Chapter 24
Ryan
I knew saying goodbye was a mistake the second I closed the door to Brooklyn’s house behind me, but I didn’t turn around like I should have. Just kept on walking, telling myself take ten more steps and then you can think about it, just ten more steps , and eventually, ten more steps added up to the airport gate, where I sat together with the whole family feeling the tension sizzle and bubble around us.
Oscar and Stella had apparently taken it on themselves to flank me, sitting on either side of me in the terminal gate, sterile white walls and tile floors and tall windows looking out over one of the two runways the airport had. Quiet right now—not the busiest airport. I’d been through smaller, but going through this one alongside the oppressive silence of my family felt claustrophobic.
Not least of all because Shane had not, in fact, made good on his promise to leave early, and he sat in the row of seats across from me, clearly trying to make eye contact with me. I had no clue what for. Guilting me for leaving him or guilting me for having been with him—I had no idea how to convey to him that I could not possibly have cared any less about anyone who wasn’t Brooklyn Sterling at the moment.
Amongst the smattering of cousins and other aunts and uncles, Mom sat on Oscar’s other side from me, lining up the four of us in a way that felt painfully symbolic against where Aunt Helena and her husband James sat on one side of Shane and my grandparents on the other, Aunt Helena whispering to Shane while my grandparents exchanged quiet complaints—from the bits I could pick out, about the trip, about my parents, and of course, about me.
I kind of wished it would blow up. This awkward tension of dead silence where everybody waited for somebody else to say something first, all keeping their bitter thoughts on the inside where everybody knew they were having them but nobody could say anything about them, made me want to scream. I never thought I’d long for hearing the kind of incessant fake-polite conversation that had been going a mile a minute on the flight here, but dammit, I was almost willing to beg somebody to say something before, almost right on the dot half an hour before boarding was supposed to start, the monkey’s paw curled, and I regretted what I’d wished for, because it was Grandma who spoke.
“Well, that’s the last vacation I go on,” she said, in that specific tone of voice where it sounded like a whisper but was clearly intended to be “accidentally” overheard, and Aunt Helena went red in the face, sitting up taller.
“Mom, please don’t say things like that,” she said. “This was just a one-off event. We’ll make sure everybody behaves next time,” she added, eyes narrowed at me as she did, voice sharpened to a prong. Stella stood up before I could stop her.
“Can we not with the passive-aggressive remarks?” she said, and Grandma scowled at her.
“Oh, and that’s what we need right now, is it? To crown things off with an argument at the airport?”
Mom put her hands up placatingly. “Mom, please. It’s just been a lot for everybody. Don’t pick on my children.”
“ Picking on? ” Aunt Helena said, through forced, derisive laughter. “Your children getting held accountable is picking on them? I guess you never change, Elizabeth.”
“Helena,” Mom said thinly. “I know you’re upset—”
“I’m not upset. I just don’t think you have any damn right to act like just because you have children, they’re always right, over our own mother.”
“Helena—”
Stella raised her voice enough it broke the social barrier, the rest of the terminal turning to look at us. I stared at the floor between my feet, too angry to be mortified, as she said, “Leave my mom out of this, Auntie. We all know you’re just taking out your anger that James didn’t want kids—”
“ Stella, ” Aunt Helena snapped at the same time as Grandma, but Stella was clenching her fists tightly, quivering on the spot.
“And we know Grandma is just angry that Ryan is bisexual and not sticking to her ideals of a miserable housewife—”
“I can’t believe you’d say that,” Aunt Helena cut in, rising from her seat, clutching James’ hand so hard they both turned white—James, for his part, pretended he couldn’t see any of this. Maybe the first time I’d related to the man. “This whole family only exists because of your grandmother and everything she’s done for you—”
“I’m not beholden to her every bad mood because she’s my grandmother,” Stella said, “and neither is Ryan. Neither is my mother! She’s a bully, and you’re a bully, and Shane is a dirty-ass cheater, so if you all hate this, I’d say you get what you deserve!”
The gate exploded into chatter, shouting, people trying to calm it and people jumping in to take sides, while Grandma clutched her bag in her lap with a white-faced look like she’d pass out, and I didn’t even really make the decision—I found myself up on my feet, the blood pounding in my head, and I stayed there silently until everybody had paused long enough to look at me.
“I guess I should have stuck with the original plan,” I said coolly. “Go on without me. I’ll find my own way back.”
“Ryan—” Aunt Helena’s voice cracked, frayed. “You’re being ungrateful and immature right now—”
I turned and met her gaze, looking into her eyes with—I didn’t even know what kind of look, but it must not have been a regular one for me, judging by the way she recoiled white-faced like I’d pulled a knife on her. I held it for a second before I said, quietly, “That’s fine by me. Let’s not do this again, Aunt Helena. I don’t think we need to talk anymore. You live your life, and I’ll live mine. You too, Grandma. Enjoy yourselves.”
I turned on my heel, walking at a quick clip before I could rethink it, shoes clicking on the tile floor as the wheels on my suitcase rolled along behind me, and over the chatter and commotion, I heard Stella behind me yell out to the group, “And I’m bisexual too, so thanks for the fucking support!”
Didn’t even realize she was following me until I got out to the baggage claim, standing my suitcase and leaning back against the wall with a bone-deep sigh, and I raised an eyebrow at the sight of Stella marching out after me, tears in the corners of her eyes.
“Hey,” I said. “You don’t need to march out in solidarity.”
“I’m marching out because I can’t stand this fucking family,” she said, trying to be tough with it, but her voice cracked and wavered, tears budding higher in her cheeks. I didn’t even think—put out an arm, and I pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tightly, and she gripped me so tightly it felt like my ribcage would collapse like an empty soda can. She cried into my collar, the frustrated kind of tears where she was trying not to cry and it was only making her cry harder, gripping fistfuls of the back of my shirt.
“Let it out,” I said quietly. “You’re safe here.”
“It’s just… none of it’s fair,” she said thickly. “They’re always so mean even without saying anything, but since it’s without saying anything, it’s always like I’m the bad guy… for saying something… but none of them have ever given two shits about me. Nobody gives a fuck.”
I squeezed her. Think I was crying too now. I let it happen, taking a shaky breath. “They really don’t,” I murmured. “I can’t think of a day they haven’t tried to talk over you and dismiss you. No wonder you’ve gotten to be so loud.”
She laughed, cried, all in one. “I thought you’d argue… all my friends do that. You know, oh, they’re your family, they love you, family’s just like that. ”
“Your friends don’t know the family. I do. Love takes a lot of forms, but none of them look like that bullshit.”
She squeezed me tighter. It actually kind of started to hurt a little, but… she needed this right now. Hell, I needed this right now. I squeezed her even tighter, my arms burning, as she mumbled, “You’re the one who they’ve been harassing all this time and I’m the one crying on you…”
“Hey, I’m crying too,” I laughed weakly, and she sniffled.
“You don’t cry very hard.”
“You’re just louder than me in everything… including in coming out. You made a journey that took me ten years in about five days.”
“What’s it matter? They can’t hate me more. They might as well hate me for who I actually am.”
I paused for a second before I said, “Hey, Stella?”
“What?”
“Don’t quote me on this or expect me to ever say this again, but I love you. Thanks for standing up for me.”
She choked out a laugh. “You do not. You can barely stand me.”
“That too, but I also love you at the same time. Siblings, and all that.”
She stepped back from the hug, wiping her eyes, before, with a wobbly voice, she said, “Yeah.” And then, “Love you too. This sucks. But I feel like I at least got a cool sister out of it.”
Ugh. As if I wasn’t already ready to cry at the littlest thing because of everything with Brooklyn. I swallowed, trying to put on a smile, and I squeezed her arm. “You can go back, you know,” I said. “I’m not going to make you rough it finding a way home together with me.”
“I cannot be on the same plane as those people,” she said, her voice low, wobbly. “I’ll figure it out. We’ll both figure it out.”
Two pairs of footsteps came down the hall after us—arrivals was quiet enough I tightened up expecting Aunt Helena dragging her husband along to actually throw hands at me or Shane bringing a lackey to take another shot at demeaning me, but it was Mom and Oscar instead, Mom with tears thick in her eyes and lighting up when she saw the two of us, making a beeline our way. Oscar, for his part, looked like he’d just seen a mediocre movie. I didn’t think he knew how to make another face.
“Oh, sweethearts,” Mom said, coming over and pulling me and Stella into a hug together. “Oh, am I glad you didn’t already leave the airport. I’m so sorry. Oscar and I tried to smooth things over—”
Oscar spoke lightly. “Turns out sarcasm wasn’t the approach.”
“—but I should have come right along with you,” Mom said, and I laughed thickly, shaking my head.
“Okay, honestly—all of you, thank you, but I’m not making all of you miss your flight. Flights out of here are so small they might just cancel the flight if four of us skip it.”
Mom shook her head. “I’m not letting them demean my daughters and just taking it lying down.”
Stella made a face. “Are you just trying to avoid Dad?”
Mom waved her off. “Your father and I are fine, Stella, relax.”
I put a hand on Mom’s arm. “Mom, I’m serious,” I said softly. “Thank you. But I really just don’t want to cause more problems for more people. I don’t think there’s any use standing up for me in the family at this point. They’ve made up their minds about me, and honestly, it doesn’t bother me.”
“Ryan…” Mom looked down, her expression furrowed and distant. “I just want to… I want to do better than I have been. You felt like you weren’t loved and appreciated because of your career change. I don’t want to make those mistakes again.”
“Mom—” I pursed my lips, pushing back the tears, and I strained a smile. “I know. Thank you. I love you. But please. This is what I want—for everybody to be okay. I can find my way back. I don’t want to be worrying about everybody else at the same time.”
“But—” Mom started, and Stella spoke up.
“You heard her, Mom. It’s about respecting her wishes, right?”
Mom visibly struggled for a minute before—I saw the change, nearly imperceptible, in the precise moment where she realized she wasn’t talking me down, and I wondered briefly if I was always going to push everyone away.
∞∞∞
“So that doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I said as Stella eased herself by her knees onto the sofa bed in the hotel room, testing it.
“My heart would explode if I had to look at Grandma for one more second,” she said. I turned on the AC, and it rattled to life with that distinctive smell of cheap hotel AC. Drew the thin, generic blinds closed, and I sat on the foot of a soft mattress, my feet aching as I peeled my shoes off.
“And yet you come out swinging telling everybody else to go home…”
“I’ll be hearing about it for ages if people do stay here because of us.” Still, she wouldn’t look at me, making a bigger production of testing a sofa bed, as if she expected it to break when she lay on it. I watched her for a minute before I said,
“Just go ahead and tell me what it’s actually about.”
She sighed hard, flopping onto the sofa bed, tugging off her glasses and dropping them on the side table. “You get it.”
“I really don’t.”
“No, I’m answering the question. I just… thought this would be easier if it was me and you. I don’t know.”
I felt something sinking in my chest—not because she was wrong, but because she was all too right. And I’d been hoping we weren’t talking about it. I set my shoes down next to where I’d propped up my suitcase, lying back on the bed. The air tasted like Lysol and air conditioning. Like every hotel I’d been in. A hundred hotels all across the world, a trail in my wake, like I was running. From what?
Stella didn’t let up. “Do you feel like you’re making the wrong choice?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said thinly. Silence sat heavy on my chest and in the room before she spoke.
“I feel like I’m making the wrong choice,” she said softly, and I stirred, turning on my side to look at her.
“That you never went for it with Jacob?”
“Ha, ha. You’re a dork.”
“We have to leave,” I said, softly, almost apologetically. I think I was saying it to myself. She shrugged.
“I know. But this sucks. Maybe it’s because this was a vacation, or maybe it’s because so much happened, but it feels like this is all special in some way and nothing will be like this again. And I’m just… I’m just going to be sad about her…”
It chipped pieces off my heart, stripped them away and left me—not broken, like I might have expected, but weathered, hollow, tired. “Guess… we’ll get over them,” I said thinly, and she groaned, slinging an arm over her face.
“That’s it? All we can do is just… silently… suffer?”
“You have any other ideas, I’m all ears.”
“You are not,” she snorted, her voice biting. “Every time I try to talk to you about how Brooklyn means something to you—”
“Then what should I do?”
She sat up, turning on me with a wild-eyed look, her hair messy. “Talk to her. I don’t know. Ask her what you should do. Figure it out between the two of you. Do you really think you’ll move on from this?”
“I know it won’t be easy to—”
“It’s not about easy, it’s about—this is—” She threw her hands up. “Don’t you worry everyone else is just going to live in her shadow?”
It felt like a blow to the chest, a knife to the heart, and I winced away, a spike of anger the first thing on my lips—I bit it back. I wasn’t angry with Stella. I was angry with the world. Angry with myself. I slumped back in the bed, staring at the curtains wavering in the breeze from the AC.
“For a while, yeah,” I said thinly.
“Well, I don’t,” she said. “I think we’ll be old one day wondering what would have happened if we’d done something brave with our lives.”
I scoffed. “Stella, I’ve known her for a week.”
“How much have you regretted being brave and stupid with your career?”
Ugh. I couldn’t have this conversation. Not like this, not where it prickled at my eyes and made me wonder what would have, could have, should have been. It felt like Brooklyn was right there, like I could reach out and touch her, but…
She wasn’t my career. I hadn’t spent my childhood dreaming of her. Hadn’t gone through life idly thinking of her. She was just… just one person. I’d find others like her.
Or maybe I had. Not by name, but… dreaming of somebody who saw me the way Brooklyn did. Of somebody who noticed me the way she did, made me feel like I mattered, for a little while. Of somebody who looked at me, and when they did, I felt like I belonged. No matter how I showed up.
Maybe I’d spent years dreaming of drinks by the ocean with a beautiful woman who looked at me with the fire in her eyes that Brooklyn did. Maybe I’d spent my life dreaming of tender days and passionate nights like Brooklyn gave me, and maybe all that time, I’d dreamed of somebody perfect who was waiting for someone like me to break down their walls and make it so they didn’t have to be lonely anymore.
Maybe all my life, I’d been waiting for Brooklyn. Maybe I just hadn’t known her name yet.
Or maybe it was just hopeless daydream, latching onto what felt good. And maybe some dreams weren’t for life—maybe some dreams were an experience you lived and cherished forever after instead.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said coolly, standing up. “Do you want to get dinner?”
“You’re just changing the subject?”
“Yep.”
“How long are you going to keep doing this?” she said, and I laughed thinly.
“I’ll think about it in the shower,” I said, walking into the bathroom, switching on the light, pausing in the doorway, looking back at her. “Stella?”
“Yeah?”
I took a breath, slow and quiet. “You… you should be better than me. Do what makes you happy.”
She swallowed, looking down at her phone. “Um… yeah?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “So, dinner?”
“Allison recommended this spot that we never ended up going to. They do gyros.”
“I could crush a gyro right now.”
“You and me both. I’ll go order and pick it up.”
“Thanks, Stella.” I shut the door, turning to the mirror, and I stared long and hard into my reflection, waiting for something to happen—anything.