Ryder pulls into my subdivision. “If he’s gonna treat you that way about a video game, he wasn’t really your friend to begin with. True friends don’t give a shi—a crap about that stuff. You can like different things and still be friends.”
Nate doesn’t answer right away. “I thought that liking the same stuff was what made you friends.”
Ryder shakes his head. “No way, man. Liking the same stuff is what brings you together, what starts the friendship, but if you don’t like all the same stuff, that’s fine. Like, my three best friends: Jesse, Franco, and James—we all like building stuff. But Jesse hates working on cars and I love it. James hates dealing with fiddly, precise stuff like electrical currents and voltages and stuff, and I love it. Franco loves working with wood and carving things and all that, and I just end up with splinters. But we all like building things in our own way, and that’s what bonds us. We’re friends because we like who the other person is, and we have fun together, no matter what we do.”
“Huh. Brian and I both like sports and watching YouTube. I just think Fortnite is dumb.”
“And if he’s really your friend, he won’t care. You just don’t have to do that particular thing when you hang out.”
We pull into my driveway, and I glance at Ryder. “We just have to go get him changed into basketball stuff. You want to come in or wait?”
“I’ll come in.” He hesitates. “If it’s cool.”
I climb out and let Nate out. “It’s cool.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “It’s cool.”
Nate lets out an annoyed groan. “God, you guys are weird. Let’s go, already. I’m a team captain. I have to be on time.”
He hustles ahead of me, his overnight backpack bouncing on his back. I reach the door just after him, unlock it, and Nate tears off through the house, dropping his bag and shedding clothes as he goes.
“Nate—god,” I huff. “You could at least put your clothes in the hamper!”
“No time, Mom!” he calls from his bedroom.
I sigh. “It takes literally the same amount of time to take all your clothes off in your room and throw them in the hamper as it does to strip on the way to your room, leaving clothes all over my living room.” Ryder is snickering, and I shoot him a glare. “What are you laughing at?”
“Just that I tend to take my clothes off the same way—especially if I’m in a hurry.”
I roll my eyes. “Boys are so messy. I don’t get it. You’re not saving any time, and actually just making more work for yourself later.” I frown at him. “Unless you never bother to pick up after yourself.”
Ryder pulls a face. “I do.” He snickers again. “Just not…you know. A lot.”
“So you’re saying your house is a pigsty.”
“Um, somewhere between a little messy and a pigsty? I do clean up. Every once in a while.”
I shake my head. “Gross.”
Ryder is looking around at our house—mismatched furniture, a dozen photos of Nate by himself and Nate and me together, a 40-gallon tote bin full of LEGOs on the floor, with a handful of pieces scattered around it. Stacks of DVDs on the entertainment center, next to the TV, mostly Ninjago and Ninja Turtles, as well as my collection of vintage 80s cartoon DVDs—She-Ra, He-Man, ThunderCats, GI Joe, Voltron, Transformers.
Ryder immediately goes to the vintage DVDs. “Dude, you have my entire childhood right here.”
I laugh. “Nate and I were trying to agree on something to watch together one Saturday morning, and I happened across an episode of He-Man on some cable channel, and we ended up watching that, which sent me on a mission to find collections of all the cartoons my sister and I used to watch together.”
“You watched this stuff? Not, like, Strawberry Shortcake or Rainbow Brite? Every Saturday morning Franco and Jesse and I would go over to Jesse’s, and his sister and her friends would be watching Rainbow Brite. We’d always pretend we didn’t like it, but we always ended up sitting on the floor watching it until it was time for Transformers or whatever.”
I shrug. “My parents both worked on Saturdays, so Leah and I would stay home alone all morning eating cereal and watching TV.” I laugh. “It was the eighties—you could do that back then. I’d never leave Nate home alone at this age, even though Leah and I were younger when Mom and Dad left us to go to work.”
“MOM!” Nate shouts. “I have a knot in my shoelace, and I can’t get it out, and we’re gonna be late!”
He hops into the living room, one shoe on and tied, the other dangling by the knotted laces from his finger. I reach for it, but Ryder takes it first.
“Look, knots are easy. You just gotta figure out where it’s going and work backwards.” He examines the knot, and then points at a particular part of the knot. “See this? Pull on it.”
He hands it back to Nate, who wiggles the indicated section free, which loosens the knot enough that he can untie it himself. “Wow. How’d you do that?”
“My uncle was a sailor. And I don’t mean he was in the Navy, I mean he sailed on an old antique schooner with sails and all that. He and a bunch of other guys from his Vietnam unit met every weekend to build this full-scale, working replica of an old Great Lakes merchant schooner. When they finished it, they’d go sailing on it every weekend. He was a master with knots, and he was always teaching me different knots and stuff.”
“That’s the coolest thing ever,” Nate says.
“Is that the same uncle who taught you how to restore classic cars?” I ask.
Ryder nods. “Sure is. Uncle Pete. He basically raised me.”
Nate has his shoe tied, and hops up. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Ryder laughs. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
Nate is out the front door already, leaving it swinging, and I just laugh. “He’s the most serious about it. He was chosen as a team captain this season, and ever since he’s taken the whole thing so seriously I don’t even know how to deal with it.”
“It’s good he takes the responsibility seriously, though.”
I nod. “He’s a good kid.” I can’t help a sigh. “I just hate that he’s caught between Paul and me when things like today happen.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re doing an amazing job. Don’t second-guess yourself.”
As we climb into his car—Nate is already buckled up and bouncing impatiently—I ask, “How do you know I’m doing a great job?”
Ryder starts the car and with a throaty roar he pulls away, squealing the tires—to Nate’s immense delight. He accelerates so fast we’re pushed back into the seat, but he slows to the speed limit almost immediately.
“Because he’s a cool kid. You don’t raise cool kids if you’re doing a crappy job as a parent. That’s how you end up with self-centered little assholes.”
I frown at him. “Ryder!”
“It’s true, Mom,” Nate says. “There’s this kid in my grade, and he’s always being super mean to people on the playground, and I heard him saying his parents hate each other and his mom is always sending him to stay with other people so she can go out with her boyfriend, and he said his mom has a new boyfriend like every week. I feel bad for him, but he’s a jerk.” He glances at me. “He’s a slimy poophead.”
“Well, we still have to be nice to slimy poopheads, Nate,” I tell him. “He’s probably mean because he’s lonely and sad.”
“Slimy poophead, huh?” Ryder says, laughing. He slides his phone from his pocket and hits a speed dial. It rings three times, and I hear someone pick up, construction noises in the background. “Hey, Jesse—you’re a slimy poophead!”
Jesse doesn’t answer right away, and then he cackles. “Yeah? Well…you’re a…a…a moldy turdface!”
Nate laughs at that. “That’s lame! Slimy poophead is better!”
“Who said that?” Jesse asks.
“Nate,” Ryder answers. “Laurel’s kid.”
“Laurel’s kid, huh?” I hear questions in Jesse’s
voice, but knowing he’s on speakerphone, he’s wise enough to keep them to himself. “Moldy turdface is better, so there.”
I groan in annoyance. “You’re both as bad as he is, and you’re grown men!” I can’t help a laugh, though. “You do realize I’ve been trying to get him not to talk like that, right? And then you two come along and encourage him!”
“News flash for you, Laurel,” Jesse says. “The four of us never really grew up. Inside, we’re still all essentially ten-year-olds.”
“Wonderful,” I drawl. “Juuuust great.”
“I gotta go,” Jesse says. “James and I are in the middle of putting up a six-foot load-bearing beam.”
“Billy Bar later!” I hear James call. “I’ve got questions!”
“Hello?” Ryder makes fake static sounds. “You’re breaking up…can’t hear you…” and then he hangs up, shoving the phone under his thigh.
“Wow, that was…not subtle,” I remark. “Avoiding them, are you?”
He shrugs. “I’m not quite ready to answer a bunch of questions just yet.”
“That I understand. I’m gonna get questioned by the gossip gestapo myself—especially now that Jesse and James both know you’re with me and Nate.”
“The gossip gestapo?” Ryder asks, laughing.
“Yeah, Audra. She’s absolutely merciless when she wants to know something.”
“Now that Jesse and Franco are dating Imogen and Audra, we have our own little circle of gossip,” Ryder says. “Anything that happens to any of us, everyone else knows instantly. Jesse and Franco are just as bad as the women when it comes to spreading shit.” He winces. “I mean, crap.”
We make it to the elementary school with two minutes to spare, and Nate jumps out, shouting over his shoulder. “I’ll be done in an hour and a half, then we get pizza! Okay, see you later, love you, bye!” He pauses, halfway through the door into the school. “I meant I love you Mom, not you, Ryder—that’d be weird!”
Ryder laughs. “I like that kid. He’s funny.”
I grin. “I’m pretty fond of him myself.”
“So. Now what?”
I shrug. “I could’ve just taken Nate to practice myself, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.” A moment of silence between us—kind of awkward, a little strained, neither of us knowing exactly how we’re supposed to say goodbye after the weekend we shared. “We always get pizza for dinner on Sunday.” I hesitate. “I’d invite you to have dinner with us, but I kinda feel like I need to spend some time with Nate. We usually talk about what he did with his dad.”
“It’s fine,” Ryder assures me. “The guys and I almost never miss a Sunday night at Billy Bar, so if I skip, I’ll just get questioned worse later.” He laughs, running his hand through his hair. “I, uh…I’m not sure how this is supposed to work. Like, what we do next, or what to say…”
“Me neither.”
He puts the car into drive. “How about this—I take you back to your place, and we figure out how to say goodbye to each other.”
I snort. “I know what that means.”
He snickers. “Hey, what can I say—I can’t get enough.”
“I thought we agreed we needed a break.” I eye him with an arched eyebrow.
He shrugs. “We’ve had a break. Like, two whole hours.”
“Not even,” I say. “We left Chicago at ten to four. It’s just now five thirty.”
“Close enough.”
I sigh, pat his hand. “I can’t. I’ll lose track of time again.” I shift in the seat. “Plus, I honestly just don’t think I physically can. I’m really sore.” I lean close to him and whisper in his ear. “You’re a lot to take that many times, Ryder. You’re gonna have to give my poor little vagina some time to recover.”
His laugh is a low rasp. “You really know how to…stroke a man’s ego, Laurel.”
I groan, resting my head against his shoulder. “Don’t say things like that, dammit. You’ll turn me on.”
“It doesn’t seem like it’s all that hard, babe,” he teases.
“It’s mostly just you,” I tell him. “There’s just something about you.”
“Is it the hair?” He runs his hand through his hair with dramatic flair. “You probably just have a thing for gingers.”
I kiss the edge of his jaw. “Nope. Just you.”
He smiles at me as we pull back into my driveway. “Seriously. Being around you is amazing for my ego.”
“I could say the same thing.” I don’t want to go; I sigh, reluctantly unbuckling. “That was the best weekend of my life, Ryder.”
“Mine too.” He gets out of the car, circles around and opens my door.
I climb out, close the door, and he presses me up against the side of his car, cupping my face in both hands. He kisses me, and it’s a kiss meant to remind me of everything we did, everything we shared. As if I could ever, ever forget.
“When will I see you again?” Ryder asks, when he finally lets the kiss subside.
“You can’t kiss me like that and then leave,” I whisper. “Not fair.”
His grin is a little cocky and a lot amused, and even more aroused. “That’s the point.”
I tug on his beard. “You realize there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be able to sleep tonight? That I’ll be dreaming about you the entire time?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Dreaming about me, huh?”
“It’ll probably be interminably sexy. I’ll likely end up calling you.”
“Have I mentioned yet that I love the way you think?”
“It may have come up once or twice.”
He sighs, letting me go. “You probably should go now, while I have the resolve to actually let you leave unscathed.”
“Unscathed?” I say, incredulous. “I’m very much scathed, Ryder.”
“Is scathed even a word?” he asks.
I laugh. “I don’t know. If unscathed is a word, then scathed has to be.”
“Oh, right. Like, a scathing remark.”
“Stop distracting me with grammar,” I say.
“I’m trying to diffuse the sexiness of the situation so it’s easier for you to leave.”
“Why, how kind of you, Ryder. You’re so thoughtful!”
He brushes imaginary lint off of his shoulder. “Tis my nature to but think of you before all else, m’lady,” he says in an arch, formal tone.
I kiss him, once, quickly, softly. “Thank you, Ryder.”
“For what?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.
“For making me feel so safe, beautiful, and wanted. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt that way.”
His expression melts. “Laurel, if I did anything, it was to point out the obvious. And as far as you feeling safe, well…I hope that you always feel safe with me. Because you are.”
“I’m still scared of this, Ryder.”
“You and me both, honey.” He takes my hands and kisses the backs of both. “We can be scared together?”
The thump and pitter-patter of my heart is so loud I’m sure he can hear it. “Yeah.”
He juts his chin at my house. “Get, while the gettin’s good.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” I tease.
He groans. “I’m getting turned on, and it’s making my balls hurt.”
“Go home and ice the poor babies.”
He laughs, ever so gingerly patting his crotch. “Gotta get ’em back in fighting shape so we can see if the pattern continues.”
I climb out of the car—it’s so low-slung it’s kind of a struggle. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“You never answered me—when will I see you again?”
“See me again? Or get me naked again?”
He groans a laugh. “Don’t talk about me getting you naked! Oh god, it hurts!”
“Do you think we overdid the sex?” I ask, leaning against the open door.
He immediately goes serious, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You quit that blasphemy, woman.” He reaches for my slee
ve. “Hey—do I seriously have to wait all the way until the weekend after next to go out with you?”
I sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know.” I shrug. “We’ll have to figure things out one day at a time.”
He nods. “One day at a time I can do, babe.”
Nate and I are sitting across from each other at our favorite local pizzeria, eating gluten-free pepperoni pizza. He’s chowing down, ravenous after a practice that left him dripping in sweat and breathing hard for several minutes after I picked him up. I can tell something is percolating in his head, though—he always gets a focused look on his face when he’s trying to figure out what to say and how.
When he’s eaten about half his pizza, he finally stops eating and looks at me. “So. Ryder’s definitely not a slimy poophead.”
I nod seriously. “You determined this during the ten-minute car ride from Dad’s to our house and then to school?”
“Yep.” He takes a monster bite and talks around it. “It’s pretty easy to tell. Ryder’s cool.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, my voice quiet.
He picks up on something in my voice. “You like him, huh?”
I smile. “I think he’s pretty cool.”
“So. When are we going paintballing?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve never been paintballing, and I don’t know if Ryder even wants to do that with us.”
“Well, ask him. Paintball is awesome!”
“How do you know? When did you go paintballing?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s shooting people with paint guns, Mom. Of course it’s awesome.”
“Can’t argue with that logic, I suppose.” I steal a piece of his pizza. “I’ll talk to him. But, Nate, I don’t know what’s going on with Ryder and me, so don’t…”
He slows his chewing, sensing the seriousness in my voice. “Don’t what, Mom?”
I shrug. “Don’t get too attached, I guess.”
He frowns. “But if you like him and you’re going out on dates with him, doesn’t that mean you’re getting attached?”
“I mean, yeah, but—”
“So why can’t I get attached? If I like him, why would I pretend I don’t?”
“I don’t mean pretend you don’t like him.” I set my pizza down on my plate and wipe my fingers on a napkin. “Nate, look, it’s…complicated.”
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