47. Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Six
Rye
Rye shut and locked the door behind himself. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and let his forehead rest against the warm wood of the door.
Whatever had just happened, his heart was still racing from it. He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and reached up to touch his cheek. His skin tingled. And it was warm. And he could still feel—
“Oh, sweetie.”
Rye tensed, pulling his hand away from his cheek as his eyes flew open. He hadn’t realized his mom was in the room. She was supposed to be in bed, wasn’t she? What was she still doing up? And why was her tone so... understanding?
Her quiet footsteps came up behind him, and he flinched slightly as her hand settled low on his back. He let out a long breath and closed his eyes again.
“Sorry to startle you,” she said softly, pressing her hand into his back a little more. “I guess you didn’t see me when you were coming in. You seemed a little distracted?”
Now there was almost a tease in her tone, and Rye straightened up quickly and shook his head as he turned around to face her. No. No, he wasn’t distracted. He had no reason to be distracted. He was just tired. Tired from studying so hard and then spending all day taking practice tests. That was all.
His mom was smiling at him. A soft, knowing smile. And she looked happy. “You know,” she said, “Jon mentioned something the other day, but I told him he was just being silly.”
Rye swallowed hard, unsure why his stomach was twisting up in knots. “S-silly about wh-what, mama?”
His mom reached out slowly and took his hand with a gentle squeeze. “Come sit on the couch with me for a few minutes, sweetie. I’m tired, and I’ve gotta be up much too early tomorrow, but this seems important to talk about. ”
Rye hesitated, his feet sticking to the ground. “Wh-what’s important?” he asked, his voice faltering. The knots in his stomach twisted again, and he instinctively slunk back a step, starting to pull his hand away from his mom’s.
But she just gave him a tired smile and an even more tired shake of her head, and she tightened her hand on his for a second.
“Nothing bad, I promise. Just, well...” She trailed off, and there was something almost sad in her eyes now. It didn’t help Rye’s stomach. He hated seeing her sad. More than anything else, almost.
So he moved. He forced his feet to unstick, and he let her guide him over to the couch. And when they sat together, she immediately pulled him in for a hug, pressing her cheek up against his. She smelled faintly of roses, and he couldn’t help it as something inside him snapped. His arms encircled her waist, and he tried not to cry as he buried his face in her hair.
“Shh, shh, sweetie. This is good, really. I’m... I’m so happy for you, Ryan.”
Gosh, now he was extra confused, especially when all the emotions he couldn’t hold back anymore wanted to come tumbling out. All of his sadness and pain. His fear and anger. And then joy. Joy and eagerness. And others. Others that felt good and warm and safe .
Jake.
Was this somehow about Jake?
“Mama . . .”
He almost cringed at how his own voice sounded when he called her that. Usually she was “Mom.” But sometimes, especially lately and especially when he was tired, he sort of lapsed, and she became “mama” again. She squeezed him gently.
“You have no idea, do you, sweetie?”
He shook his head, and she let out a quiet laugh and then pulled back out of the hug. Her eyes were glistening, and she reached up and brushed his hair back, her lips turned up in a soft, soft smile.
“I guess there’s not really a better time to talk about it, is there?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” he said, and she nodded and shifted to take both of his hands in hers.
“I know.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then she sat back a bit into the cushions. Her eyes were smiling at him as she said, “Jake’s a good friend, isn’t he?”
Rye’s cheek tingled, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching up to touch it, right where Jake’s thumb had brushed against him. Warmth spread through his chest, and he closed his eyes lightly .
There was another soft laugh from his mom. “Jake’s a good man, too. And it makes sense.”
“What makes sense, mama?”
His mom’s slightly amused expression faded into something sad, and she shook her head. “Sorry. I’m not sure how to do this, really. Let me try to start over, okay?” He nodded, and she continued. “Last week, remember when Jake was over for dinner? Tanya made spaghetti and garlic bread? Well, after Jake left and you went to bed, Jon mentioned he thought he saw that you and Jake were becoming, well, something more than just friends. I told him he was being silly. But he wasn’t, was he?”
Rye frowned, unsure whether that was a rhetorical question. And he was still confused about what she was trying to say. Thankfully, she kept going and didn’t make him guess.
“I’ve seen the two of you together lately, and it’s clear how much he cares about you. And I’m pretty sure you care about him too, even if you don’t realize it.” She let out a quiet sigh, and the sadness came back to her eyes. “You were too young when you... were taken from me. You didn’t get to grow up like you should have. You didn’t get to...” She took a deep breath and blinked several times. Then she squeezed his hand gently. “You’re an adult now, sweetie. And I know you read a lot, so I’m sure you’ve come across these things. But it would make sense if you don’t know what it actually... feels like. Sometimes two people grow close. Closer than friends. And they might care about each other enough to explore a relationship that’s more than just a friendship. A... romantic relationship.”
His chest suddenly felt heavy as the meaning of her words hit him, and Rye scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head as his heart started pounding. Hard.
It wasn’t true. Was it? No, no, he and Jake were just friends. Just... just really good friends. Although, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, his mom was right in that he really didn’t know much of anything about anything, and he didn’t have the faintest clue what it might feel like to be more than friends.
He touched his cheek, remembering how gentle and careful Jake had been, how his thumb had just barely grazed Rye’s skin, how good it had felt...
Did Jake care about Rye in that way? Like they were more than friends?
And did Rye—
He pulled his hand away from his cheek and shook his head. “No, mama,” he said. “No.” And he might have mumbled something else, too, but he was trembling now, and he didn’t feel so good.
“What’s the matter, Ryan?” his mom said softly, and she leaned in and kissed his forehead. “It’s okay to feel that way about someone. It’s okay. ”
Dirty, calloused hands touching him roughly. Hurting him. A waft of cigarette smoke, and sweat dripping off the man who held him down and—
“No. No, it’s not... like that.” Rye pushed himself to his feet, pulling his hand away from his mom’s, and he shook his head again. “J-Jake i-is j-just—”
Shut the fuck up, stupid child.
“It’s okay, sweetie.”
No, no, it’s not okay.
He shook his head and stumbled backward, but the backs of his knees ran into something solid, and he stopped. Trapped. He was trapped. He wrapped his hands around his midsection, trying to protect himself from—from—from... what?
“Ryan, sweetie.” His mom’s voice was right there in front of him. “It’s okay.”
He still didn’t believe her, but when her arms slipped around his waist, he shuddered and melted into her embrace.
“Shh, shh, sweetie, I didn’t mean to upset you,” his mom said. And she stroked the top of his head and kissed his cheek. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I... wish you could talk to me, sweetie.”
Rye wished the same thing. But the only person he could really talk to was Jake. And this... he couldn’t really talk to Jake about.
“I like you—”
Rye’s insides twisted, and words started to come. Stuttering and stumbling and probably not anything even close to coherent. “Jake i-is just my friend. H-he wouldn’t... he wouldn’t want to... to hurt me.”
“Oh, god, no. No, no, no, Ryan. Whatever... whatever that awful man did to you, that was not anything like your relationship with Jake. Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all, sweetie.”
His mom continued, still holding him tightly as she reassured him over and over. And he tried to listen, but everything was jumbled. She started slowly with a long explanation about what she called “platonic relationships” and friendships, and then she described the difference between that and “something more.” She talked about Jon and Tanya’s relationship, how they’d started dating in high school and had gotten married shortly after graduating. She even talked a little bit about Rye’s father—who had passed away shortly before Rye was born—and how she’d met him and fallen in love and how they’d planned to get married.
And then she paused to hug Rye tighter before she began to talk quietly about Jake.
She talked about how kind he was, how patient and sweet, how helpful. She said she’d just found so much joy in watching their friendship grow, and how she trusted him—because he’d proven over and over and over again in the last eleven months or so how much he cared. She admitted to almost being a little jealous at first—how Rye was able to talk to Jake more than her. But then, she just shook her head and kissed Rye’s cheek, and said how deeply, deeply thankful she was that Jake had stuck around.
“I think he cares about you, Ryan,” she said quietly. “I think he cares about you a lot. And I think... I think maybe Jon was right, and maybe you... care about him, too, even if you maybe don’t know it or understand it yet.”
His stomach was churning, his heart still racing, and as he closed his eyes and shook his head and buried his face against her shoulder, needing solace and comfort, he heard Jake’s voice again. Kind and gentle. Asking if he could wipe away Rye’s tears. And then he felt Jake’s fingers, so warm and careful, brushing along his cheek.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything changes,” his mom said, her voice almost a whisper. “Or it can, if you want it to.”
He didn’t really know exactly what she meant, still, and he wanted to ask, but when he tried, no words would come.
“Just... if you do decide to give it a chance, just take your time. Okay, sweetie?”
He reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of Jake’s touch all over again.
It felt safe.
Full of light and hope.
And it was bright, warm.
Not a suffocating cold, a darkness filled with pain and hurt.
“M-mama?” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I-I love you, mama.”
He heard her sniffle. “I love you too, Ryan.”
He hadn’t slept. At least, not any longer than a few minutes here or there, and every time, he’d been awakened suddenly by something in a dream. Some intangible threat. Or a darkness sitting on his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Finally, at about four in the morning, he’d pulled the blanket off his bed, curled up in the corner of the room with a book, and tried to get lost in some fantasy story about elves and dragons and magic .
At seven, he heard his mom get up, and at seven thirty, she popped her head in and frowned when she found him in the corner instead of in his bed. When she asked if he would be okay today, he did an awful thing.
He lied.
He nodded and gave her a smile and said that, yes, he’d be okay.
He would be okay, after all. He was just tired. And his brain was in one of those awful places, but it would be okay later.
She hesitated, but then came over to his corner and knelt down next to him and gave him a small hug and kiss. Then she said to text if he needed her, and she left for work.
The quiet house thankfully didn’t feel scary at that moment, especially if he let himself listen to the birds chirping just outside. So that was what he did. He closed his book and lay down on his side, curling up as he pulled his blanket well up to his chin. Then he closed his eyes and listened.
He heard the two yellow warblers, their songs bright and happy, as they were every morning. And he heard a northern mockingbird’s rhythmic chirping and the louder drilling of one of the many woodpeckers that lived nearby.
It was enough to keep him occupied, at least for a little while.
It had to have been several minutes later when he heard his phone buzz from where he’d left it on his nightstand the night before, pulling him out of the comfortable, quiet place he’d found. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking past the bright sunlight streaming through the window, and then he forced himself up. His legs felt tired and weak, but he managed to stumble over and collapse onto the bed. He reached over and picked up his phone.
Jake.
His stomach twisted as he saw Jake’s name in the notification. Or, well, it wasn’t an awful, uncomfortable twist. Just a knot. Something uncertain.
He stared at Jake’s name for another few seconds, working up the courage to click.
Not that he needed courage. Jake was probably just texting to say he was on his way over.
And Rye was nowhere near ready to go. And he wasn’t sure when he would be. He should probably shower and shave. Get dressed. At minimum.
Swallowing back whatever feeling was making it hard to breathe again, he clicked on the notification.
Jake (7:54 a.m.): Sorry, running a few minutes late. Leaving now. See you soon : )
Rye closed his eyes as the knot in his stomach turned into something different. Something warm and pleasant.
Jake was his friend. All night long, as he’d been trying to sleep—and failing so spectacularly—he’d been replaying all of his mom’s words and the moment out by Jake’s car. And he’d been trying to understand things. Trying to understand whether his mom might be right. Whether his friendship with Jake could be more than just friendship.
And he’d concluded two things. First, he was absolutely terrified to even consider it. And second, he was fairly sure his mom was right.
Those two things were probably the reasons he’d had so much trouble sleeping, plagued by vague, dark nightmares. Which he supposed were at least better than specific , dark nightmares and flashbacks of awful things.
Rye stared at the phone, and he sucked in a short breath as he was hit by a new sensation. Something like little butterflies fluttering in his chest. The smiley emoji. Jake was looking forward to seeing him today. And... Rye both wanted and didn’t want to see Jake too. He actually really, really wanted to see Jake. But then... reason number one. And reason number two.
Was this really what “more than friends” felt like? His mom thought so. And Jake... God, Jake had even said it. “I like you.” He’d quickly walked it back, but the warmth in his touch a moment later, the feeling of rightness, the tingle in Rye’s cheek—which he could still feel—all of those were things he’d never felt from anyone else before.
His chest felt tight as the implications hit him again. And suddenly, he was suffocating. Not really. Not really. He wasn’t really there. Back there. Being touched against his will. Forced against his will.
He gripped his cell phone and made himself read Jake’s text again. And then again. And he scrolled back up and looked at one of the silly memes Jake had sent him a few days ago. One with some really grumpy-looking cat complaining about Mondays. And he saw more smiley face emojis. Lots of them. And Jake’s kind words. See you soon! Texts about cookies and beach walks and lunches. And all the pictures of birds. There was one of a black-crowned heron Jake had seen from his patio. Another of a hummingbird. Another of Peanut and Butter, the two yellow warblers. And then a picture of a gorgeous sunset over the ocean. I wish you were here right now. This one is amazing! The clouds! Smiley face emoji.
Rye inhaled a shaky breath and closed his eyes, still gripping the phone. It had grounded him just now. Jake had. Jake, his best friend.
Was Rye really just so ignorant about friendship that he hadn’t realized how what he and Jake had was becoming more ?
And it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready at all. He felt lightheaded suddenly, his heart racing as a chill rushed through him.
Relationships like that, he assumed, came with... expectations. Expectations for touching and... more. Didn’t they?
If he and Jake—
There was a knock on the front door, and Rye’s whole body tensed. His head started to pound, and he pulled the blanket up over his face, pushing himself to the edge of his bed with his back against the wall. The birds had stopped chirping outside, and the silence seemed to fill the room, taking up so much space, it pushed him back harder into the wall, pushed all the air from his lungs.
And he couldn’t breathe.
His phone buzzed once. Then again after another moment. Finally, he sucked in a ragged breath and dragged his hand up closer to his face, still hiding under the blanket. Two new text messages.
Jake (8:03 a.m.): Hey, I’m here :)
Jake (8:03 a.m.): Can I come in?
Another one popped up on his screen as he was reading.
Jake (8:04 a.m.): Do you need space?
He felt the tears before they fell, and they were hot and uncontrolled. And he nodded, even though Jake wasn’t there in the room with him and couldn’t see it. Through blurry vision, he typed the letter Y and hit send. Then he dropped the phone and turned his head to bury his face in his pillow.
Quiet sounds of the front door opening and then closing echoed through the thick silence, and Rye could hear Jake’s heavy, slightly uneven footsteps. They didn’t come closer. They stayed in the kitchen or in the living room.
Because Jake respected his boundaries. Every time.
More tears forced themselves out.
Do you need space? Those were their code words for when Rye was having too rough of a day and couldn’t make himself get out of bed. They gave Jake “permission” to come in, to stick around so Rye wasn’t really “alone.” But they also told Jake he wasn’t doing well enough for whatever they’d had planned. Or for socializing. Or talking.
And Jake understood. He understood to wait and give Rye whatever space and time he needed. Because Jake was... perfect. He was so kind and wise and caring. And gentle. And thoughtful. And he was interesting and smart and funny.
He was a perfect friend. And—and he’d be the perfect boyfriend.
For someone who was not Rye. He deserved so much better.
Rye was too broken. Totally beyond fixing. Worthless. A burden. And Jake...
His phone buzzed.
Jake (8:07 a.m.): I’m here if you need me
Jake (8:07 a.m.): You’re not alone
Then one of those people-hugging emojis and a purple heart.
And Rye shuddered and held his phone tight against his chest as he stifled another sob into his pillow.