A few minutes later, Jake came back outside, carrying two plates, not one. He shrugged and set the first plate down in front of Rye.
“Your mom insisted, but you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Jake said quietly as he slipped back into his seat.
Rye just nodded and swallowed back the lump in his throat. The ache in his chest was gone again.
He didn’t eat the cake—he really was too full—but he watched as Jake polished off his piece and then settled back in his chair, resting both hands across his stomach with a satisfied grunt. It made Rye laugh, which earned him another eye roll.
A couple of hours or so later, after the last of the guests had left and almost everything had been cleaned up, Rye stood next to Jake at the sink, loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher while Jake scrubbed the cake pan. Jake had stayed to help clean up, because of course he had.
And Rye really didn’t mind.
He really didn’t mind one bit.
In fact, he found himself hoping Jake would stay even longer. And it wasn’t that that was an entirely new feeling. No, now he was just much, much more aware of it and starting to question what that feeling really meant.
Jake set down the scrubbing sponge he’d been using and turned the hot water back on to rinse the pan. “So, are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked casually. “Are you packed? Or planning to get packed in the morning?”
Rye nodded, then frowned, realizing that hadn’t really been an answer. He cleared his throat with a light cough, staring down at the plate in his hand. “Um, I’m ready. I’m packed.”
They were probably the first words he’d actually said to Jake all day, and he was glad they’d actually come fairly easily.
“Nice. I’ve still gotta finish in the morning,” Jake admitted. “Oh, and since we should be getting to Redding in the late afternoon, I thought we’d—”
The quiet click of the slider door opening behind them cut Jake off. They both turned to see Rye’s mom stepping inside and shutting the slider.
“Whew, alright. That was the last of the trash. The bin’s quite full,” she said, wiping her hands on her pants as she started in their direction.
She looked happy, Rye thought, but also completely exhausted, and he quickly loaded the last dish into the dishwasher and then closed it up just as she reached his side.
His mom wrapped an arm low around his waist and pulled him against her for an awkward side hug as he dried his hands on a dish towel. “How are you doing, sweetie? That was okay, right? You seemed like you had a good enough time?”
Rye nodded and set down the dish towel. “Yeah, it was... really good. Um, thank you... for everything,” he said slowly.
He’d fought for every word, and she seemed to know it. Her eyes lit up, even through the clear exhaustion in them, and she reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Rye. I hope you know that. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you on Friday.”
“It’s okay, mama. I... I know you have work,” Rye said. And he managed a small smile, hoping to see her eyes brighten again. “Jake will be with me. And... and I... I’m going to do really well, I think.”
That did the trick; her eyes brightened, and she pulled him in for another hug, this one a full, proper hug. She held him tightly and kissed his cheek, and then she whispered in his ear, “You’re going to do great. I know it.”
When she backed away, she was still smiling. Her eyes held his for several seconds, and she gave him a little nod. He didn’t know what the nod was for, but it felt every bit as encouraging as her hug just had.
“I’m gonna head to bed,” she said finally, and she glanced at Jake. “Thank you again for the help with cleaning up, Jake.”
“You’re welcome, Shirley. Thank you for having me over.”
Rye almost laughed, seeing as Jake had been over almost every day since the beginning of summer. But he held back and watched as his mom stepped over and gave Jake a hug. Then she said good night and padded off down the hallway toward her bedroom, leaving Rye and Jake alone in the quiet kitchen.
And that little ache in Rye’s chest grew as he stood awkwardly, his hands now shoved in his pockets. It was dumb, right? He’d see Jake again tomorrow. Yet he couldn’t deny that he didn’t want the evening to be over.
Next to him, Jake leaned back against the counter and cleared his throat lightly. “So, um, I’ll pick you up tomorrow at about eleven?” he said, but his voice sounded reluctant—a lot like how Rye felt.
Rye stared up at him and swallowed hard.WasJake feeling it, too? That same little ache in his chest? Did he want to stay right now as much as Rye didn’t want him to leave?
He really, really wanted to ask. Something inside himneededto know.
Not that it would matter. Even if his mom was right, no matter how much Jake cared for him, Rye was broken. He’d been broken. All this time. And even thinking of the possibility—of having a relationship that was more than just friends, a relationship that came withexpectations—only brought up awful memories.
Memories of being hurt. Forced. Touched against his will. Memories that made him feel weak and powerless and hopeless.
