42. Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-One
Jake
Sunday afternoon came and went, and the quiet time in the hotel room seemed to be just what Rye had needed to reset after the events of the morning. Around six, they headed out for another low-key dinner with Krista and Phil, this time at a tiny Italian restaurant just a little outside of the downtown Reno area, and despite the whirlwind of a day it had been for Phil, he was just as eager to see Rye again. And Rye seemed content too; he ate and laughed and let Phil tell him all about some English project he was working on at school, a story he was writing or something. Jake was only half listening. He was too distracted by Rye’s bright eyes and happy smile.
Afterward, they’d all headed over together to the place Rye’s mom had recommended that served rolled ice cream. Even though Jake had made what he thought was a compelling argument for strawberry ice cream, Phil had managed to convince Rye to go with mint chocolate chip, which Phil had claimed was really “the only ice cream flavor that mattered.”
And when the evening was over and they arrived back at the hotel for the night, Rye still seemed okay. Not overwhelmed or anxious or needing to retreat immediately back to his bedroom to rest. So Jake suggested they find a movie to watch—something entertaining and not a documentary this time—and Rye agreed.
They made popcorn—purchased from the little pantry down in the hotel lobby and popped in the microwave in their room—and Jake let Rye pick the movie from the selection available on his Netflix account. And then they stayed up late eating popcorn, watching movies, and taking turns playing some mindless puzzle-match game on Jake’s phone.
It was perfect. Jake wasn’t sure he could have thought of any better way to spend his time .
He appreciated any and all time he got to spend with Rye, of course, but seeing Rye like this—relaxed and happy and enjoying himself—made Jake’s heart feel full.
The second movie ended around midnight. All the popcorn had long since disappeared, and Rye had curled up in the corner of the couch, his eyes closed lightly and his facial muscles relaxed as though he’d fallen asleep. He looked comfortable, content, peaceful, and Jake just leaned back deeper into the couch cushions for a few minutes, watching his friend.
It was incredible, really, how far Rye had come. Six months ago, Rye had nearly died from hypothermia. Six months ago, he’d been unable to talk at all, scared to just be , scared of Jake and of movement and sound. Malnourished and injured and barely a shell of a person.
But now... Rye was almost like a different person. He was funny and smart. He had likes and dislikes and so many expressions. He smiled and laughed and teased, and he loved reading and learning and nature.
He had a huge, huge heart and the kindest soul.
God, he was beautiful. Inside and out.
Jake closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. His sister had been right when she’d whispered in his ear earlier, just as they’d been saying goodbye after Phil’s gymnastics meet. She’d said, “You’ve fallen so hard, little brother. I’m so, so happy for you. But you’re going to have to be patient. Wait for him to see you. You absolutely can’t rush things.”
Every word was right. He had fallen hard. And every day, he fell harder. He’d tried to put the brakes on his feelings, tried to convince his heart to hold off. Yet, here he was, him and his stubborn heart feeling every darn thing much too intensely.
He’d never felt this way before. Not anywhere close to it. And although he’d known since he was a teenager that he was somewhere on the spectrum of asexuality, even when he’d developed deep personal relationships, like with his friend Steve, he hadn’t ever had this intense emotional connection with someone before.
Somehow, Rye was different.
Different. And beautiful. Kind and innocent and courageous and compassionate.
Jake opened his eyes again, and he leaned forward and picked up his phone, careful to not make the couch shift too much. He opened up his messenger app.
Jake (12:24 a.m.): You were right
Kris (12:24 a.m.): Only took you 28 years to realize it. ;) lol Right about what?
Kris (12:25 a.m.): Also, why are you up? Weren’t you planning to leave early tomorrow?
Jake (12:26 a.m.): We’re leaving Tuesday morning. Just finished watching movies. About to go to bed now
Kris (12:26 a.m.): ...thank you for your detailed itinerary. But you left my most important question unanswered
Jake groaned inwardly, hesitating as he wondered whether he’d made a mistake bringing anything up. But he needed something . Advice or a knock on the head, which was maybe more likely considering he was texting Krista. Just... he needed something . So he swallowed his pride and responded.
Jake (12:28 a.m.): Rye. You were right about Rye
He typed another quick message to clarify, in case Krista hadn’t remembered the conversation from earlier.
Jake (12:28 a.m.): I like him. I mean, I *like* like him. Like more than just a friend
And he frowned again as he realized how juvenile that sounded. But it was the truth, and now that he’d acknowledged it “out loud,” it felt even more real. And even more scary.
He stared at the phone, waiting for her laughing, teasing “I told you so,” which he completely deserved and would almost welcome right now. But that wasn’t the message that came.
Kris (12:30 a.m.): Don’t tell him yet
Kris (12:30 a.m.): Hang on one sec, Phil is... ugh you should see this
Kris (12:32 a.m.): Sorry, you remember how Phil used to sleepwalk?
Jake (12:32 a.m.): God yeah. Is he right now?
Kris (12:33 a.m.): Yeah. I tried to take a video, but my phone is being weird
Kris (12:34 a.m.): Sorry. So, what I meant to say was - Yay! I mean, of course I was right and already knew and I’ve been telling you this for how many months now? But also, I stand by what I said earlier. You have to wait for him.
Jake took a slow, deep breath and glanced over at Rye. He still slept, peaceful and quiet, with not even a hint of tension in him, his chest rising and falling with a slow, easy rhythm. And Jake felt it again—that fullness in his chest and a warmth that spread into his cheeks.
He glanced back down at Krista’s message, and he closed his eyes and took another long breath before sending her a short response.
Jake (12:36 a.m.): Wait for him, how?
It sounded like a dumb question with an obvious answer. Give Rye time to heal, let Rye figure out his own feelings first. Of course. And there was always the very likely possibility that Rye wouldn’t be attracted to men anyway.
Kris (12:36 a.m.): Lunkhead
Jake (12:37 a.m.): Yeah, I know, I know. But help me out! I’ve had two boyfriends, if you could even call them that. Paul was barely more than a single date (and it was awful), and Steve, well, you know all about Steve.
Jake (12:37 a.m.): This is so different
Jake (12:38 a.m.): I’m not even sure how to describe it. It’s like I’m not even trying. Like I never even had to try. We just became friends and then everything started to build from there. And it feels so good just being around him. It’s like
Jake sent the text before he finished writing it, needing to pause to gather his thoughts. He felt a little silly as he realized what he’d wanted to say—silly but at the same time, also one hundred percent serious, and he hoped his sister wouldn’t tease him for it. He continued his text.
Jake (12:39 a.m.): It’s like something was missing from my life, but I didn’t even know it. And it’s like now that he’s here, everything is brighter and better
Kris (12:39 a.m.): Boy, you did fall hard, didn’t you?
Jake groaned inwardly.
Jake (12:39 a.m.): Yeah. I know. Please help your poor little brother out. The absolute last thing I want to do is hurt him
Kris (12:42 a.m.): I know. Sorry to tease you. 3 And fwiw, I don’t think you’d hurt him, at least not intentionally. What I do think (what I meant by “wait for him”) is that you need to keep doing what you’re doing - being his friend, being there for him, supporting him however he needs it. And then when he’s ready emotionally, *if* he has feelings for you too, you let him set the pace - let him tell you, let him ask you out. You need to continue being his friend first and foremost, because you need to recognize that there’s a possibility (I’m so sorry) that he might not ever be ready for that type of relationship or, of course, that he won’t be into men when he is ready.
He read the long block of text and then read it again one more time. Krista had pretty much repeated what he already knew. Yet he’d needed to hear it from her all the same.
Jake (12:45 a.m.): Stay the course
Kris (12:45 a.m.): Exactly
Kris (12:45 a.m.): Stay the course, let him set the pace, and keep being the amazing human you are
Kris (12:46 a.m.): Have I told you lately how much I love you and how proud of you I am?
She probably had. She told him all the time. And for once, he didn’t quip back.
Jake (12:47 a.m.): Yeah, yeah, I think you have. I love you too, sis
Kris (12:47 a.m.): Go to sleep
Jake (12:48 a.m.): =P
Quietly, to avoid waking Rye, Jake stood, slipped his phone back into his pocket, and started cleaning up the coffee table, all the words from his sister replaying in his head.
It turned out telling his sister about his feelings had been both a blessing and a curse. He trusted her advice, and he knew she was right—that what he needed to do was just continue on the same path, be the best friend he could to Rye, give Rye time, make sure he didn’t put any pressure on Rye or ever make Rye feel uncomfortable. And just knowing that he’d been doing the right thing all this time, that took some of the weight off his chest and let him breathe a little easier.
But somehow, having admitted that he liked Rye seemed to have cracked something open inside of him. All of those feelings he’d been having, all the little hints of warmth, the swoop of his stomach, the fluttery flip-flop of his heart, all of those things seemed multiplied tenfold. It was wonderful. And it was also more intense than anything he’d felt before, and that scared him.
“New favorite? This one, huh?” Jake stepped up alongside Rye and stuffed his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge—not for the first time that day—to reach out and touch Rye’s back, to find that one spot where his hand just seemed to fit.
Rye nodded eagerly and glanced over at Jake, his blue eyes bright and warm. “The birds look... um, like they’re about to fly off the painting. And I like the style, um...”
With a nod, Jake turned back to the painting on the wall in front of them. “Wandering Warblers. Watercolor on canvas,” he read from the small plaque just to the side of the medium-sized painting. “And you’re right, I agree. It looks, hmm, I’m not sure how to say it. Maybe it looks like—”
“—like there’s movement. Like”—Rye stepped slightly closer to the painting and tilted his head ever so slightly to the right, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair behind his ear—“the painter... caught them in the middle of taking off from the tree, and... ”
Rye huffed a small laugh and backed up, shaking his head.
“What?” Jake asked quietly, and his damn heart did its thing again—stuttering and racing just like it knew it wasn’t supposed to.
“Um, I... I just don’t really know what I’m talking about,” Rye said. The flicker of uncertainty in his tone had Jake shaking his head.
“That’s what art’s about, though,” Jake argued gently, and he leaned on his cane as he continued. “Okay, uh, not that I know the first thing about art—because I’ve never been an artist or even an art connoisseur, really—but I do know, or at least, I think , that art is about evoking emotions. That’s why different people can interpret art in very different ways. This painting—actually, all of this artist’s paintings here—seem to have that same beauty to them. Like the artist was capturing a moment of flight, of movement, of, uh, freedom.”
Rye looked up at him with an amused expression. “Isn’t that... contradictory? Capturing freedom? Freezing movement?”
Jake couldn’t stop his smile from growing much too big.
The whole day had been like this—Jake listening with amazement as Rye found more and more of his voice, exploring and questioning and asking. It almost seemed like Rye was just bursting with some need to share his thoughts. And he was positively glowing.
Or maybe that was just the way Jake’s heart had decided it wanted to interpret everything now.
Either way, this had been their whole Monday so far, starting with Rye’s eager knock on Jake’s bedroom door. He said he’d had an idea—they should go bird watching, if Jake was up for it. Early morning was the best time, and there was a place not far away—a nature preserve at Oxbow Park along the Truckee River. The walk was short and flat, Rye had explained, and there was supposed to be a huge variety of birds there, including some rare hawks and swallows that Rye seemed really keen on trying to find.
His eagerness had persisted into the early afternoon, when they’d found this small art gallery just outside of the downtown area in Reno. It was almost too perfect, really. The first exhibit, which they’d been exploring for nearly an hour already, featured stunning landscape art and paintings of birds, fish, and other local wildlife, mostly watercolor.
And, being early on a Monday afternoon, they were nearly the only ones in the gallery.
Nothing had shut down Rye’s voice all day. And that was such a wonderful thing.
Jake blinked and tore his gaze away from his friend, needing to reset a bit. “Uh, yeah, it sort of is, isn’t it?” he managed, and he cleared his throat with a short cough. “But it still seems true, right? Like that first painting we saw, where it looked like the trees were still blowing in the wind?”
“Yeah.” Rye’s voice was softer now, and when Jake stole a glance in his direction, he could see Rye looking ahead at the painting again, his expression thoughtful. “This one’s my favorite,” Rye added. And then he turned and motioned for Jake to follow.
Together, they navigated through the rest of the first exhibit, stopping to study each of the remaining paintings. Rye couldn’t seem to get enough, eagerness and curiosity burning bright in his eyes.
Eventually, they moved onto the next exhibit, which had a much different tone—some abstract paintings with dark, sharp shapes and lines. Rye walked slowly and silently through the exhibit, but didn’t stop until the very last painting. The canvas was mostly mixed shades of dark purple, gray, and black, with cracks painted at the edges in a starkly contrasting white. At the very center, the cracks came together in a bright tumble of what Jake could only describe as shattered pieces. Like glass.
He stopped next to Rye and dropped his chin slightly to check on his friend. Rye’s hands had found his pockets, and his huge smile had tightened into something much more serious.
“This one... evokes different emotions,” Rye said simply, and his shoulders tensed slightly as he stared at the painting for another moment. Then he glanced sideways at Jake with a half-smile. “I’m okay. I know... you’re worried.”
Heat spread into Jake’s cheeks, a fast flush that he had no control over. No control whatsoever. “I’m not—”
Rye lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and Jake sighed with resignation.
“Okay, okay. I was,” he admitted. “But thank you for telling me you’re okay. There was kind of a big shift there.”
With a small nod, Rye turned back to the painting on the wall. “I... I was almost not okay. And this one... I don’t know what this is. It feels like... me. But I don’t want...”
Rye trailed off and let out a short, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping just a little.
“Let’s move on?” Jake suggested, and this time, he let himself reach out. He let his hand settle low on Rye’s back, and he let the touch provide a light pressure, guiding Rye to start walking again. “I think there’s just one more exhibit, this way.”
The two men stepped through an open doorway into a much brighter room, full of color and airiness. It was warmer and rich and brilliant, and it didn’t take long for Rye’s expression to shift back to eagerness and wonder .
“What... is this?” he asked, his voice quiet and filled with awe. “I feel like... like I should know.”
Displays of small paper sculptures decorated pedestals spaced all around the room, some with simple shapes and designs and some much, much more intricate. Rye didn’t wait for Jake to answer, and he stepped up to the closest of the displays and leaned in a bit to read the plaque, squinting at the small font.
“Origami?” he asked, and he glanced up at Jake, who nodded.
“Yeah. But I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Jake admitted. “It’s a Japanese art of folding paper. And this is just... stunning.”
It was just a dragon, but the detail—the scales, the talons, the blast of fire shooting from its nostrils—was phenomenal. Rye must have agreed, because he stood there for another several minutes, studying it, leaning in and tilting his head to find more hidden detail. And when they moved on to the next display and then the next, he did the same, taking his time. He was mostly quiet now, but he seemed to be in awe, not tense, and certainly not panicky or upset or anxious or any of those other things that might have had Jake concerned.
Jake followed silently along, walking slowly as he watched Rye’s eyes widen at each new display. One of the last ones in the room was a bird—small, quite possibly true to life-size, with its wings spread wide as though taking off.
“Another moment.” Rye laughed quietly and bent down to study the detail again, his eyes inquisitive and bright.
“Another moment?” Jake repeated, and Rye glanced back at him and nodded.
“Like that other painting, the movement is frozen. Captured.” A tiny flicker of something darkened Rye’s expression for half a second before he shook his head and straightened up. “Not c-captured,” he said. “I... don’t like that word.”
Jake’s heart clenched, and he sucked in a short breath, about to offer some words of reassurance or comfort. But Rye shook his head again and blinked away the storminess in his eyes as he turned back to the bird.
“The bird is still free,” he said, his voice intense but soft and tender. “I... feel it. And... and this is my new favorite piece here.”
Jake just nodded, completely overwhelmed by Rye’s words. He wanted to say something back, but the moment passed, and so he just continued following Rye as he moved on to the last display in the room.
And when Rye looked up at him with a big smile a few minutes later, tilting his head toward the room’s exit and asking how another round of rolled mint chocolate chip ice cream sounded, Jake couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t having the best day he’d had in a very, very long time.