Chapter 21 #2
I don’t even recognize them at all anymore. I watch the relationship I was trying so hard to save crumble right in front of my eyes.
What the fuck am I doing here?
“Let’s go,” I say to Ryan above all the noise, placing my hand on his shoulder. He sets his can of beer down on Jake’s tailgate and then we head off toward the parking lot, a chorus of boos directed at us as we go.
“Thanks, Pat,” Ryan says as the waitress sets down chocolate milkshakes and two burgers in front of us at the Dinor. It’s after ten, and the place is almost empty. Ryan hasn’t said much of anything since we got here.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he stirs his straw around in the shake. He nods. “I’m sorry I took you there. I didn’t… I mean—”
“I’m okay, Stevie,” he says, finally looking up at me. “But why did we go there instead of just grabbing something to eat in the first place?”
“My friends thought lunch wasn’t fun enough or something…,” I reply.
“And that is?” He scoffs.
I give a pathetic grimace and shake my head. “No.”
“Has that stuff happened to you a lot growing up here?” he asks.
“You mean do drunk men often try to fight me?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—”
“No, no. I just… I guess I’ve never had anyone to really discuss it with.
” I pause to take a sip of my milkshake.
“It’s not that I’ve encountered a ton of very direct abuse or anything like that, I think mostly because people here have known me my whole life, but…
you know, there are still stupid things that I hear.
People making racist jokes about me doing their nails, or pulling their eyes back asking how I can even see.
Moments that remind me I’m different from everyone else here and that people around me see me differently.
Even Savannah and Rory. My whole life, they’ve never really seen me as Asian, because to them…
being Asian is a bad thing. You know? But it’s not.
It’s just… a thing. I don’t really think it has to be good or bad. It just is.”
Ryan nods. “I get that. I felt that a little bit growing up in Pittsburgh, but then when I came here, it was like… much more apparent. Also, since I didn’t know anyone, I felt like there were really no moments when I didn’t feel like that… until I met you.”
“Really?” I ask, taking a bite of my burger.
“Yeah, I mean, even before we started hanging out, like when you would just come into the Dinor with your friends, there was this awareness that someone else in that space was like me. It made me feel less… other, I guess.” He offers me a sad sort of smile and a shrug.
“I kinda had the same feeling. I mean, I don’t remember, you know… most of it, but when we made plans to go to the fair that day… it was almost comforting? Is that the right word?” I ask.
He nods hard in agreement. “That’s it.”
“Like I knew I could take you to that knife game at the fair and you’d find it just as ridiculous as I did. There was something really nice about that,” I say.
“I think any sane person would agree with us.” He laughs.
We slurp down our drinks and eat our burgers, and the whole time I can’t stop thinking about how even after the horrible start tonight, things might actually be finally falling into place between the two of us.
We’re really talking about some real stuff, and…
things seem to be clicking so easily. Maybe I did just need to try a little harder with him.
When we finish our meals, he offers to drive me home, and I don’t hesitate to accept.
On the way to his car, a text buzzes into my phone from Rory.
Hey, did you really leave?
Yeah…, I reply. It’s been over an hour, is she just noticing now?
Seriously? Stevie, come on. That guy was drunk. I mean, it was a joke.
It seemed like you and Savannah found it real funny.
I silence my phone and slip it back into my pocket as I climb into the car. I’m not going to let them mess this night up again.
We pull out and I sit in the passenger seat tracing random shapes into the top of my white Styrofoam container with my nail as we shuffle through one of Ryan’s Spotify playlists.
On the other side of the glass, the endless fields roll by, thick with eight-foot-tall cornstalks and dark-green soybeans waiting to turn brown before harvest. As we make our way back to my house, each farm blurs into the next, somehow all looking like the Martins’ to me now.
I dig my nails deeper into the Styrofoam as I think about the other day there.
The tingling lightness in my stomach when I finally wrapped myself around Nora.
The way she made me feel safe even though we were riding on an absolute death trap.
The way my face felt when she moved the strand of hair, the feeling lingering long after she pulled her hand away.
I try to redirect the crossed signals where they’re supposed to go.
I imagine what it would feel like for Ryan to be standing on the other side of the fence line from me, his face inches from mine, or to have my arms wrapped around his waist as we rode through a field, his honey-brown eyes peeking over his shoulder at me.
After tonight it should be easy. But no matter what I try, it just doesn’t feel the same, not like I think it should.
“When do you have to work again?” Ryan asks from beside me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my eyes refocus on the container in my lap.
On N-O-R-A etched into the top.
“Umm…” My eyes go wide as I casually cover the whole thing with my hand. “Wednesday, er, no, Thursday, actually.”
“Me too,” he says, bringing his left hand to the top of the steering wheel and resting his right arm on the center console between us.
I watch his fingers tap against the gearshift with the rhythm of the electric guitar playing through the speakers.
I like him. I do. I mean, we’ve never had trouble finding things to talk about.
Maybe we have to be touching like I was with Nora.
If I could just reach out and take his hand, I’d probably feel it then.
My eyes trace the veins in the back of his hand, under his simple black watch, over his forearm, and up to his face.
I slowly pick my hand up and slide it under his. He looks over at me and smiles, closing his hand around mine.
I wait to feel something, anything, but the only thing that comes is a building tension in my shoulders that I can’t seem to relax.
My chest tightens but my stomach sinks. I want to let go, take my hand back into my lap and pretend I never did this, but the problem is I have no freaking clue how.
I really don’t want to hurt his feelings, but the longer we sit like this, the more I think about what might happen next and the harder it is for me to breathe.
I can’t do it.
“I love this song,” I say, slipping my hand out of his and turning the volume dial up a couple of notches.
“Me too.” He nods, still smiling. Success.
I take a deep breath and tighten my hand into a fist before letting it rest back over my takeout container.
Both of us are quiet for the last couple of minutes of the ride except for the directions I give him, until he pulls into my driveway, the house all dark except for the light on the front porch.
“Thanks, Ryan,” I say, already unbuckling my seat belt. As I reach for the door handle, I feel him lean across to give me a hug. Quickly, I spin back around to face him, but by the time I get my arms up, he’s holding one hand out for a handshake and then it becomes a small awkward wave.
“Uh…” I drop my arms back to my side, trying to figure out what the hell to do. “Bye,” I say, deciding to just follow through with the hug after all, and it’s about a million times more awkward than I ever thought possible.
When he lets go, he avoids my eyes, looking at the center console, at the radio, at my door handle, anywhere but at me.
“Next time, maybe we skip Truck Night.” I laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced.
“Ha, yeah, maybe,” he says, looking at me just long enough to offer a quick smile. “Good night, Stevie.”
I hop out and close the door behind me, cringing all the way inside. I’m ruining it. This great thing my former self wanted, a relationship with Ryan. He’s supposed to be a part of my fresh start, my second chance to get everything right this time. Why can’t I make it work?
I kick my shoes off and lean against the front door, pulling out my phone.
Maybe I just need to talk about it with someone who has more experience.
But there’s no way Savannah or Rory would understand, and even if they did, I don’t really want to talk to them right now.
I pull out my phone and hesitate for a second, until I remember Albert mentioning Nora’s secret boy drama. This is totally normal. She’ll get it.
You working tomorrow? I text Nora.
In the meat shop bright and early! she replies.
Alone?
Yeah.
Need some help? I ask, and I try not to smile as three dots blink across her text bubble right away.
You help out much more and my mom is going to have to start paying you, and she doesn’t even like paying me, she replies first, but then,
I’ll see you at open.