“Y’all come eat,” he says, and we follow him back into the kitchen.
I pull out plates and utensils while Ryan sets the food out buffet style on the island. “I got a few different things because I didn’t know what everyone wanted.”
In the song and dance of getting the meal ready to eat, Rachel watches Ryan and me closely. Watches how we move around the room, how we are always conscious of where the other one is. She is weary of me, and I’m sure it’s hard for her to witness, knowing what she does.
I’m scooping a huge serving of chicken parm on my plate when I finally remember Ryan was supposed to have gone to the Bernards’ house today. “Was Mrs. Bernard upset you weren’t there today?”
He takes a long pull from his beer before he answers me. “I called her and told her I had something come up and wouldn’t be able to make it.”
I take the seat next to him at the kitchen table. “His funeral will be this week, so I think you should definitely be here for that instead of going with me to Atlanta.”
“I already told the Bernards I won’t be there because I’ve got an out-of-town emergency.”
I’m shaking my head. “You really need to be there. Rachel and I can handle things in Atlanta.”
He drops his fork on his plate and the sound echoes through the kitchen. “Pretty sure I can decide where I need to be.”
We’re giving Rachel a good show, so I decide to table this conversation until we’re in the privacy of our bedroom. She already knows I plan to leave this house alone. I look up at her and say, “I assume you’re okay missing the funeral as well?”
“Yep,” she says, making that p really pop. “Last time I talked to James was about two years ago, when he called begging for money. I gave it to him on the condition he would get some help. I even had a spot lined up for him in a rehab facility. He ghosted me as soon as he got the cash. I was one of the few from our group who didn’t see him when he got to town a couple of weeks ago.”
Ryan grunts. “Yeah, I have about ten stories like that.”
The rest of the meal is filled with meaningless chitchat, and soon enough we retreat to our bedroom and Rachel to the spare downstairs.
Standing in the middle of our room, I blow out a long, slow breath. Center myself. “I need to take care of a few things alone,” I say to Ryan as he turns down our bed, not noticing that someone made it up for us. His expression sharpens, but I push on. “I’m meeting Rachel in Atlanta. You’re welcome to meet me there too.”
Ryan watches me as he strips down and climbs into bed. “I don’t want to talk anymore today.” He holds the covers back, inviting me to slip in the bed with him.
I should push, but I’m done with talking, too, so I kill the lights and join him.
* * *
I’m at the kitchen table, my notebook out in front of me, when Rachel wanders in. I pull out the two sheets I was writing on, fold them until they are small enough to fit in the back pocket of my jeans, then put the notebook in my backpack before moving to the coffee pot so I can fill my travel mug.
“Where are the cups?” Rachel asks.
I nod toward the cabinet over the pot. She ambles over to grab one. “Are you leaving this morning?”
Glancing at the clock, I answer, “Within the hour.” I scroll through Instagram on my phone and stop when I get to the latest post from Food Network that shows Bobby Flay in front of a grill with his trademark shit-eating grin. I comment: Beat Bobby Flay is my #1 fav show!! 45 mins to beat him is impossible! #EveryGoodRecipeIsWrittenDown
Normally, I would give Devon more than forty-five minutes to meet me at the first spot on the predetermined list, but after yesterday, I’m sure he’s refreshing his feed every few minutes like I am. And the hashtag won’t make sense to anyone but Devon, but I need him to know I have something to give him so he can tell me where to leave it.
Rachel adds a packet of sugar and some creamer to her coffee, then turns to me while she stirs it in. “Does Ryan know?”
“He does,” I say as I continue to scroll, refreshing my own feed. It only takes a couple of minutes for him to post a comment on Spotify’s latest post: See you soon by Coldplay is underrated #TwinkiesAreToo
Guess I’m looking for the Twinkies when I get to the meeting spot.
I close out of the app, then book it upstairs to pack. I throw some clothes in a bag and move to the bathroom to gather my toiletries. When I come back into the bedroom, Ryan has his own bag sitting on the bed, open and half full.