Lake
LAKE
We’re late.
To be fair, we were already cutting it close by the time we made it back from our run, so showering together had seemed like a no-brainer, since we were trying to be quick. That failed spectacularly because it turns out neither of us has any self-control and blow jobs take a lot of time.
My hair still hasn’t fully dried by the time we get to the restaurant Genevive picked out for us. She watches us approach with a smile on her face and, once we get to the table, she gets up and hugs Ryker before we go through the awkward dance of trying to figure out if we’re going to hug, too.
Yes. We are.
“I’m sorry we’re late,” I say once we’ve all sat down. “Traffic.”
She waves me off. “It wasn’t that long. I took care of some calls while I was waiting.”
As soon as we’ve settled in, the waiter comes over to take our drink orders, and once he’s gone, Genevive picks up the gift bag sitting next to her on the table and holds it out for Ryker. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
Ryker perks up. He takes the bag and opens it before he looks up with a wide grin and holds up a tie.
“Thanks. Just what I needed. How did you know?”
“You wore the same tie in every post-game photo and video clip last season.” Genevive nods at the bag. “There are five more. Be a good son and add some variety to your wardrobe.”
Ryker leans over the table and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
She looks pleased and tracks Ryker with an adoring look.
“How are you, son of mine?”
“Starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
She lets out an amused sigh. “Aren’t athletes supposed to be rigorous about their diet?”
“It’s the birthday exception.”
“Is that what the kids call a hangover nowadays?” she counters.
I snort out a laugh, which is a mistake because it draws her attention to me. Genevive sends me a friendly smile, and I can feel all my defenses jumping up.
Parents are tricky entities for me. My own leave a lot to be desired. The man I thought was my father did everything he could not to acknowledge my existence. My mother moved to the other side of the world with her on-again-off-again boyfriend and only sporadically contacts me, usually when she needs something from me. As for my biological father, I have no idea whether he even knows I exist. He might, he might not. I haven’t been interested in establishing any kind of relationship with him.
“How have you been, ?” Genevive asks.
I really wish I was better at this. I wish small talk would come naturally, so I could just get over myself and relax and enjoy the evening, but there’s a lot of water under this bridge, and I always end up feeling like it’s rapidly rising higher all around me while my feet are cemented to the ground.
“Good,” I say. “I’m good.”
“How’s New York treating you so far?” she continues. “First year of medical school is starting soon, right?”
This is the part where normal people launch into funny stories about life or make witty observations about the city, or at the very least, they’ll have something mundane to say about settling into a new kind of routine now that summer’s over.
“Good,” I say. “It’s been good.”
I’m a real-life conversational wizard. The worst part is that I know that the worse I fail with this, the worse Ryker will feel. He wants me to love his family so much, and I’m trying. Kind of. I’m doing almost my best. My point is, nobody can enjoy this dinner if one of the participants is so clearly uncomfortable the whole time. Not to mention it’s all without a valid reason. So, I have to either get better at relaxing around Genevive or at the very least get better at pretending to relax around Genevive.
I clear my throat.
Do better .
“I’m excited about school. I’m sure it’s going to be challenging as hell, but I’m crossing my fingers I won’t do something too stupid on my first day.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great. You always were a smart boy.” She smiles. “Even John?—”
She abruptly stops speaking. That was a bit of a faux pas on her part. It’s probably not the best form to bring up the dead, estranged sort-of-father in conversation.
I try to think of something to say, but my mind is completely blank.
Luckily, that’s when the waiter comes back to tell us about the menu. It involves a lot of vaguely French-sounding words I still don’t understand, even after a year of Genevive bringing me and Ryker to these fancy restaurants. Once the waiter finishes, I kind of expect Genevive to focus back on Ryker, but she seems dead set on drawing me into the conversation.
“Ryker said you took some classes during the summer?” She takes a sip of wine.
I’m back to my tried and trusted one-word replies.
“Yes.”
Ryker to the rescue.
“He’s annoyingly smart, so he’s already making an impression,” he says before he grins at me and throws his arm casually over the back of my chair. I’m not sure he even realizes what he’s doing, or if anybody would interpret this as anything other than an innocent gesture, but to me right now he might as well just straddle me and start dry-humping me, what with me being on edge already about this evening.
Once again, my cheeks heat, and the temperature in the room seems to rise rapidly. My throat is dry, and I don’t know where to look or what to do with my hands.
I used to be so good at being indifferent and detached. Back when I only had to worry about myself. Just me and my own feelings and moods.
“I’m glad you two are still so close after all these years,” Genevive says.
“Speaking of close.” Ryker pushes his chair closer to me decisively. I freeze.
Fucking hell, I’m being impossibly ridiculous, but I can’t seem to help it.
“I have something I want to tell you,” Ryker says.
Can she guess? Is it obvious? Will this come completely out of the blue for her?
I fidget with the utensils. One of the forks isn’t aligned to the rest, but I’m determined to fix that. It’s a fiddly, complicated job that requires every ounce of my attention and I definitely, definitely need to stare intently at the fork lest I mess this all up even more.
“I’m bisexual,” Ryker says, calm and cool, like coming out to his mom is no big deal at all.
Genevive doesn’t say anything at all for a long while, her hand frozen to the wineglass she was just starting to pick up when Ryker detonated that tiny bomb.
Maybe she’s letting it sink in?
I don’t think I’ve ever heard silence this loud.
I have no idea what makes me do it. It would be infinitely more like me to just shut up and not get involved, but for some reason this is the moment my brain decides to throw in its own two cents.
“With me.”
It takes me a good few seconds to catch up to the fact that those words came out of my mouth.
Both Ryker and Genevive are staring at me now.
Oh, good. It’s even more awkward and uncomfortable than I initially predicted.
“He’s being bisexual with me,” I add, because clearly somewhere in there I figured those words need to be said. Out loud. Of course, now that they’re out, I’m not so sure those words should’ve been said in that exact way. Or at all.
It takes forever for Genevive to say anything, and once she does, it’s simply “Oh.”
There’s an uncharacteristic moment of optimism on my side, because that’s pretty much exactly what my mom’s reaction was when I came out, and she was totally fine with it. Of course, that might’ve mostly been because she doesn’t really care about what’s going on with my life in general. That’s not the point. The point is, I only had the one parent left by then, so revealing something like this was scary as fuck, but she didn’t care that much.
“Do you…” Genevive’s eyes flick between me and Ryker, focusing on her son’s arm on the back of my chair. She purses her lips a tiny bit. “Do you think that’s smart?”
I almost snort out a laugh.
No .
That’s the answer, I think. All things considered. Not that I want to reduce everything Ryker and I are and have down to problems with him coming out. I don’t even think Ryker sees it as a problem. I think I’m approaching it as a potential problem, but he doesn’t seem to think that. I suppose it’s one of those moments we have where I expect the worst from the world and Ryker trusts that people are inherently decent.
Still, right now, he tenses next to me.
“Smart?” he repeats.
Genevive sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it then?” Ryker’s voice is even more tense now.
“I’m simply saying that… you’re a professional athlete. It complicates things. The current political climate is fraught with tension. Not to mention you two share the kind of family history that some people might find… objectionable.”
“Objectionable.” Ryker’s brow furrows.
“You two are stepbrothers, darling.”
“And you’re one of those people who finds it objectionable?” Ryker asks.
Genevive seems lost for words for a moment.
“I’m just worried about whether it’s a good idea.”
“I’m in love. In a relationship. You should be happy for me.”
Genevive wrings her hands. “I am.”
“It sure as hell doesn’t sound like it,” Ryker snaps.
This is getting out of hand very fast. My gaze darts between the two of them. I have to say something, but I don’t know what. I don’t know how to de-escalate situations, and since I witnessed years of my parents fighting with each other, conflict just makes me really uncomfortable.
“Maybe we should all take a deep breath,” I say. “And calm down.”
That’s when the waiter finally arrives with our food. I’m going to tip him extra for his excellent timing.
Instead of picking up his fork, though, Ryker leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at his mom.
“Have you thought it all through?” Genevive asks. “The possible repercussions. What it means to your career. Have you considered this from all angles?”
“It’s love, not one of your spreadsheets,” Ryker says tightly.
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think things through, for God’s sake!”
“How very supportive,” Ryker mutters.
“This is me being supportive. Honey, you’re both still so young.”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“Which is impossibly young.”
“Interestingly enough, young doesn’t have to mean dumb.”
Genevive takes a deep breath. “I’m not explaining myself correctly.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Ryker snaps.
“Ryk,” I say quietly.
“All I’m saying is that you could change—” Genevive starts, but the look Ryker sends her is downright enraged.
“Change my sexual orientation? Oh! Or I could figure out it’d be easier to be with a woman, right? That would be more convenient, I guess?”
“That wasn’t—” Genevive starts to say, but Ryker pushes himself up from his seat to the soundtrack of his chair legs scraping loudly over the floor.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
He turns on his heel and marches out of the restaurant, leaving me to sit there with Genevive, who’s still clutching the stem of her wineglass between her fingers.
We both stare after Ryker in startled silence for a few moments. This escalated so fast I can’t seem to get over the whiplash.
A few more seconds pass.
I clear my throat, and Genevive’s wide gaze snaps to me.
“I… I’m going to go see if he’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Genevive says. “I just…” She shakes her head. “It’s not that I have anything against your relationship. That’s not what I was saying.” She rubs her fingertips against her forehead. “It’s still not coming out right. I have to go talk to him.”
“Maybe,” I say loudly when she starts to get up, “maybe it’d be better to let him calm down a bit?”
She slumps back in her chair and looks around the restaurant. She seems lost.
“I’m gonna…” I gesture in the direction of the door. Genevive nods absently, and I take that as my cue to escape. I grab both our jackets and head outside. Ryker is pacing near the corner of the building and snaps his head up when he hears me approach.
He rakes his fingers through his hair before he looks at me, and then he’s walking toward me with a look of determination on his face. A second later I’m in his arms, and he’s hugging me like he never wants to let me go. I wrap my arms around him in return and wait. He’s tense for a second, almost like he’s expecting me to push him away, so I squeeze him tighter. He leans his forehead against my shoulder and turns his head so his lips are against my skin.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I murmur back.
I can feel his lips quirk into a small smile before he snorts. I shrug my shoulder so his head moves up and down until he lifts it and looks at me.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask.
“I really, really do.”
I ache to take his hand in mine, but I can’t risk making things worse, so instead, I stuff my hands into my pockets to avoid doing something stupid.
“Come on, then,” I say.