His stomach twisted.
“You can do it. Do you remember what habitat means?”
He nodded, even though the kind, deep voice was just in his head. Hedidremember. Habitat meant where it lived. Where the bird lived. And...
“Spans? It means, hmm, covering a certain area. So here, they’re saying...”
The knot in his stomach loosened, and Rye opened his eyes as the words came together in his head—Jake’s words from earlier, explaining to him so gently and kindly and without any expectation.
A tear slipped down his cheek and dropped onto his shirt. Jake was always so nice. He was... he was such a good friend. If that was what he was. It felt like that was what he was. And maybe he was actually Rye’s only friend right now.
Swallowing back that thought, Rye started on the next sentence, tracing along under the words with his finger.
“You can do it, Rye.”
He nodded again. He could. He could, and he would.
“Howgoodisthis,huh, sweetie?”
Rye glanced up at his mom, who sat across the table from him, and he managed a nod as he took another bite of his dinner. It was good. Chicken potpie. Something he apparently used to love—as Aunt Tanya had told him earlier and then Uncle Jon and his mom had both repeated more than once.
He could do without the peas; they were just slightly more acceptable than tomatoes. But he ate them anyway and wouldn’t dream of complaining, especially since his mom seemed so much happier when he ate all his dinner.
He was too thin, everyone said. He needed “more meat on his bones.”
Even though he hated that phrase, he knew they were right. Hunger and the dull ache of emptiness had become “normal” for him a long time ago, and it was still easy for him to just forget to eat if no one was around to actively remind him to. In the last two weeks, he’d also heard the word “malnourished” being thrown around a lot, especially when they thought he wasn’t listening. He was too skinny, too thin, malnourished, frail.
He’d meant to ask Jake what frail meant, but he was pretty sure he had an idea.
And not that they were wrong. But he sure wished they wouldn’t point it out all the time.
“So, sweetie, do you want to tell me about that book Aunt Tanya said you were reading all afternoon?” his mom asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Or about the outing you took with Jake? He said you went to the beach?”
Rye couldn’t answer even his mom now, despite the urge to saysomething. He set his fork down and lowered his hands into his lap, trying to keep them from shaking. Maybe if it was just him and his mom, then he’d be able to tell her.
Yes, we went to the café in town, and Jake bought me a hot chocolate. It had those little marshmallows in it, just like I think you used to make for me on Christmas. Is that right? And a strawberry turnover. And then we went and walked on the beach. The water was freezing, but it felt so incredible to walk in it. It almost tickled. The waves, I mean. And it felt so... freeing, Mom. And for a few minutes, I was really smiling, really laughing. It was so, so freeing. Because, Mom, you have no idea...
The darkness threatened then, sneaking in right at the edges of his vision. He kept his eyes open, staring down at the gray sweatpants he wore, and he made himself open up his hand and feel the soft fabric with his fingertips. It was an easy reminder—the softness. An easy reminder of where he was, or maybe more of a reminder of where he was not. And sometimes, when the darkness started to come, just that reminder was enough.
“It rained today. They went to the beach in the rain?” Uncle Jon asked when Rye still didn’t answer his mom.
No, it rained later, after we left the gift shop.
Oh, how he wished he could just talk.
“They went early, so I don’t think it was raining, was it, sweetie?”
He forced himself to answer this time with a shake of his head.
More conversation went on around him, with his mom continuing to try to include him in the conversation, his uncle occasionally commenting on how Rye needed to have a second helping, and his aunt reminding him, yet again, how much he used to really love the chicken potpie.
He really was so, so incredibly thankful to be here—here where he belonged, at home and with his family. And at the same time, he just wanted to go back to his room, where there were fewer... expectations.
His uncle was talking about Thanksgiving now, asking his mom who all was coming, and Rye tried to listen as he pushed the last few bites of his dinner around on his plate. But he couldn’t recognize most of the names his mom started listing, and that made his already-full stomach feel a bit queasy.
“Oh, how about Amber?” Aunt Tanya cut in. “She’s living up in Fortuna now, right?”
Amber. Just another name Rye didn’t have a face to put to.
