43. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Two
Rye
He read. All the whole drive home—except when he insisted they stop and get out and walk around a bit—Rye had his nose stuck in his new book or his fingers fiddling with the thin, crisp origami paper that had come with it.
He’d bought the book himself just before they’d left the art gallery the afternoon before, at Jake’s encouragement. It might make a good, relaxing hobby, Jake had suggested. And even though Rye really had no idea exactly what he was doing yet except following patterns from the diagrams in the book, it was soothing in a way.
Soothing and distracting.
And he was creating. Building. Making something. It felt almost like how cooking did—giving him this odd sense of accomplishment that was still so foreign to him.
The first something he made was a bird, because he loved birds. It was a very lopsided, not-quite-recognizable bird. He’d laughed, and Jake had too. Then he’d started over with a fresh sheet of origami paper and tried again, being a little more careful this time, using all the mistakes he’d made the first time to do a better job.
“Now that’s definitely a bird!” Jake had said when he’d finished, and that sense of accomplishment had grown like warmth blooming in his chest.
He’d taken the little paper bird and set it right on the dashboard of Jake’s car, grinning like an idiot. And when he’d looked over at Jake, Jake had been stealing little glances at it, his expression a mixture of something that looked like pride and something else soft and almost reverent.
“Its name is Reno,” Rye had declared, which had earned him a deep laugh and more of that warmth in his chest.
By the time they arrived back in Rocky Cove and pulled up to the curb outside Rye’s house, he’d made two other very simple creations—a rabbit and a sea turtle. Neither of them were quite as cute as the bird, but he gifted them to Jake anyway, setting one on either side of the bird on the dashboard.
Rye watched Jake reach up and adjust the position of the little sea turtle very gently, his fingers lingering on it.
“Thank you,” Jake said, and his voice was soft as he added, “These are beautiful, Rye.”
Rye laughed lightly and shook his head. “They’re very simple. Not anywhere close to art yet. But maybe...” He trailed off as one of those little tugs in his gut hit him, and words long ingrained in his head repeated themselves, trying to remind him how juvenile he was. How stupid. How worthless.
But it was different than it had been before. There was still all that unpleasantness, still a tightness in his chest and a knot in his stomach. Yet, he could almost feel some sort of... separation from it, like it was part of him still, but part that he could maybe detach himself from.
“Maybe what?” Jake asked quietly.
Rye set his hands on top of the book in his lap, and he closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he should say, but he found himself wanting to confide in Jake about the words, the unpleasantness, all of it. He let out a long, slow breath. “Can I tell you... something not so... happy?”
He couldn’t look over at Jake, but he heard Jake clear his throat lightly.
“Yeah, of course. You can tell me.”
Rye pressed his hands down into the book, feeling the smoothness of the cover against his palms. “The man used to tell me... lots of awful things. One of those things was how I was a... a stupid child. A stupid, worthless child.”
Stupid, fucking worthless child.
He left out the curse word, but he felt it. He felt the anger and hate, and it was cold and filled with pain. But in that moment, he could still keep it separate somehow. He could say the words and even think about them, and he didn’t get... he didn’t get lost in the dark.
“The words are there, like... like they’ve become a part of me now, reminding me anytime I do things like this—things that are basic and simple, like when I was having to learn to read again or... or like all the time still, when I stumble over words I don’t know or things I should know about or know how to do... like fold a little paper bird. His words are my... my voice now, telling me how childish I am, how stupid.”
“Rye, no, I—”
“It’s awful,” Rye cut in, hoping he still had the courage to continue against the chill and heaviness settling over him. “It’s awful, and I know... I know it’s wrong, but I still feel it sometimes. Like... like right now. But... ”
He paused and ran his hand over the top of the book, his fingertips brushing over a tiny scratch just at the edge of the cover. Jake was watching him; he could feel it, even without looking in Jake’s direction.
“But, then... then I think about how much I’ve learned already, just in six months. And—and even though that voice is there, my voice , telling me those awful things that just seem so real and true, I can... I can also know that they’re not real or true. And I can know that... that if what I want is to... read or... make tea”—he finally glanced over at Jake with a small smile, and he reached up and wiped a single tear from his cheek—“or make art , then I’ll be able to. I’ll get there someday. I... am not ... a stupid, worthless child anymore.”
And almost immediately, Jake said, “You never were.”
Rye closed his eyes again, another tear slipping down his cheek, and he nodded, doing exactly as he’d said he could. He pushed it away—the pain and dark and cold, the angry words that were so hateful and hurtful. And instead, he felt a deep gratitude as bits and pieces of conversations with Jake—conversations he could only seem to have with Jake—snapped into place.
You’re safe.
It’ll be okay.
You’re so incredibly brave.
I’m so proud of you.
He wanted to hear those words more. He wanted those words to be the words that filled his head, replacing all the negativity.
He smiled and looked over at the little paper bird sitting between the little paper rabbit and the little paper sea turtle. They were simple, but they already showed that he’d made progress, even just in the few hours since they’d left Reno.
“It’s... going to take me a while,” he said, and although it wasn’t his full thought, because he’d just talked a whole lot and he was sort of exhausted, Jake seemed to know what he meant.
“You’ll get there. You’ll get there, and I’ll help remind you, and your mom and your family—we’ll all help remind you every day. You are not what he said. His words have no place anywhere near you, Rye.” Jake’s last few words were said quietly, gently, and Rye felt more of that deep gratitude for his friend.
“Thank you,” he said, though his voice caught a little this time. “Thank you for listening and... and for everything. I...” He paused and shook his head. “I’m... kinda tired now.”
Next to him, Jake chuckled. “Yeah, no kidding. Me too. It was a lot of driving. But, um, I... thought it was worth it.”
What an understatement , Rye thought, and he smiled and nodded. “It was. It was fun. I had a great time. Thank you for inviting me. ”
It still didn’t feel like enough. All the thank yous in the world couldn’t really say how much Jake’s friendship had come to mean to him. But he was tired, and maybe he’d said enough for now.
Jake’s expression was that kind, soft sort of understanding that made Rye feel so seen and safe, and when Jake gave him a gentle nod, he smiled again, an odd heat spreading into his cheeks.
“I should probably go inside. My mom... she’s probably standing at the door, waiting for me,” Rye said.
“Hah, yeah. Um, here . . .”
Jake popped the trunk, and Rye gathered up his things from the front seat. Then they both climbed out of the car. As Rye opened up his duffle bag in the trunk and tucked his new book inside, Jake came around to the back of the car to meet him. He seemed to be moving a little slower than he had been the rest of the day, but when Rye looked over at him with concern, Jake just smiled and shook his head.
“Stiff from all the walking yesterday,” Jake explained. “I’m fine. Really.”
“’Kay.”
Rye should have grabbed his bag then, waved a goodbye and thanked Jake one more time and then headed inside. But he didn’t. He just stood there for a second, hesitating, and he dropped his chin and clasped his hands in front of him. He was in a good place right now, even with all the hard words he’d just said and all the reminders of the awful things he’d been telling himself for so many years.
And he almost didn’t want to say goodbye. Which was silly. He’d see Jake probably tomorrow or the day after. They’d go to lunch and walking on the beach, assuming Jake’s leg was feeling okay.
But a feeling in his chest, some little, pleasant tug this time, kept him rooted to the spot. He laughed at himself and then looked up at Jake. “I almost want to invite you in for dinner because I’m not ready for the day to be over yet,” he admitted.
Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, and then recognition seemed to hit him. His cheeks flushed a curious shade of pink, and he coughed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh, well, I...”
Rye laughed again. “I’m joking, actually. Well, I mean, I’m probably too tired to even have dinner anyway. I might just go straight to bed. But I just... I just want to thank you again. I had a great time, and—” Rye stopped and shook his head, realizing what it was he wanted. It was simple, and yet also scary. But he was ready. “Can, um...” He blinked and looked down at the ground. “Can you... can you hug... me? ”
It was quiet for several seconds. Then Jake let out a short breath and stepped closer to him.
“Are you sure?” Jake said softly. “Because I won’t unless you’re sure.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rye replied, glad his voice didn’t shake.
He closed his eyes as Jake came closer. Then, the sweetest cocoon of warmth slowly surrounded him, strong arms pulling him in with an almost infinite gentleness. He sighed into the hug and lifted his arms to wrap loosely around Jake’s waist. And there was warmth and safety and a peacefulness in it. Everything he’d expected and more.
They stood there for a few long seconds. Then Jake stepped back first, letting his arms drop carefully from around Rye. One tear and then another slipped down Rye’s cheek, and he blinked his eyes closed again.
“Thank you,” he breathed, reaching up to wipe the tears away, even as several more fell. “That was... a really good hug.”
“I . . . thought so too.”
Rye blinked again, clearing the blurriness from his vision, and he looked up at his friend, who was now standing with his hands in his pockets about a foot away. The warmth was still there. Warmth and a sense of calm. And it felt good, and right.
He smiled, and Jake’s eyes softened. “I should go now. I’ll... see you tomorrow? For lunch?”
Jake swallowed, but then nodded, and Rye held his gaze for another few seconds before reaching into the trunk to pick up his bag. He turned and started up the stone walkway to the front porch, and just before he opened up the door to let himself in, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved.
And Jake smiled and waved back.