All Roads Lead Home #2
“I haven’t found a place just yet, so after New Year’s I’m moving in with my dad until I get situated.”
“And you haven’t been back since you left…” Ryan leans back against the counter, filling in the blanks. “I miss your dad. He’s the best.”
Ryan’s not wrong. My dad is the best. He’s an Amtrak engineer, and I remember on weekends he would let me sit up with him in the locomotive cabin and we’d go down to the city for a few hours, just us.
He’d either take me to his favorite soup dumpling place in Chinatown or what he deemed the best hot dog cart in Central Park.
I could talk to him about anything. He taught me how to play baseball and would help make sense of my math homework.
Then in my junior year of high school my parents divorced.
My mom had plans to move to Florida to be closer to her family and she encouraged me to apply for colleges down there.
Cut to me moving almost eleven hundred miles away to be close to her—and eleven hundred miles away from my dad.
“My mom painted him out to be this bad guy, and I never really knew the full story,” I say. “I didn’t realize she was sort of keeping me from him. So I’m kind of seeing this job as a sign that I should rebuild that relationship.”
“Elle,” Ryan breathes out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Really.” I wave him off. I already made my peace with the reality of my parents’ divorce. “I’ve seen him over the years,” I explain. “He would visit, but just being back here, I don’t know… I’m a little nervous.”
“Of course,” he says.
There’s a pang in my chest that isn’t necessarily pain, it’s more the urge to open up.
It’s hard not confiding in someone who just knows you.
Ryan and I became friends when were in preschool and were attached at the hip ever since.
He was my person through prepubescent acne, frizzy hair, and braces.
Ryan would spend weekday dinners with me and my parents, and vice versa.
He wasn’t just my friend; he was my family.
Then one day things just… changed. In sophomore year of high school, I started looking at him differently, noticing how attractive he was.
I’d notice his eyes linger on my lips; I’d feel an electric spark if ever we brushed shoulders in the school hallways.
Suddenly, hanging out in his basement watching movies after school felt a little too intimate and silence was no longer comfortable but charged.
By senior year, I could hardly focus on anything other than my physical attraction to Ryan.
“What if things aren’t the same?” I ask him.
Ryan’s mouth opens and then presses tight.
“I’m sure things might be different… You’re an adult now,” he says.
“I don’t think you can just pick up from where you left off all those years ago, but things can still be good…
maybe even better.” His words sit with me.
I oddly feel like they don’t necessarily apply to just my dad and me. “When is dinner?” he asks.
“Around seven thirty,” I say, and glance at my phone. Less than an hour. “My dad told me to call him when I get in…” I trail off, and Ryan clearly understands that I haven’t done that yet.
“You got this,” he says with a nod. When he says it, I almost believe it. I trust him.
“So, uh…” I change the subject. “Do you still talk to anyone from school?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Not really. I see Connor and Danielle sometimes, but most people moved away.”
“Oh my god.” I adjust in my seat, feeling invested in people I haven’t thought of since I left. “What are they up to now?”
“Connor has like three kids,” Ryan says.
“Shut up.” I lean in. “That doesn’t sound like Connor.”
“Three different women.”
“That sounds like Connor.” I snort.
“He’s a good dad, though,” Ryan adds. “And Danielle’s a hairdresser in town. She gives me a discount.” He smiles.
A customer comes in and orders an eggnog latte to go. He and Ryan make a little bit of small talk about the recent snowstorm, and I observe like my favorite television show is on.
When the man leaves, I give Ryan an apologetic look. “I’m sorry you’re stuck working the holidays.”
He shrugs. “I like to give the staff the holidays off.”
I take a bite of my cinnamon roll, the warm, pillowy dough tasting sweet and buttery. “Are you the manager?” I ask, my mouth still full.
“I own this place,” he says.
“You…” I look at our surroundings: the intentional holiday décor, the homey vibe that you’re thrust into immediately when entering, and the sense of comfort that sweeps the entire space.
On the chalkboard menu I notice impressive drawings of gingerbread men and wrapped gifts.
There’s no doubt Ryan drew those himself.
He always loved doodling. “You own this place?”
“Mm-hmm.” He pushes himself off from the counter and takes a sip from a mug sitting by the pastry case.
“That’s amazing,” I say in disbelief. “How did that happen?”
“It was closing down, and I wanted to preserve it,” he explains. “Two years now.”
“Wow,” I say under my breath. I don’t know what I thought Ryan would grow up to be, but of course it’s something with meaning, something he’s passionate about.
Ryan’s gaze stays fixated on me, and all it takes is a small crinkle in my brow for him to shake his head like he’s snapped out of a trance.
“Sorry.” He takes in a sharp inhale. “It’s just, uh, nice to see you again.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes my heart twist. There’s weight to his words.
“You too,” I agree. “Really. And you look… good,” I say, and kick myself for not moving past his appearance.
“As you’ve said.” He laughs.
“No, seriously,” I hone in. “I don’t know, you look different, but the same.”
“Well, I’m not seventeen anymore,” he says.
I sit up straighter. “Do I look different?”
“No,” he says.
“No?” My face collapses.
“You’re still just as beautiful.”
My cheeks heat up, and I smile.
The next thirty minutes go by far too quickly. Ryan and I reminisce about our old teachers, inside jokes, and milestones in our lives that I didn’t realize I’ve been holding on to.
Spending time with him doesn’t feel like I’m with an old friend who I haven’t seen in a decade, but more like catching up with my best friend after going weeks without talking.
Ryan still manages to make me laugh so hard my cheeks feel sore, and I haven’t lost the ability to expose his playful side that he likes to conceal. We were always like this growing up, but is it normal to still have this effortless dynamic as adults?
“Do you remember when we drove up to Woodstock before I left?” I finish the final bite of my cinnamon roll as Ryan refills coffee beans.
“Are you kidding?” He eyes me. “That was the day I got the truck. You were my first passenger.”
The day before I left for Florida, I told Ryan I wanted to do something fun, so he suggested we drive up along the Hudson River.
“It was the most perfect summer day.” I reminisce about having the sun on my face and the wind in my hair from the passenger side of his truck.
“We found that venue playing live music, but we weren’t allowed in because we weren’t old enough,” Ryan says with disbelief.
“So we listened from your parked car.” I laugh.
Ryan runs a hand through his hair, reliving the memory. “God, do you remember that?”
I don’t think there’s a world in which I could forget. It was the night we almost kissed.
Before I can respond, a woman walks in picking up an order for two dozen gingerbread cookies. Ryan runs to the back and brings over a box.
“Merry Christmas,” he calls out as she leaves, and then turns to me. “We close in fifteen.”
I take a final sip of my drink, which has given me just the right amount of caffeine and a sugar spike that I needed. “I guess I better call my dad.”
“You said your dad’s at the same place?” Ryan asks, and I nod. “I’ll drive you,” he offers, and I don’t want to say no. I want to spend as much time with him as I can.
“Are you sure?”
“You live an eight-minute bike ride away,” he deadpans. “I’m sure.”
Once Ryan starts the engine, the radio instantly starts playing a classic Christmas tune that makes me smile. “You ready?” he asks, and I nod.
My heart starts to beat a little faster being so close to him in such a confined space.
Sitting in the passenger’s side feels all too familiar, except now we’re not in some beaten-up old truck—Ryan’s upgraded to an impressive SUV, and it’s so clear that he’s not the boy I once knew.
He’s a man. A man who’s over six feet, with hands that could cover my entire waist and stomach…
not like that’s what I’m thinking about.
Except it’s almost impossible not to. The last time we were driving together, he had my hand in his. He had my heart.
I think about that night in Woodstock; we were sitting in his parked truck.
Holding hands is something we never used to do, but that night it felt right.
He grazed my knuckles, and I leaned in closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.
We were so close until another car pulled in beside us.
I’ve replayed that moment in my head over and over again, wondering what would’ve happened if we’d just kissed.
“What?” Ryan looks over, feeling my eyes on his profile.
“Nothing.” I look away.
“Tell me,” he demands playfully.
“I’m remembering the last time I sat in the front seat of your truck.”
He smiles, keeping his focus ahead. “I guess a few things are different.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “You’re a lot bigger.”
He peels his eyes off the road and looks at me. His eyes are a cool blue, almost like the snow around us. The look he gives me causes my internal temperature to shoot up like a thermometer dropped in boiling water.
“That I am” is all he says.