“Oh.” Oh. Poor Ryan. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own trials, I’ve hardly thought about him. I fight the compulsion to cross into Iris’s yard to find him. But later. It’s pretty clear that at the moment, his gram needs to talk.
“Yes, oh.” She tips her visor up to study me. “You don’t seem surprised.”
I flush, remembering how I so charitably turned Ryan down shortly after we met. “I’ve known for a while.”
“I don’t understand why he’d keep something so important from me.”
I fiddle with my ponytail, trying to come up with a suitable answer, one that won’t put Ryan on the spot with her later. “You know how boys can be. They get scared and keep secrets from people they care about.” I’m talking about Mati, obviously, but my rationale applies here, too.
“Hmm…,” Iris says. “I suppose that makes sense. But I’m his gram.”
My skin’s itchy with empathy. “Maybe that’s why he held back. He wasn’t sure how you’d react and didn’t want you to be mad, or sad. He loves you.”
“I love him, too—that hasn’t changed.” Her mouth puckers, downturned, like she’s reliving the unpleasantness of what went on last night.
“When you found out, how’d you react?”
Her frown deepens. “Unfavorably, in hindsight. But only because I was surprised. He’s disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in me.” She scales another branch from her tree. “I want him to feel comfortable coming to me, no matter the situation. I want him to trust me.”
“You should talk to him.”
She eyes me. “Will you speak to the person who’s responsible for your stewing in the grass all morning?”
Touché.
“My situation’s different, Iris.”
“Still,” she says, nodding like some sort of guru. “You should talk to him.”
*
After dinner, I drag Ryan and Xavier to The Hamlet for milkshakes. We sit at the counter, three instead of two. Xavier asks for vanilla, Ryan orders peanut butter, and I stick with my tested-and-true coconut. When it arrives, I experience an unsettling sense of déjà vu at its tropical taste. Except, the last time I had a coconut shake, life was relatively good.
I’m pushing my full glass away, suddenly without appetite when, in a tone unfittingly casual, Ryan says, “Mati called this afternoon.”
His name shatters the air like a hammer to glass. “Can we … not talk about him?”
“He’s a mess, Elise.”
“I’m a mess,” I say, too loud. I take a breath and swiftly reinforce my wall.
“He told me what happened. About the”—awkward throat clear—“engagement. He told me about the way his mother acted. She must really hate you, by the way.”
Xavier elbows him. “Don’t be an ass.”
Ryan plows ahead, undeterred. “He also told me he’s crazy in love with you.”
“Did he tell you he lied by omission, over and over? Did he tell you he tried to justify it?”
“He told me he misses you. You’re wasting your time with him. Six days and he’s gone. I know you’re hurt, but come on. You’re punishing him for something that’s not his fault.”
I add stones to my wall, big ones, and bolsters for strength.
Six days. God, it’s hard to breathe.
“He’s a good guy, Elise.”
I won’t argue that. He’s giving up his future, his life, to better his community. Short of my brother’s death, I can’t fathom a bigger sacrifice.
Ryan leans in, resting his hand on my arm. “He’s a good guy.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Then don’t give yourself room for regret.”
“Even if this is it with Mati,” Xavier says, his tone indicating a fresh perspective. “If you stick to your guns, decide you’re done, and that you never want to talk to him again, at least you got to know him. At least you had the experience, right?”
Ryan nods. “Right. But seriously. If you want to give him a call, we wouldn’t stop you.”
I smile for the first time in too long. “What am I going to do when you guys are gone?”
“Make new friends,” Ryan says, like it’s easy. He nods at my full glass. “Now, finish your milkshake.” Glancing at his own, empty but for a few smears of peanut butter and whipped cream, then Xavier’s, practically licked clean, he adds, “Unless you only brought us here to fatten us up?”
“Actually … I brought you here because I talked to your gram this morning.”
His cheeks go pink. Xavier becomes suddenly fascinated with his straw.
“You hurt her feelings, Ryan.”
He draws a hand over his face. “I know.”
“What happened? I mean, not exactly, but how did she, you know … figure it out?”
“She went down the street to Ms. Pinque’s after dinner. Xavier came over and I guess we lost track of time. Gram came home and … kind of walked in on us.”
I wince. “You were…?”
“Kissing,” Xavier says with a sheepish, though not entirely repentant shrug. “On the sofa.”
“She was shocked, to say the least,” Ryan adds.
“She was like, ‘Oh!’” Xavier says, assuming a scandalized falsetto, “And then she dropped the plate of cookies she was holding.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I dissolve into genuine laughter.
They stare at me with nearly identical expressions of disbelief.
“What?” I say, fanning my face. “It’s funny. I’m envisioning it as it went down: you two, oblivious, and poor Iris, letting a dozen cookies fall to the floor. She’s an old lady, you guys. I’m pretty sure she’d be shocked to see her grandson frolicking with anyone on her floral sofa, but you,” I say, pointing at Xavier.
He gives me another of his unruffled shrugs, like, What can I say?
Ryan’s still flushed, but he’s flashing his patent grin. “You don’t think she’s upset about the gay thing?”
“The gay thing? I think what riled her is the intimacy thing. And the fact that you kept such a big secret from her. Talk to her already. And no more fooling around on her sofa!”
Ryan’s beaming and so is Xavier; they’re beaming at each other, and I see it in their shared gaze, love, sincere and stalwart.
I’m happy for them, really and truly, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t envious, too.
elise
Days pass.
I’ve become sluggish and sloppy, and the thought of food … ugh. I haven’t touched my Nikon; it sits on my desk, jeering, collecting dust. I can’t sleep to save my life, though dragging my body out of bed is a task too enormous to attempt.
And then there’s the ache. The relentless, carnal ache living deep in my chest: my heart, trying—failing—to reassemble itself.
I should have seen this coming. The day Mati told me he’d be returning to Afghanistan, I should have walked away. Because this brand of misery … It’s nothing new.
I felt a version of it after Nick died. My mom did, too. We holed up in our San Francisco condo, the two of us, but we might as well have been alone. We barely spoke. Housekeeping was neglected and personal hygiene was optional. We never sat down to meals together. Her writing fell by the wayside, and so did my photography. Sometimes I’d find her in front of the muted TV, and I’d join her, though as far as she knew, I might as well have been an apparition. We’d stare at the screen, worlds apart. It wasn’t until Audrey and baby Janie moved into the shrine that was Nicky’s bedroom that we pulled out of our mutual depression.
I haven’t spoken to Mati since the revelation about his engagement—haven’t heard his laugh or felt the calloused touch of his palm or smelled his clean, rosemary scent. He’s continued to call, once every evening. I’ve continued to ignore him, and not even because I’m mad—I lack the energy for anger.
I can’t talk to him, because there’s nothing left to say.
I understand.
I will never understand.
I forgive you.
It’s impossible to forgive a lapse as enormous as his.
I want to see you.
God, what’s the point?
I guess I could tell him how much I care—the truth. But even if I did understand, even if I could forgive, circumstance says reengaging will just make things worse.