25. Alice
Alice
Over the past four days, I have stewed. I get angry. I cry. I feel defeated.
It’s not the first time he’s texted me since last weekend. He has multiple times a day, every day. I’ve just chosen not to respond.
He’s not making excuses, and he’s not trying to justify his actions. He tells me about his days, lets me know he’s thinking about me, and then closes by saying he’s sorry.
And deep down, I know he is. Our friendship was the realest thing I’d ever had in my life.
It surpasses what I have with Kelli. It was open, honest, and spanned eras of our lives.
We grew together and loved deeply as one does with their friends.
Do I think that he was in love with me, like he says he was?
I do. If he wasn’t, would he really have cut me off like that?
But at the same time, if he was, how could he leave me like I don’t matter?
I understand people react differently when placed under stress, and maybe this was him going into survival mode, but where does that leave us now?
Are we supposed to be friends again?
Are we headed toward something more?
Knowing what I know, do I even want something more?
I don’t want to be with someone who runs away from the hard times.
I need someone who will stand next to me, and we’ll fight the world together.
I am a cautious person. I’ve always been mentally focused.
I overthink everything, and unfortunately, I’m not usually looking for the bright side.
I’m looking for potential fallouts so I can avoid them.
But . . . it’s Ryder.
Other than this one huge, life-altering thing, he was always my safe space. Next to him, I knew I didn’t need to worry about potential risks, and life was more optimistic.
Speaking of risks, I’ve waited as long as I can, and after he calls me and begs me to call him back, I eventually tell him I’ll come. The wind has already started, and the rain has made an appearance as it blows in at an angle. It’s going to be a long afternoon and an even longer night.
Could I go to my parents’ house? Yes. But I don’t have it in me to fight with him anymore. He wants me with him. That’ll give us both peace of mind, and well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see his house.
I pack a bag, grab the food that I bought in case the storm knocked out the power, plug in his address, and make my way north to his home. A home I’ve thought about more than I care to admit.
Turning down his driveway, I can’t help but tear up at the gorgeous house in front of me.
It looks exactly like the home he always said he would buy, a home that I had no part in helping him choose.
It’s two stories, surrounded by oaks, pines, and palm trees.
There’s a circular drive at the end, and I can see his truck is parked in the garage.
Without even stepping a foot inside, I know that I’m going to love it.
As I reach the garage, Ryder is standing there directing me to park inside in the vacant spot.
On a normal day, this isn’t something I would ever do, but with the storm, I understand why.
Slowly, I pull in and park the car. Neither of us says anything as we gather the things I brought, and I follow him inside.
The first room is what most refer to as a mudroom, but it’s also his laundry room.
The floor is black-and-white tile with a rug just before the opposite door, which leads into the living space.
Along one wall is a long wooden bench, and over it are hooks and open cubbies.
Along the other wall are his washer and dryer, a sink, and more open shelves over the machines, plus floor-to-ceiling ones at the end that are large enough to hold a laundry basket each.
He’s got a bunch of shoes lined up under the bench, random things hanging on the hooks like an umbrella, a hoodie, and an industrial-looking flashlight.
There’s a stack of washed clothes on top of the dryer.
It smells like fresh linens, and it’s so domestic that I feel like I’m seeing things I shouldn’t see.
This is his personal space. This is Ryder unfiltered.
“Are you coming?” His voice catches me off guard, and I find him staring at me curiously.
“Yeah, just looking for where I should leave my shoes,” I tell him, trying to hide the fact that I’m an emotional wreck.
“Oh. Anywhere in there. It doesn’t matter.” He turns and walks into what I’m assuming is the kitchen.
Neatly, I place my flip-flops next to a pair of his sneakers and enter the main part of the house.
It’s beautiful here with its large open space, windows that cover the back wall facing the lake, and its newly done kitchen.
My heart starts hammering in my chest. It’s a kitchen that I would have picked for myself if given the chance to design it.
“What’s wrong?”
I look over and find Ryder standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island. He’s abandoned my bag of food, and with his arms out in front of him and his palms flat, he’s leaning in a way that makes me think he’s bracing for the worst.
What’s wrong? I’ll tell you. I feel left out and left behind. I feel like this is the life that I always wanted, and here it is, only it’s not mine. I should have been included in these decisions that he’s made, and I wasn’t. I feel irrelevant.
“Nothing. It’s incredible in here. I love it.”
His shoulders drop a little, and he lets out a sigh, clearly not seeing the signs of my anxiety as I’m snapping the friendship bracelet Kelli gave me a few years ago on my wrist.
“Thank you. It’s been a lot of work. Where you’re standing, there used to be a wall,” he says, as he resumes unpacking my cooler and the bag of food that I brought.
I look around me and can’t even see where it would have gone. “Really?”
“Yeah, this house was built in 1980 and was all about the compartmentalized layout. This space was once four rooms: the kitchen, a formal dining room, a formal living room, and a family room. The first thing I did was rip out the carpet and take down the walls.”
“You did all this?”
He looks away from me and rubs the back of his neck. “I did. I like working with my hands. I wanted a house that I could make my own.” He shrugs.
“So this is what you do in your free time?” I walk over to the island and run my hand over the white marble that’s streaked with gray and gold. It accents perfectly with the color of wood he’s chosen for the floor and the blue-gray paint he’s chosen for the cabinets.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s become a passion project, that’s for sure.
It’s got a long way to go, but if I stay healthy and keep proving myself to the Tarpons, I’m hoping I have a long time to complete it.
I’ve also gotten pretty good on the grill, at least I think so.
” He smiles, and the strange feeling in my stomach dips.
“When did you buy this?” I look over at the large L-shaped couch in the living room.
It’s sitting on a thick shag cream-colored area rug and faces a giant television he’s mounted over the fireplace.
There’s a glass-and-bronze coffee table, a matching end table, and in the corner of the room is a tall plant.
“I placed an offer the day after my signing bonus hit. So late April.”
I look back at him. He really is proud of this home. “I bet your mom loves it.”
A soft smile appears. “She does, but she’s really come into her own over the past couple of years. She’s got a social life that keeps her busy. She doesn’t drop by very often.”
His mom was always sweet. Her whole world revolved around Ryder, football, camps, and clinics. It’s really great that she’s finding what she likes too.
“I love that for her.”
It’s then that something brushes against my leg, and I look down to find the one and only Felix.
“Oh, hi baby.” I bend down to pet him, and vibrations take over my hand as he purrs and circles. “You’re a big guy, aren’t you?”
Ryder chuckles. “Yeah, it was a surprise to me too when he kept growing. But I guess we fit. I’m not really a small guy either.
” He moves out from the kitchen and makes his way back toward the mudroom.
“Make yourself at home. Go wherever you want. Nothing is off-limits. But I will warn you that I haven’t started on the upstairs.
The paint, carpet, and bathrooms are sorely dated. ”
“Who needs to go up there when I can lose myself on that giant couch?”
“I’m going to pop outside and check the generator one more time. Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
“Water would be great, thanks.”
“Regular or sparkling?”
This is such a weird conversation. “You don’t like sparkling water.”
“Yeah, but you do,” he says earnestly.
He bought me sparkling water. Has he had it for a while, or did he recently get it?
“Okay, sparkling then. Thank you.”
I make my way to the couch, while he heads out into the garage and then, who knows where. Felix follows me and hops up to climb into my lap. As I look around more, my eyes blur with tears.
I hate that being here hurts so much. It’s just a house. It’s not any different from where I live . . . but deep down, I know it is.
It’s then my gaze snags on the framed pictures on the fireplace mantel.
There’s one of him and his mom from football senior night in high school.
There’s one of him and his mom, probably also from senior night at Clemson.
And there’s a picture of him and his mom standing on the field pregame with him in his Tarpons uniform.
I don’t know why these affect me, but they do.
The tears I can’t stop start to fall, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Moving Felix, I make my way over to the back door I find off the kitchen and slip outside.