27. Malcolm #2
“Depends on the person. Depends on the fall. Since you fell in my house, I didn’t find it particularly funny, no.”
“It was the dog’s fault,” I assure him. That’s why we left her at Ryan’s tonight.
Miguel nods over his shoulder in the direction Ryan and Bailey went. “He’s protective of you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, unable to help the small smile, and helpless against the blush.
“I hope you don’t mind, or you can forgive her, but Bailey told me you used to be stepbrothers. He didn’t mention that.”
I could fucking heat a room with my face. “We were more like best friends,” I say .
“I have stepbrothers,” Miguel says. “Three. I hate all of them.”
“Younger? Older?”
“Older. Assholes. And not a one of them is remotely attractive, which probably explains why they’re such dicks.”
I huff. “Maybe.”
“Anyway, they’re very much in a different category than my actual brother, who I don’t care for much, either, but there’s a difference.”
“So, you don’t think it’s like—sick or wrong or whatever?”
“ No, ” he says emphatically. “It’s actually really romantic.”
“I wish our history was romantic.”
“Was it not?”
“We had a rough patch.” Or as I like to think of it now: a decade long mistake, although mistake doesn’t really do it justice.
“All better?” Miguel asks.
“I hope so. I think so.”
“Anyway,” he says, “My point is, whether it’s weird for your families or whatever, it doesn’t matter what you start out as—just where you end up. Because that’s what was meant to be, you know? You can’t help how you met.”
I take a deep breath and consider the whole of it.
I get where he’s coming from—what he’s trying to say.
It’s different than meeting the love of your life on a bus in fourth grade, but how Ryan and I know each other seems a lot less important than what we mean to each other.
And obviously, it hasn’t stopped me. Or him.
Do I want to advertise it? No. But I can’t change it either. Nor would I want to. “Yeah,” I say. “I can own it.”
“Good.”
“Is this where you tell me love is love? ”
He scoffs. “No. It absolutely is not. But it is where I tell you love is fabulous when it’s not the worst fucking thing ever.”
I laugh. “Yeah, no I get that.”
Ryan and Bailey reappear. Bailey doesn’t say anything, but Ryan locks eyes with me and asks, “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
Yes, sir.
Once we’ve been silent for half a block, I ask, “What did you need to say to Bailey that you couldn’t say in front of me? I realize what I’m asking.”
He exhales a harsh breath. “I just reminded her that you have a girlfriend.”
My thoughts about protectiveness and us being meant to be screech to a halt. I stop walking. “Seriously?”
He faces me. “What?”
This is so fucking frustrating. Why is he like this? Why can’t he just be with me without trying to find some major impediment to it? “I mean, I appreciate you thinking about that and everything, but I’m just surprised, I guess. You haven’t said a word about her in a while.”
“She’s coming home tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and I’m gonna talk to her on Thursday when she comes to get Stephanie.”
“Talk to her?”
“Break up,” I specify because obviously I need to state it for the damn record.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Are you worried I’m gonna see her and all of a sudden forget that I’m in love with you?”
He looks down at the sidewalk, his hair falling to cover whatever view I might have had of his face. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Mal. I’m doing my best, okay? ”
“Doing your best?”
“To trust you.”
“Have I given you a reason not to?” I ask. I’ve barely let him out of my sight.
“No,” he whispers, sounding choked. “But I don’t want…”
I wait, not the world’s best at being patient, but trying.
“I don’t want you to feel like you’ve got something to prove or you’re—whatever—trying to make up for something.”
“You think I’m doing you some kind of favor?” I could almost laugh if he didn’t seem so twisted up.
“You have history with her. A whole relationship.”
“Yeah…” Where the fuck is he going with this? If he tries to break up with me?—
“I just want you to do what’s right for you,” he says. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“Ry, are you kidding?” I step toward him, and he looks up, into my eyes.
He bites his lip, and there’s a slight tremble in it. “Having you in my life is enough,” he says. “You not hating me is enough.”
“No,” I whisper, putting my fully functioning hand on his face. “It’s not. Not for me, it’s not.”
“But when you see her again?—”
“Ryan. Come on—do you see my face? I love you. And it’s not fucking new.”
“I love you, too, but?—”
“But?” I ask, verging on losing it. “But what ?”
“I get that you might… want …something else.”
“More than I want you? You’re crazy.”
“I’m just saying it doesn’t have to be like...the way it’s been.”
I narrow my gaze. Is he saying we can go back to just being friends? He’s gotta know I’m too far gone for that. Right?
I don’t know what he’s saying or not saying, but this is about as open as Ryan gets, and I think for once I know what he needs.
“ On the off chance I wouldn’t change a thing…
” I’m joking because there’s zero chance of me wanting anything less than everything, and I hope he gets it.
He should get it, if we’re as in love as I think we are.
His half smile says he does. “I’ll keep your side of the bed empty.”
“My side, huh?” He and I could sleep on a twin bed and still have room for another person. A small person, but still.
“Fine, my side. Whatever.”
“You make me crazy,” I tell him, but then I kiss him, wishing I didn’t have to wait for Thursday to get him to start trusting that the only person I want anything from is him .