Jake rolled his eyes. “You switch to Baby Rosalina, Phil, and then just wait. Rye’s gonna leave you in his dust!”
Rye laughed this time. Heactuallylaughed. And then he looked down at the controller in his hands and shook his head. “No, I won’t,” he said quietly.
Jake huffed a laugh, too, and then he started explaining the few buttons on the controller that Rye would actually need to use. The race started a minute later. And Rye fumbled. Pretty badly.
He absolutely didnot“leave Phil in his dust,” though he did manage to not come in last place, and when Yoshi crossed the finish line, Phil cheered for him, and Jake grinned.
Rye felt strange. Warm and buzzing. And the pain in his stomach had faded to a dull ache. He dipped his head and held out the controller to give it back to Jake.
“All right, that was awesome!” Phil said. “Did you have fun, Rye?” He didn’t wait for Rye to answer, which was good, because Rye thought maybe his words wouldn’t work right now anyway. “Ahh, Uncle Jake! I’ve got next Tuesday off from gym again. Can we play next week? Please!”
Everything was suddenly overwhelming—the sounds, the talking, the feeling in his hands and chest. Being so close to Jake. The brightness of the room. The smell of food.
Jake was talking a bit more with Phil, but Rye had to close his eyes. He bent his knees up and pushed himself back into the corner of the couch, then he lowered his head to rest on his knees. His chest felt tight as he took a deep breath.
“Okay, bye, Uncle Jake! And bye, Rye! Thanks for playing! It was so much fun!”
There was a pause, and Rye just knew he was supposed to say something. That’s what a normal person would do. They’d say goodbye, maybe say how much fun they had too, maybe say how they’d love to do it again sometime.
But all Rye could do was turn his head a tiny bit and force his eyes open. Jake was looking at him with that gentle, kind expression of his, and then Jake just smiled and gave Rye a small nod.
“Goodbye, kiddo. Tell your mom I’ll call her later, okay?”
“She’s gonna call you first.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jake huffed and shook his head as he turned back to the TV and started hitting some buttons on the controller.
“I love you, Uncle Jake.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
Rye closed his eyes, and he listened to the few other sounds that followed—probably Jake closing the lid of his laptop and then picking something up off the coffee table, and the TV shutting off, which oddly enoughdidhave a sound. The couch shifted and creaked then, and Rye glanced over to see Jake pushing himself up to stand, one hand gripping his thigh.
“Our dinner’s probably ready. Are you hungry?” Jake said, and though the lighter, almost goofy tone he’d been using the whole time while talking to Phil was gone, Rye stillfeltthe softness in his voice somehow. Something about it helped. Something about it was warm and eased the ache in Rye’s stomach.
Rye didn’t answer, though. He . . . couldn’t.
Jake turned and started to limp toward the kitchen, and Rye twisted a bit to watch him go.
“It’s a chicken and rice casserole. Sort of Kris’s recipe, but simplified. She does something fancier and adds some weird spices or something. But, you know...”
Jake kept talking, and Rye stayed right where he was, watching and listening. Sometimes, he’d respond in his mind. Like when Jake asked if he liked tomatoes, and Rye immediately thought,Eww, no, tomatoes are disgusting.He didn’t say anything, but he must have made a face, because Jake laughed.
“Ahh, well, you can pick them out then. There’s just a few. I didn’t like tomatoes for the longest time, but then Steve made me try this sandwich at a deli in Palo Alto, and he refused to let me order without tomatoes.”
And you actually liked it? Eww.
“I know, I know. Don’t make that face. Really. It was amazing.” Jake paused, his brow furrowing. “This is okay, right? It’s just got baked chicken and rice with a little cheddar cheese, the tomatoes, and some peas and carrots. It’s really simple.”
You have no idea how okay that sounds.Rye nodded and then dropped his eyes to his hands, which were now clasped together in his lap. He nodded again. “It sounds good.”
“Except the tomatoes?” Jake said. And somehow, his voice was still soft, even though there was a hint of something else in it.
Rye nodded.
It was just a couple more minutes by the time Jake had served both of them and set the table. He’d made fresh tea, too. Lemon and honey this time. Rye wondered if Jake made the lemon tea since he hadn’t touched his ginger tea from earlier. But if that was the case, Jake didn’t say so.
His body was tired when he tried to move from his spot on the couch—everything aching and stiff. And he still wasn’t sure about his stomach. The closer he got to the table, the more it churned. And the more his mind started racing, reminding him of the conversation they’d had the last time they’d been sitting together at the table. The conversation he’d been doing such a good job of forgetting about all day.
