52. Riley
There areat least fifteen different brands of fish food at the pet store, which makes shopping for my still-unnamed betta fish way more difficult than it needs to be.
It’s a low maintenance creature, so I don’t know what could possibly necessitate all of these different brands. One promises shinier scales, and the other claims to promote healthier fins. I shake my head, weighing one option in each hand.
Finally, I decide to make the choice at random. If I picked wrong, my unnamed fish will just have to cope with subpar pellets.
I toss the box into my shopping basket and continue down the aisle. I have to pick out a new filter for his little tank, then I’ll be on my way.
As I round the corner into the next aisle, I almost run straight into someone. I stumble back, startled, and drop my basket. The box of fish food slides across the floor.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“No worries,” says a familiar voice.
I freeze with my hand halfway to the fish food. It’s Cole.
I look up, and there he is, in the flesh. From this angle, he looks even taller and more imposing, but the rigid facade is diminished somewhat by the appearance of Archie’s delighted face around his legs.
“Riley!” Archie yells, exuberant. “You’re here!”
“I sure am,” I say. He’s a sight for sore eyes, I have to admit—I’ve really missed both of them. But I don’t say so out loud. “What are you guys up to?”
“We are here to, ah… get a ‘fish treat,’” Cole says, making air quotes. “I’m not entirely sure what that is, but Archie insisted.”
“Swimmy needs something nice,” Archie explains. “You have to give your pet a treat, or it’ll get sad.”
I fight the instinctive smile that comes to my face. I don’t want to make this encounter more awkward by being overfamiliar, but I can’t help myself. “But what does a fish treat look like?” I ask. “I think they only sell fish food.”
“I don’t know,” Archie says, frowning.
I glance up at Cole, who is also struggling to keep a straight face. “So you guys don’t know what you’re looking for, do you?”
Cole sighs, shaking his head. “What would you get, as a present for a fish?” His voice is deadpan, sardonic, but Archie doesn’t notice.
“Riley can help us pick out a fish treat!”
“Um… sure,” I say. I thought this would be a short trip to the pet store, but I can’t say no to Archie. I think for a few seconds, then add, “What if you got Swimmy a nice, new rock for his tank?”
Cole nudges Archie. “That’s a great idea. What do you say, bud?”
“Okay!” Archie dashes off toward the aquarium aisle, his hands stuck out behind him. Then he comes to an abrupt halt, glancing back at me and beckoning. “Riley, you have to help me choose a rock.”
“Sure,” I say dubiously. I hike the basket up on my arm, following Archie over to the aquarium decorations.
“Which one is the best rock?” Archie asks, pointing to a shelf full of plastic rock formations. There are at least twenty different models. This is an even worse choice than the fish food, and, I suspect, even less consequential.
But to Archie, it’s of vital importance, so I study the rocks with an intense focus.
“It has to be the best rock in the store,” Archie insists. “Because Swimmy is the best fish.”
“Of course, of course,” I murmur. I rifle through the shelf, pulling out a rock from behind the rest. This one has a little cave set into the base, just big enough for a fish to hide inside. “How about this one? It has a little home for him in it.”
Archie takes the rock, turning it over and inspecting it with a critical eye. At long last, he nods. “This is perfect.”
He reaches up to hand it to Cole, who is standing behind him. Cole holds the rock in one hand, looking me up and down with a puzzled expression. “What brings you to the pet store today?” he asks politely.
I shift my weight awkwardly—though I have to admit, things aren’t as stilted with Cole as they’ve been the few times I’ve run into him at the community center. Maybe that means we’re both moving on.
The thought is depressing.
“I actually got a fish myself,” I admit.
Archie’s eyes go wide, and he bounces excitedly. Cole puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him before he can knock down a display of aquatic plants.
“You got a fish?” Archie exclaims. “That’s so cool! What’s his name?”
“You know, I haven’t given him a name yet,” I say. “I couldn’t think of anything. He looks a lot like Swimmy, though, if you want to help me out.”
Archie taps his chin thoughtfully for a few seconds, then exclaims, “You should name him Gill!”
“Gill?”
“Yeah, Gill! Because fish have gills. They use them to breathe. That’s what my teacher told me.”
“You know what? That’s a great name,” I say, grinning. If nothing else, at least my fish got a name out of this run-in with Archie and Cole.
Archie follows me, with Cole just behind him, as I head to the filter aisle to grab what I need. Archie talks at a mile a minute, filling me in on everything I’ve missed since the last time I saw him. He tells me about a new friend he made at pre-K, and a picture he drew of Dino that he can’t wait to show me.
As Archie says this last part, I shoot a guilty glance over at Cole. To my surprise, his expression remains neutral.
Has he really moved on that much?
We all head up to the registers together, and once everything is paid for, I pause by the door awkwardly, glancing back at Archie and Cole.
“Well, it was really nice to run into the two of you,” I begin, expecting to ungracefully part ways.
“You should come have dinner with us!” Archie bursts out loudly—he’s having an energetic day.
I cringe internally, glancing over at Cole. “Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, kiddo.”
“But it would be so fun!” Archie cries.
Cole nods, his eyes warm as he meets my gaze. His voice is sincere as he says, “Please. You should join us.”
Whatever I was expecting Cole to say, it wasn’t that. I open my mouth to refuse, then close it, considering. It couldn’t hurt to just go over for dinner. In fact, it might help with the heartache I’ve been feeling—a reminder that time moves on, or something.
“Okay, sure,” I say hesitantly. “I didn’t have anything to do this evening, anyway.”
Rather than taking the subway back to my place, I get into the passenger seat of Cole’s car, parked in an underground parking deck below the pet store. At first, I’m nervous as Cole buckles Archie into his car seat and then takes the wheel.
After the short drive, though, I start to relax.
From the backseat, Archie is reading corny jokes out of a joke book he borrowed from his pre-K classroom. He seems to be trying to make Cole laugh, which, of course, is next to impossible. To make up for Cole’s stoic silence, I offer up an exaggerated fit of giggles at every joke Archie tells.
Eventually, we pull up in the familiar driveway, and I step out into Cole’s front garden. He holds the door open for me, and I walk into the foyer, looking around at everything with clear eyes. It feels like I never left. There’s the closet I got trapped in, and in the next room, I can see the window where my easel was set up.
I shrug off my sweater and hang it on the coat rack, like I’ve seen countless guests do.
It feels strange, I reflect, to be a visitor to this house. I instinctively feel as though I could walk straight up the stairs and be right at home.
I follow Cole and Archie into the kitchen, and laugh along with their banter as Cole makes dinner. We sit down at the table to eat perfectly-cooked steaks, and the conversation flows easily, all of the earlier awkwardness behind us. It’s fun, and simple, talking to Cole—just like it used to be, during the good times.
The only moment of tension comes when Cole asks me what I’ve been up to since we last spoke. There’s silence for a second as I struggle to answer, grappling with the memory of our last conversation.
He recovers quickly. “Are you enjoying your new job?”
“Yes,” I say, seizing the topic like a lifeline. “It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
He smiles, seeming genuinely pleased for me. “That’s great. You deserve it.”
“I owe it to you,” I add. “Since you’re the one who made it possible.”
He shakes his head. “Not really. I made it possible for the community center to finally hire you, something they’ve wanted to do for at least a year. You were the first and only person who came to mind for the position. You were the one who stood out to Lenny.”
I blush, looking down at the napkin in my lap to hide my smile. “Well, thank you, regardless.”
After dinner, I start to help Cole clear the dishes—automatically in “work” mode, since part of my job was keeping things tidy—but he gives me a stern look. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, sinking back into my chair.
“You’re a guest,” he says. “There’s no need for that. Let me take care of it.”
While I’m sitting at the table, enjoying a glass of white wine and trying not to watch Cole’s arms as he does the dishes, Archie leans toward me and whispers, “Do you think Gill is Swimmy’s secret brother?”
“Why would it be a secret?” I reply. “They look just like each other. Here, check it out—”
I pull out my phone, finding a picture of my fish in my camera roll, and show Archie the screen. Archie frowns, inspecting it closely.
“Gill is more purple than Swimmy,” he announces at last. “I don’t think they’re related.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the expert, here.”
I notice that Cole is watching us out of the corner of his eye, a soft smile on his face.
“I painted some pictures while you were gone,” Archie says, and my heart twists a little at his words, the same way it always does whenever something makes me miss him. “Do you want to see?”
“I’d love to,” I answer.
I let Archie guide me out of the dining area, over to the front room where I’d kept my easel. The easel itself is gone, but the floor by the window is coated with a layer of newspapers, just like it was when I was teaching Archie to paint.
There are pieces of painted cardstock lying on the newspaper, bearing a child’s incomprehensible artwork. Archie points to each of them in turn, explaining what’s going on. One of them features Trevor chasing a zebra, and another is a painting of the sheep he loved so much at the petting zoo.
“These are great,” I tell him. “You’re quite the artist.”
Archie beams, sticking out his chest proudly.
After a few minutes of perusing Archie’s artwork, Cole leans his head in from the hallway. “I hate to be a buzzkill, guys, but it’s seven-thirty. You know what that means, bud.”
Archie lets out a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world has just settled on his shoulders. “But I want to hang out with Riley.” An idea seems to cross his mind, and he asks, “Can Riley read me a story?”
I look to Cole, meeting his gaze. To my surprise, there’s no storm in his eyes, no doubt or turmoil. He nods, gesturing to the door.
“Please do,” he says to me.
“Yay!” Archie cries, dashing off toward the stairs. Suddenly, he’s plenty excited for bedtime.
I follow Archie up the stairs, and to my surprise, Cole doesn’t follow us. I had assumed he would accompany me upstairs to supervise storytime, but he’s giving us space.
He’s trusting me to look after Archie.