Jakemadetwocupsof lemon balm tea, just in case Rye ended up coming out of his room. He set them on the coffee table and then settled in his usual spot on the couch in the Davises’ living room. For the next hour or so, he alternated between reading a research article about microplastics in coral reefs and playing some annoyingly awful word game on his cell phone.
The house stayed quiet. There’d been no sounds from Rye’s room at all, which really wasn’t abnormal for a day like this.
But Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that his actions the night before, careful as he’d been, might have caused Rye’s discomfort. Or whatever it was that was making it too hard for him to get out of bed.
He tapped a few buttons on his phone to bring up Rye’s texts, and he hesitated for just a few seconds before typing out a short message.
Jake (9:21 a.m.):No pressure, but if you’re hungry, I can make you something. Eggs and toast? And some tea
He hit send, then stood, picked up his empty mug and the mug filled with Rye’s now-cold tea, and headed toward the kitchen. He’d just poured the old tea down the drain in the sink when he heard soft footsteps approaching from down the hallway.
Relieved, he turned around, and his eyes landed on his friend, now standing just at the end of the hallway. Rye looked like he’d just woken up; his hair was mussed, long curls falling haphazardly over his forehead, and he wore a set of blue-and-black plaid pajama pants with a gray T-shirt. His eyes were a little puffy, and his cheeks had a slight flush to them. A thin layer of patchy stubble coveredhis chin and jaw. And he looked frail this morning. Thin and small, and maybe like he wanted to slink back down the hallway and disappear.
The room suddenly seemed much too big, and something tugged Jake, drew him away from the counter and toward Rye. For a moment, he let it, following the pull. But then he heard his sister’s voice, reminding him, and he paused, still in the kitchen.
“Maybe heisfeeling something, Jake,”Krista had said on the phone the night before.“But he still might not be ready. Itstillhas to be him who makes the first move. You... you know that, I think.”
Jake stuffed his hands in his pockets and swallowed hard. “Hey, Rye. Good morning,” he said, mildly surprised when his voice managed to sound mostly normal.
Rye held onto the wall next to him, and he seemed to be fighting his body, swaying slightly. He didn’t speak, which was okay, but he also didn’t move to come closer.
“I haven’t checked the fridge, but your mom usually has eggs, yeah?” Rye didn’t answer again, and Jake hesitated before adding, “I mean, if you’re hungry?”
Rye blinked, his arm moving to grip his midsection, and Jake waited for a response, holding his breath. It was another few seconds before Rye nodded just once.
A rush of relief hit Jake, harder than he’d expected, and he forced a smile to hide it. “Great. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
Rye nodded again and then pushed himself away from the wall and started toward the dining table. And for the next ten minutes or so, Jake busied himself with getting their breakfast ready. He talked a bit, telling Rye about the article he’d read that morning and the pelicans he’d seen flying in formation over the water just before he’d left home.
And maybe it was just one of those days, because Rye was quiet. He didn’t speak at all, although he did manage a small smile when Jake described the pelicans.
They’d had days like this before.
It was okay. It would be okay. Maybe.
Something seemed a little different. Slightly off. Or maybe it was just him worrying himself over last night.
When he finished cooking, Jake moved their food and drinks to the table. Toast and eggs—scrambled and topped with a little bit of cheddar cheese and ketchup for Rye, plain for Jake. And he’d made more lemon balm tea. He sat in the chair closest to Rye, and they both ate in relative silence.
The good thing was that Rye did actually eat. He finished everything on his plate and drank all his tea. The bad thing was afterward. Afterward, he sat hunched, his arms gripping his stomach like it was hurting. And when Jake asked if he was okay, Rye hesitated and then shook his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Rye shook his head again and closed his eyes, and Jake could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.
“Okay, that’s okay. What if... we go outside for a bit? Just in the backyard. Sit on the porch and get some fresh air, and maybe we’ll see that hawk you mentioned last week?”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it. There was too much expectation in his voice, too much pressure. And that was probably the opposite of what Rye needed right now. He started to speak again, to apologize and offer to clean up the dishes so Rye could head back to bed, if that was what he needed. But before he could, Rye finally looked up at him, his eyes intense and searching. He held Jake’s gaze for what was probably only a few seconds, although it felt like forever, and then he nodded slowly.
Jake smiled, relieved again, and he cleared the table while Rye went and got his shoes on. Then they headed outside.
The small porch along the back of the house overlooked a well-manicured backyard, and beyond the wood fence at the back of the property, thick forest stretched out up a steep hill. The birds sang in the trees, and a few little robins hopped on the ground near a young apple tree in the back corner.
Rye stepped across the porch ahead of Jake, his arms still wrapped around his midsection but his shoulders noticeably less tense, and he took a seat on the far side of the porch swing hanging from the rafters. Jake joined him, lowering himself carefully. The swing creaked under Jake’s weight, as it always did, and Jake closed his eyes and grimaced as he settled down.
The quiet huff from next to him sounded a heck of a lot like a laugh, and Jake allowed himself a cautiously hopeful grin as he tilted his head to look at Rye. Rye had pulled his feet up onto the bench to sit cross-legged, and he was indeed smiling, amusement in his eyes.
“Hey, now, don’t laugh. I’ve actually had one of these swings break on me before, and it’s not pretty,” Jake mock-chided, not at all serious. Rye laughed again without trying to hide it this time, and the sound was like music to Jake’s anxious ears.
