Chapter 22
Ryan
T he ocean was beautiful glistening in the night with the lights from the beach and the restaurant, but I just felt petulantly nostalgic for something I hadn’t even left behind yet. I’d always loved the ocean. How long was I going to look at it and just think about Brooklyn?
The host directed me and Oscar to a seat on the back terrace, wood floor and railings giving a cozy feeling from up here overlooking the beach, string lights bundled up along the length of the railing, glowing against the early night. The host spoke warmly as we sat down at a table too big for the two of us. “Can I get you two started with something, or will you be waiting for the rest of your party?”
“We’re fine waiting,” Oscar said, and I was committed to being annoying, because I said, “I’ll take a glass of Chablis.”
Oscar gave me a dry look once the host was gone. “I hear you had fun at breakfast.”
“Maybe let’s reevaluate our sources, then, because I wouldn’t go that far,” I said lightly. “I should probably regret it, but I don’t.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I paused, studying him. He wasn’t usually keen to weigh in on something like that, clear and assertive with it. “Thanks,” I said, and he shrugged.
“Shane’s kind of a dick.”
“Don’t tell me you’d also been thinking that and just didn’t want to weigh in.”
He put his hands up. “Didn’t really seem like any of my business, honestly.”
“Well, quit that,” I said, my voice low, turning to face him. “You can let me know when you think these things.”
He flashed a grin. “So that means you’re not walking out of the family? That’s what I thought you wanted to meet with everybody for.” He paused. “That and because your girlfriend is at work so you’re bored.”
“Ugh, don’t call her that,” I groaned. “I already feel like crap over the fact that this is over tomorrow.”
“Sorry.”
I waited as a waiter came out with a bottle of Chablis, introducing himself and showing me the label, and poured me a taste—sniffed it, sipped it, signaled it was fine, and once I had a full glass and the waiter had gone back to another table, I turned to Oscar and said, “I want to try.”
“Try what?”
“Fixing things with my family. No… fixing implies I’m getting it back to how it was.” I shook my head, swirling my wine under my nose, letting my gaze drift out to the ocean. “I feel like I’ve just been… passively… letting a family exist. Maybe it’s corny, but I want to cultivate something I love. And I don’t think I can do that without pissing off the people who aren’t right for me.”
He chuckled. “Damn.”
“What?” I shot him a look, and he grinned.
“She did a number on you.”
“Psh…” I rolled my eyes, sipping my wine. “Granted,” I said. “Yeah, you got me there.”
“Well, you’re stuck with me at least. You didn’t even leave me alone in the womb, so I’m never giving you a minute of peace.”
“Try not to be quite so affectionate.” Sarcasm aside, I stopped, gaze flicking to the beach, when I saw Allison walking out of the water not too far away, and I had to suppress a laugh when I saw her walk up to where Stella was there on the beach too, getting changed and pulling real clothes on over her swimwear. Of course Stella would stay on the beach until the very last second, and of course Allison would stay with her for every second she could.
But also, the two of them were standing way too close. I couldn’t believe Stella’s… lack of originality. I mean, sure, I knew she wanted to be closer to me and share more experiences, but did that mean she had to hook up with a girl just because I did?
Oscar noticed me staring off into the distance, but he didn’t catch Stella before the host came back, bringing Mom to the table and seating her down across from me and Oscar, where she gave me a smile that was sweet but loaded with about a million different thoughts and feelings at once.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “Hi, Oscar. Have you heard from Stella? I thought she’d be here first.”
I spoke over Oscar saying he hadn’t to say, “I’m sure she’ll be here in a second. Probably off flirting with someone on the beach.”
Mom sighed good-naturedly and said, “Both my daughters off frolicking in paradise… Oscar, you might as well introduce me to your date too.”
Oscar made a face. “I went on a vacation to a far-off island to be around people less. Dating someone defeats the purpose.”
I gave him a shove. “Sorry, Mom,” I said. “Think you might have to accept this one’s not getting married at any point.”
Mom laughed airily. “Oscar stays celibate and you marry a woman… Stella might be my only chance at grandkids.”
Oscar spoke up before I could. “Pretty sure lesbians have kids too, Mom.”
“Also—” I said. “I’m not a lesbian. I could end up with a man.”
Mom sat up a little taller. “Right. Yes. I know. Well, you like women better, though, don’t you?”
“That’s not a thing, Mom.”
Oscar gave me a weird look. “It’s not?”
“I—” I burned suddenly. If the past week had taught me anything, it was that I had more of a preference than I thought. I hunched my shoulders, looking away. “That’s not the point.”
Mom and Oscar laughed together, and I’d have bristled at the two of them banding up on me—very unfairly, I might add—if I weren’t too busy feeling a hundred ways about talking casually about women to Oscar and my mother.
“Well,” Mom said, “even if you didn’t have kids, I’m just grateful you’re here.”
I softened, picking up my wine, looking down into it. “I know you were trying not to take sides, but letting Shane carry on as if he didn’t do anything was basically taking sides already. And it hurt.”
“I know, and…” Mom sat up taller, folding her hands on the table, looking past me and out to the ocean. “I am… I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t think he would do something like that. It seemed like it must have been a mistake.”
Oscar spoke quietly. “Ryan’s mistake?”
“Well, no,” Mom said, and with a grateful smile his way, I took his lead.
“Whose, then?”
Mom withered, just a little, her shoulders falling. “Sweetheart, it’s just… I’m sorry. I love you.” She struggled—clearly had a hundred follow-ups she wanted to say, a hundred ways to turn I love you into I love you but, but she visibly, clearly, restrained herself, leaving it at that. I felt like I’d cry a little. Loaded childhood feelings and being desperate to get approval from my mother? Me? Never. I gave her a smile that I hoped didn’t look like I wanted to cry.
“I love you too. So… are we good, then?”
Mom didn’t get to respond before the terrace door swung open again, Stella coming out this time, and she did look all too happy… “You guys didn’t tell me you were all going to show up early,” she said, sitting down between me and Mom. “So what’s going on, what did I miss?”
I smiled warmly at her. “Done frolicking and flirting on the beach?”
“Frolicking and—what?” Stella scratched the back of her head, giving me an embarrassed scowl. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just hanging out. Ugh—I haven’t met any boys here. I’m so disappointed.”
Indeed she did not. Oscar, though, arched an eyebrow at her. “Things didn’t pan out with Jacob, then, huh?”
“Jacob?” Stella visibly blanked for a second before she shook her head. “Ugh… he’s a dick. Pass.”
“Right,” I said. I smiled sweetly. “Well, it’s a good thing you and Allison have been good friends.”
“Oh, um… yeah.” Stella shifted in her seat. “Yeah, it’s been fun hanging out with her and stuff. So, what were we talking about?”
Mom missed what was going on—honestly, I think even Oscar missed it, which raised some questions about just how obvious Brooklyn and I had been and how Stella had missed it—and she folded her hands on the table, looking at Stella softly and saying, “We were just talking about your sister, sweetheart.”
“Well, yeah, I know that,” Stella said. “Were you apologizing for being weird?”
Mom pursed her lips, visibly weighing it over before she said, “I guess so.”
I held my wine glass close to my face, a shield against the emotional vulnerability, and I said, “We were talking about everyone taking Shane’s side… Mom said she was sorry for trying to not take sides and ending up hurting me in the process.”
Stella folded her arms on the table. “So, did we get into the whole thing with Ryan’s career, or are we slow-walking the apologies?”
I sighed, putting a hand up. “Stella, it’s… it’s fine. I know these things are complicated—”
“No, I—I owe you an apology for that too,” Mom said, her voice strained, but honestly it might have hit harder for the fact that it was visibly difficult—that this was so hard for her but she was still doing it. “I’ve had an image in my head of what you were supposed to be like. I’m not… I’m not very good at this. I’ve never raised children before,” she laughed through tears, wiping them away with that frustrated gesture she always did when she was trying not to cry and did anyway. “But all I want is that you know I love you. I love all of you, and I want to hear what you actually need.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Mom… thank you.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “What I actually need is dinner, and I think our waiter is eyeing us wondering if it’s safe to come ask us for our orders.”
Stella rolled her eyes audibly. “Oh my god, Oscar, let someone have an emotional moment without running away hissing.”
But I let him have his hissing retreat—I was starving. I sat up straighter and smiled as the waiter came back to the table, and we placed our orders, frantically looking over menus we’d neglected, except for Stella, who had genuinely only just shown up and took a split-second glance at the menu before ordering blackened grouper. She always did that—hovered around the menu, took one look, and immediately picked what she wanted and dove in headfirst.
I wondered if that was symbolic of anything.
∞∞∞
I felt a strange mixture of lightness and exhaustion like I’d had a big workout once we’d finished the meal, moving to the boardwalk plaza looking out over the ocean, music playing softly and Mom and Oscar both at the bar while I sat on the loveseat next to Stella, holding up my drink to hers.
“Here’s to vacation,” I said, and she didn’t make fun of me like I’d thought, tapping her glass to mine.
“Here’s to vacation,” she said. “I didn’t think Mom would come around so readily.”
“Ah…” I leaned against the arm, staring out over the ocean. “Brooklyn talked to her.”
She looked incredulously at me. “Your girlfriend got Mom to sort herself out?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said, voice sharp. Stella ignored the tone.
“Could be. She’s really into you.”
I sighed, a hand to my forehead. “Stella, don’t. I’m really into her, too. But I talked it over with her. Neither of us is willing to uproot our lives for this. So… it can’t work. It’s painful. I’d rather not dwell on it.”
She made a face, looking out to the distance. “Ugh… I thought maybe I had a chance of actually liking your girlfriend. That would have been cool.”
It would have, though, wouldn’t it? Things like bringing my partner around to meet my family, seeing them get along, went from feeling like an obligation to a soft, warm sensation in my chest that was, in this context, a deep ache. But like I said—I’d rather not dwell on it. “Maybe you’ll like my future girlfriend.”
She elbowed me. “Now who’s erasing your bisexuality?”
“Oh.” I laughed awkwardly. “Or… whatever.”
“What, are you a lesbian after all, or do you just have a hard time picturing anything other than Brooklyn at this point?”
I sighed, a hand to my forehead. “Yeah, the latter.”
“Point taken.” She leaned back in the seat, kicking one leg up over the other, sipping her drink, and I took the opportunity to say,
“So, you tried it out with Allison?”
She spat her drink back into her glass, whirling on me with a betrayed look. “BB told you?”
Well, there we were. I raised my eyebrows. “She didn’t. I was just guessing. But I’m… taking that as confirmation.”
She hunched her shoulders, going moodily back to her drink. “Ugh… I guess I kind of figured she’d tell you. She did tell me some things she said you’d kill her for saying, so I assumed she wasn’t exactly one for secrets.”
I pursed my lips. “And… what, pray tell, are those things?”
“I asked her how enthusiastic you were for your first time.”
I looked straight ahead. “Did you, now.”
“She said very.”
“Mm.” I set my drink down, tenting my hands. “Well, enthusiastic consent is important.”
She took her straw, focusing intently on stirring her drink. “It’s just to try it out on vacation.”
“Trying out what, romance or sex?”
“Both.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Huh,” I said. “So… what’s the answer?”
She hugged herself as wind came in off the ocean, tossing her hair in long strands over her shoulders. She stared out to the distance for a long time, before, contemplatively, she said, “I come way harder with a girl.”
“Okay—well. Congratulations on that.”
She gave me an inquisitive look. “Is that just a me thing?”
“No—” I put my hands up, looking away. “No, it’s not. Not like it’s some… universal law… but it’s something a lot of girls say.”
“I’ve only touched her a little bit, but she seemed like she really liked it. It’s kind of… I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It feels like things are so stiff with a guy. Like, he could be really sexy, but it’s kind of boring how he’s all… macho and acts like it’s whatever.”
“Uh-huh…”
“The last guy I was with didn’t make any sound in bed. It was so awkward. I’d just be down there wondering if any of it was working…”
I laughed, spontaneously, surprising myself. “Shane was pretty quiet too,” I said. “He’d make a few stock comments, but that was it.”
She whirled on me. “So it’s a thing guys do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t slept with them all.”
She laughed. “I know. You barely sleep with anyone. I still can’t believe you got into this with Brooklyn.”
“Uh-huh… me neither, honestly.” I took a long sip of my drink before I said, “Have you been with anyone queer before Allison?”
“Like a bisexual guy or something?” She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“I feel like you should probably try. I don’t think you realize how much you hate gender roles.”
She scowled. “I thought you were the one telling me how I’m all old-fashioned like Grandma because I want guys to approach me.”
“ You seem more upset than anyone that it’s ‘supposed’ to be guys approaching you. Is it that you want guys to approach you, or is it that you feel like you’re not allowed to approach them?”
She chewed her cheek. I shrugged.
“You don’t like guys being emotionally unavailable, you want soft sweet romance from both parties, and you enjoyed being able to reverse it with Allison, where she makes it clear she’s interested and you approach her. And it sounds like you don’t dislike men in bed, it sounds like you dislike men being stereotypically manly in bed.”
“Do you think?” she said, letting her gaze drift out to the horizon. “Um… so… what? Am I straight and just want a guy without the toxic masculinity?”
“I want you to take a minute thinking about the things you’ve done with Allison and tell me if you’d describe another woman as straight if she did that.”
She looked out to the distance, quiet for a good five seconds, before, quietly, she said, “I think I’m not straight.”
“Cool, yeah, me neither.”
“Seriously? What are the odds of that?”
I laughed. “Like I said, there’s a lot of bisexual women… sometimes we just don’t get to realize it without other people helping us see it. Would you have realized if you didn’t have a bisexual sister who dragged you into a group of queer girls, one of them with a crush on you?”
She looked down, kicking at the ground. “It just feels like an arbitrary label. I feel like everyone’s a little bit bisexual, you know?”
“I don’t think everyone is, but I think a lot of people are at least a little flexible. Some people are completely straight, some people are completely gay, a lot of people are more to one side or the other. Some people are smack-dab in the middle.”
“I think that’s me.”
I stopped, giving her an odd look. “Smack-dab in the middle? Seriously?”
She picked at the rim of her glass. “I don’t know. I mean, girls are really cool. I just never thought of it as, like… attraction.”
It was kind of obvious now that I stopped and thought it over… she’d always stuck to her female friends, gushing over them. She’d been furious when her one-time best friend had dated a really gross guy and how she was way out of his league, and looking back, it was pretty clearly the cry of a girl with a crush on her best friend upset the friend was dating someone else. Maybe I’d never paid that much attention to Stella either.
Maybe she was kind of cool.
“I think I like girls better,” I said, looking back out over the ocean. “I still like guys, but it just feels a little more… right, with a woman.”
She looked sidelong at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I think…” I sighed heavily. “I’d like to have a girlfriend. Once I’ve had some time to… well… recover.”
She watched me for a long time before she turned back to the beach below us. “Yeah… me too. I think it’d be fun to try. Just…”
“Just once we’ve had a minute.”
She ran her fingers idly around the edge of her glass in lieu of answering. Her middle two fingers. Had she always been this obvious? Christ, how embarrassing. “Yeah,” she said quietly.
My chest ached watching her, seeing that far-off look in her eyes, suddenly hurting with the injustice that she and Allison couldn’t try what they clearly both wanted. I wanted to tell her just travel more in the future, come see her more, as if that wasn’t what everyone had been telling me and I’d been pushing away from me all this time.
I sighed, hard, pointedly, following her gaze out to the distance. “Feelings kind of suck.”
“I just want to fall in love,” she mumbled.
I tried to push Brooklyn out of my mind. Couldn’t, though. That was probably going to be a description of the next three months… six months… six years. Who the hell knew?
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”