, I'm not going anywhere."

He had no idea how she would react, but somehow, calling her that felt surprisingly right. Margaret seemed to have been struck speechless.

"My second condition." He paused for a moment. "Your promise."

Margaret looked at him, but for a moment her eyes seemed to lose focus, as though her mind had drifted back to that evening more than two years ago, when they had sat in this very room and she had made him that promise.

"

"If it concerns an important decision about me and there's no immediate danger, you accept it when I say no. Even if I can't explain why."

"Why should I agree to that?" she'd asked, amused.

"Because in return, I promise that while I'm here, I won't simply refuse to do what you say or disobey your instructions. I'll do what you say as long as it doesn't put me in danger."

After a brief hesitation, she'd finally said, "Fine! But if you break your word even once, that promise is off!"

"

"And I've kept my promise," Oliver said. "For more than two years, I've done everything you asked without complaint or argument. Now it's your turn."

"I don't need help—and even if I did, that has nothing to do with my promise," she replied sharply. The very idea seemed to bother her.

"Nothing to do with it? I thought I'd made myself clear, Grandma!" he said, emphasizing the last word. "My family has a direct impact on my well-being!"

Before she could respond, he continued.

"Ecclesiastes, chapter four, verses nine and ten: Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up."

Margaret stared at him in silence for a while.

"Who am I to argue with the word of God?" she finally said, letting out a weary sigh. "Now get out!"

Oliver grinned. She'd dragged him to church every Sunday for three years. About time it finally paid off.

He headed toward his room, but before he'd even made it out of the office, he heard Margaret call after him.

"Proverbs 16:18: Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."

His grin vanished.

Margaret smiled.

"Have fun in Oxford."