Lake
LAKE
My last class of the week is biophysics, which is a nice, light way to cap off the week. Sarcasm? Yes.
We had another quiz at the start of the lecture, so while everybody else is packing their stuff, I’m desperately going through my notes because I need to check one of my answers.
There’s a buzz in the air. The weekend is almost here, and people are clearly excited about it. I hear the word ‘party’ over and over again while I try to concentrate on the screen in front of me.
Eventually I find what I’m looking for. I read through the passage and squeeze my eyes shut before I swear silently. Idiot.
I get up and start to pack my stuff, thoroughly annoyed with myself.
I’m tired, and it’s been a long week, so that only intensifies my bad mood.
And Ryk’s away again.
It’s not his fault. It’s his job, and I knew this was what I was signing up for all along. It’s just that I’m… Well, I’m not sure what I am right now.
I throw my backpack over my shoulder, get up, and jog down the stairs to the front of the lecture hall where the professor has printed out sheets with extra reading on them. I grab one and start to walk back up while stuffing the sheet of paper into my bag.
I’m not looking where I’m going, which is a mistake since I run straight into some girl, who’s stepping out from between the rows of seats.
She lets out a gasp and all her books go flying to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
I start to pick up the books, and she crouches down to do the same. “Don’t worry about it.” She rolls her eyes. “I never look where I’m going, so it was bound to happen sometime. I’m honestly surprised I managed to last until almost the end of November before I plowed into somebody.”
I get up and hand her the books. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She pushes her dark red hair out of her face before she narrows her eyes at me. “, right?”
“Uh…” I’m startled for a moment that she seems to know who I am.
“I created our class group chat,” she continues, “so I know everybody’s names.”
I can feel my face heat because, number one, I have no idea what her name is. And number two, I’ve hardly been an active participant in the many, many, many chats people have going on in there.
Truth is, I haven’t exactly made an effort to be friendly to anybody.
“I’m Paige, by the way,” she says.
With no idea what to say, I go with a “Hi.”
I’m not good at making friends. At all. It’s why most of my friends are people I’ve known forever. Rachel, Sawyer, and I have known each other since we were in middle school, and since Kelly is Sawyer’s cousin, he just seamlessly moved into the friend group once we were all in Brighton. Christ’s sake, I even married a dude I’ve known my whole life.
Clearly, I just don’t know how to make friends. I mean, I’ve managed until almost the end of November by only interacting with other people in a professional capacity, meaning I open my mouth only when school requires it.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” Paige says in the meantime, because she hasn’t gotten the memo yet that I’m hopeless at small talk. “Hey, if you’re interested, a few of us are headed out tonight. There’s a bar near campus we’ve been going to a lot. Nothing crazy. Just an opportunity to grab a drink. Vent about the week.” She shrugs one shoulder and her smile widens. “We have to stick together, I figure, to get through these next four years.”
She looks at me expectantly, and I nod.
Paige’s smile widens even more. “Great. I’ll send you the address. We’re there basically every Friday.”
She’s already pulled her phone out, her fingers flying over the screen.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket.
She shoulders her backpack. “I have to run, but I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.”
She squeezes my forearm as she passes me and hurries out the door.
I pull my phone out on my way outside and find Paige’s message with the address of the bar. I stare at it for a while before I put the phone away.
This… It’s not like I’m planning to go.
I have stuff to do.
Laundry and dishes and… stuff.
The weather is nasty. It promises to rain later.
Yeah, I’m well aware I’m making excuses. The class group chat? It’s teeming with invitations to all sorts of activities and parties on a regular basis. Basketball tonight, anybody? Need two people. My date bailed, and I’ve got a spare ticket to go see Hamilton. Anybody interested? Study group on Wednesday. Party on Friday.
I’ve ignored all of that for months now. Partly because the spare time I have, I want to spend with Ryker, and I can’t exactly drag him along to basketball or to parties. Once, maybe, but if I start to bring him with me regularly, it’ll raise questions.
And with that being said, it’s also much easier to hide my relationship with him if I keep everybody at arm’s length. With a hundred and twenty people in my class, it’s easy to blend into the background.
I’m fine with it. It’s easier like this.
Ryk will be back tonight, and his next game is on Sunday, so we’ll get the weekend to ourselves. Sort of. My point is, he’ll be home, so we’ll get to eat together and sleep next to each other and just spend time together. He’ll still have to work out, and he’ll drag me running or something else terrible like that, but I promise right here and now to complain only minimally.
I already feel better, the strange moment from earlier fading to the background.
Once I’m back home, I try to study, but I’m too restless to sit still, so instead, I clean the apartment and make dinner while I do the hockey-husband-who-travels-a-lot math in my head.
If your husband, who plays in the NHL, has a game at one p.m., and after the game, it takes him an hour to deal with the press and another hour to take care of all sorts of team-related business, and the team jet departs Pittsburgh at four p.m., what time will that husband finally be home?
As if on cue, my phone starts to ring, and my heart jumps with excitement. I pick it up, but the name on display is not Ryk, instead it’s an unknown number.
My shoulders slump, and I make a face before I pick up the call.
“Hello?” I’m hit with immediate regrets for even answering.
There’s a beat of silence before a brisk voice says, “Am I speaking to a Mr. Bates?”
“Sure?”
“Wonderful,” the same brisk voice says. “Hold for Mr. Bates, please.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the display in total confusion. Hold for a who?
I listen to silence for a few more moments, and then there’s a click and instead of brisk I now get boisterous.
“, my boy.”
The voices are eerily similar, so for a good little while, I stand frozen and try to figure out what the fuck is happening. John’s dead. And even if he was alive, he sure as fuck wouldn’t greet me like this.
“Hello?” the not-so-dead voice of my father-but-not-really-because-sperm-donor-would-be-more-accurate says into my ear.
“Hello?” I reply, slowly and hesitantly. You know, in case I’m going insane, so then I can console myself that I did it with caution.
“Fantastic to hear from you, kid. It’s been too long.”
Okay, so I’m finally starting to connect the dots.
“Scott?” I ask in the same slow and hesitant voice I’ve been using this whole call.
My ear is hit with the kind of loud, commanding laughter I’ve always associated with Scott. It’s meant to assure all the attention is on him.
“Took you a minute there,” he says with the kind of affable tone people have always gravitated toward.
“Okay?” I honestly don’t know why everything I say comes out as a question. Or, well, I do know. I haven’t spoken to Scott in years. At least ten, I’d say, but it’s not like I’ve been anxiously counting the days.
He’s never seemed that interested in my existence, so I’m not sure why he’s suddenly calling.
I mean, sure, technically he’s my biological father, but neither of us has ever really acknowledged that fact. I don’t think he even knows that I know.
That’s the problem when your mother sleeps with her brother-in-law and doesn’t use protection. The family tree gets a bit messy with all the potential father candidates.
“How have you been?” Scott asks.
How have I been since… I was five? Which was around the last time you asked that question?
“You know. Fine,” I say. “What about you?”
“Busy on multiple fronts.” He launches into a soliloquy about how well things are going for him. I mutter an “uh-huh” every once in a while. By what feels like the seventh hour of faux-modest boasting my eyes start to glaze over.
I still don’t get why we’re even in this situation. Uncle or not, secret father or not, Scott and I haven’t been in contact in years. Why now all of a sudden?
“Kid, I can’t tell you how good it’s been catching up,” Scott finally says.
Did we catch up? I’m leaning toward no.
“Yeah,” I say. “Great.”
My tone might not be the most enthusiastic thing out there, but it’ll have to do.
“Listen, kid, I’m in town next week. I was thinking you and I could sit down and have lunch together.”
The perplexed “Why?” escapes my mouth before I can really think and tone it down into something more polite. It doesn’t escape me that this whole time, he’s only addressed me as “kid.” It seems impossible, but… does Scott not remember my name after all this time?
“We’re family, aren’t we?”
I suppose. Only, I was under the impression we were the kind that doesn’t talk.
Scott sighs, and there’s a long pause, and when he starts to speak, his tone is unusually serious.
“I understand the hesitancy. Hell, you’re most likely still wondering why I even called. See, I have a few regrets in my life, you being one of the main ones. And if you could find it in your heart to give me a chance to explain… well, I’d really like that.”
“A chance to explain what?” I get up and head to the window, where I stare outside without taking anything in.
He laughs again. “I don’t think either of us gets anything out of playing dumb, but I hear you. You’re not one for bullshit. I get it. Cards on the table, kid. We both know who we are to each other. Now, I know I haven’t been much of a father to you, but all I’m asking for is a chance to talk to you.”
This sounds about as fun as a root canal. And hey, I don’t have to volunteer for this crap.
“I don’t know if—” I start to say.
“I have an opening in my schedule next Thursday.”
“I have class.”
There’s a brief pause. “Dinner it is.”
“I don’t?—”
“I’ll have my assistant book a table and send you the details.”
For fuck’s sake!
“Scott.”
“It’s a deal.”
He fucking hangs up on me.
I stare at the phone in disbelief. What the hell? I’m honestly not sure whether I’m more flabbergasted or just angry. Seriously. What the fuck was that? Because that was not what I was signing up for. Not even a little bit.
I’m still glaring at the phone, so when it starts to ring I jerk so hard it goes flying out of my hand, lands on the floor, and slides under the couch. It takes me forever to fish it out of there and once I’m done, I flop down on the floor.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Why do you sound out of breath?” Ryk’s voice is full of laughter.
“Would you believe me if I said I was exercising?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Voluntarily?”
“Okay, fine. You caught me. I’m out of breath because I’m coming off a long, vigorous lovemaking session with my lover.” I raise my voice a bit. “Thanks, Jorge! That thing you did with your tongue was excellent. Same time next week?”
“See, I’m not happy about it, but that does sound more likely.”
“Oh, fuck you. I run.”
He laughs, and the low sound caresses my ear. I close my eyes for a moment, take a deep breath, and blow it out. I feel less tense already. I slide my back a bit to the left so that I’m lying on the carpet instead of half on it and half off and aim my gaze at the ceiling. This is my kind of meditation. The only thing that’d make this setup better would be Ryker walking in the door and coming to lie down beside me.
I was so occupied with my annoyance about Scott that my mind is only now catching up to all the other, admittedly way more important parts of my life.
“Where are you calling from?” I ask. “Did you guys land already?”
The long pause is pretty ominous. I really should’ve caught on by now that things aren’t going to go my way today.
“Yeah, about that.” Ryker blows out a breath. “There’s a freak snowstorm in Philly. We can’t take off yet.”
A wave of disappointment crashes over me. It doesn’t make sense that it’s so overwhelmingly big. Things happen. You have to roll with the punches. Life happens. Shit happens.
The wave still sweeps me off my feet, and then my mouth and nose and ears are full of sand.
I should say something supportive, like… ‘that sucks’ for example. ‘Oh, man. That sucks.’ ‘That’s so annoying.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Something in that ballpark.
“Oh” is what finally comes out. It’s not even a sympathetic oh. Not the good kind of oh that’d make it seem like I’m an understanding partner, who understands understandingly about understandably sucky circumstances.
Instead, it’s a loud, disappointed oh and there’s no room to interpret that oh as anything other as such.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
A small laugh escapes. Very small. Tiny, even. “Yeah. Fuck you for making it snow in Pennsylvania.”
He laughs too. Very softly.
“My powers got away from me.”
“Next time try and rein them in a bit maybe?”
There’s a small pause. Very small. Tiny, even.
“You know I’d melt it all if it meant I could get back to you,” he says. Softly.
I laugh again. This time it comes a bit easier.
“You’ve got money,” I say.
There’s a second of confused silence where he obviously tries to follow my train of thought.
“Sure?” he says. “So… I should use that to… get a really big fan?”
“No. You should do that rich dickhead thing where you have a crazy big carbon footprint, so you’ll accelerate climate change. The temperature of the planet rises. A lot. Ice caps melt. And then there’ll never be snow again.”
“Problem solved,” he says. “I’ll go kick a penguin for you.”
I let out a loud snort. “Yeah, right. What did penguins ever do to you, anyway?”
“Penguins can be real assholes, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“Penguins sometimes push other penguins off cliffs to check if the area is safe and if there are any predators. Saw it in a documentary once.”
“Well, that’s just common sense. They live in Antarctica. It’s tough out there,” I say.
“I don’t know why this heartless side of yours turns me on, but it does.”
“It’s because you’re so nice.”
“I am nice. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think it’s, like, a reassurance thing. You’re all honorable, so when you need to kick somebody below the belt, or just conduct general sabotage, or be petty and mean and bitchy, possibly passive aggressive, or straight-up aggressive… I’ll do it. And I won’t feel bad about it in the slightest. Basically, I’m a dick. And I’ve got your back.”
“That’s sweet. You’re my dick.”
“Yes. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty tall.”
That’s followed by a moment of confused silence. Then he snorts loudly. “So, I’ve got a really big dick.”
“You’ll need feet to measure yours, not just inches.”
“Oh damn. I’m a catch.”
We both laugh. Heaviness is warring with lightness in my chest. I’m a little sad, but for right now I get to talk to Ryk, so while it’s a lousy substitute for having him here, at least it’s something.
“Fuck, I miss you,” he sighs.
I bury the sadness and put some lightness into my tone. “You’ll be home tomorrow.”
“I better be,” he mutters darkly.
“Are you giving the snow the stink eye?” I ask with a laugh.
“It’s nothing less than it deserves.”
We talk until Ryk has to go grab dinner, and since I have nothing better to do with myself now that he’s not coming home, I drag myself into bed.
The plan is to sleep, but once I’ve taken a shower, brushed my teeth, and gotten under the covers, I’m back to staring at the ceiling.
Well.
That’s not annoying at all.
I debate getting up again to do something useful with my time. Study. Clean the bathroom. Go to a fucking movie. Anything at this point to get rid of the restlessness that’s skittering beneath my skin.
I don’t do any of it.
It’s Friday night, and I’m twenty-three. What kind of twenty-three-year-old spends their Friday night cleaning the bathroom?
The thought of studying doesn’t appeal either, for once.
The room seems abnormally quiet, except for the faint noises of the city somewhere in the background. It makes me feel small, all of a sudden.
I grab my phone, finger hovering over Ryker’s name.
But then I put the phone down on my chest.
He’ll hear it in my voice that something’s wrong, and since I can’t exactly explain what’s wrong with me right now, he’ll start to worry, and he doesn’t need that when it’s just me being stupid.
I’d call Rachel and Sawyer, but they’re somewhere on the other side of the world by now, and I have no idea what time it might be in Tahiti and no energy to look.
I press my thumb down on Kelly’s name and then I listen to the phone ring for the longest time. He doesn’t pick up. He’s probably at work. Maybe hooking up with somebody. Maybe just sleeping.
I kind of identify that restless, nagging sadness that’s taken up residence inside me then.
Loneliness.
I’m lonely.
It takes me even longer to come to terms with the fact that this really is what this feeling is. That I’m not just alone. That it’s not that at all. That really, I’m… lonely.
Because that can’t be right. I don’t do that. I’ve been alone most of my life, for fuck’s sake!
I mean, you really haven’t.
I so have! My parents pretty much?—
Yeah, yeah, your parents washed their hands of you a long time ago. It’s all very sad and traumatic, yadda, yadda, yadda, and cue sad trombone music. Womp womp.
That’s a bit harsh.
What’s harsh is to always be all, ‘oh I’m so independent. I can do it all on my own because I don’t have anybody else in my life,’ all while conveniently forgetting that you’ve always had Ryker, Rach, and Sawyer. And Kelly, too, for the last few years.
I blink at the ceiling.
The mean me is right.
I’ve never actually been lonely. Hell, arguably, I have more family than a lot of other people.
I’ve never had that moment when I don’t know what to do with myself because I’ve had Rachel, Sawyer, and Kelly right by my side. And Ryker. Always Ryker. Stubbornly sticking by me while I did my level best not to acknowledge what an important part of my life he’s always been.
I think… the reason I’ve always been good at being alone is that it’s always been voluntary. I’ve always had the option to stop being alone.
Until now.
And it’s not like there isn’t a solution. I could easily go out and make friends. Okay, so maybe not easily, but I do have Paige’s standing invite to that bar, so that’s technically a start.
A start that comes with complications.
I’ve always been out. At least for the part of my life when it has mattered. I came out to my mother a long time ago, and I’ve never looked back. It hasn’t always been sunshine and roses, but I’ve always had the luxury of telling everybody who didn’t like me to fuck off, and then I got to walk away.
But now there’s Ryker.
And I have to pretend.
And hide.
And I don’t know how to do that.
I’ve never had to before.
I blow out a breath and rub my palms over my face.
It sounds exhausting. Trying to get to know new people and then navigating what I can and what I definitely can’t say.
It’s just… It takes a lot of energy to hide who you are from the world. I never realized it quite as acutely as I do now, after two years of pretending. Pretending that Ryker is just my roommate and not the man I love.
It’s not even that I’m an especially big fan of PDA. It’s not as though most people go about their business and just randomly start groping each other in the middle of the street. It’s not like I would do that even if I could.
It’s that hiding makes me paranoid. It makes me suspect people somehow know all those things I’m not saying or showing. That the people on the subway can read my thoughts when I’m sitting next to Ryker, which means I’m abnormally aware and abnormally careful.
It’s exhausting to be careful all the time.
Fucking hell! I sound so whiny and overly dramatic that it’d frankly be embarrassing if my brain weren’t so busy being whiny and overly dramatic.
Would it be easier to just come out? To tell the world and let the chips fall where they may? Yeah. But there’s a caveat. It’d be easier for me . Not for Ryker. He’d take the brunt of those chips falling, and that’s not happening.
Not on my watch.