Cage opened the door. “Will? Miguel? You guys got a moment? And see if Ben is in his office, ok?”
Turned out there was room for six people and a baby in the EIC office, but it was crowded. Too many big, buff men, Emily thought, then reconsidered. There were never too many buff men in a room. Especially when one was holding a baby. So cute. She thought about getting the photo editor to snap some pictures. Good publicity. Near pin-up quality — and he had all his clothes on even.
Cage stepped out to call his mother. Ryan laid out the plan for the evening. Will gulped a bit before he nodded. Miguel and Ben looked at each other, and then they shrugged. “Works,” Ben said. Ben, a tall, slim dark-skinned Native American, was majoring in film and Indigenous Studies. Miguel was shorter, with lighter brown skin, and a wispy chin beard. Was that still called a soul patch? Emily wondered. She wasn’t sure what his major was. If he was like most of the staff, it wasn’t the major he started with and it wouldn’t be the one he graduated with either.
“What do we have coming in tonight?” Ben asked.
They discussed that for a bit, and then Emily saw Lam Deng, the Folio editor, come in and waved him into the meeting. Once student media had been primarily a print newspaper that came out five days per week. But print had gradually been replaced with daily, even hourly, online media blurbs. The newsroom produced a Thursday print edition that featured longer news pieces, features, and weekend promos. Thursday distribution meant Tuesday night editing and Wednesday production work. Lam looked a bit alarmed to be losing both copy editors for the evening.
“I’ll be back,” Emily assured him. “I’m the late night close,” referring to the newsroom rule that there was always an editor in the newsroom until all the teams were back from the protests downtown. “I can edit whatever Will doesn’t get to.”
A bit more debate, and Cage looked at his watch. “We’ve gotta go,” he said. “Mom is fine with extra guests. She will not be fine if we’re late.”
Everyone laughed. Cage’s mom was an outspoken Black woman who had managed a household of three sons (all adults now and Emily couldn’t think that had been easy), partnered with her husband in their church, and was the director of We Help, a non-profit that worked with the homeless. And she was gorgeous, Emily thought. She wanted to be her.
“Let’s go then,” Ryan said. “Em, you can ride with me. Shit, I don’t have a car seat.”
“Language,” Emily said severely. “He’s at the age to pick up everything. We can stop at Target on the way back and get whatever Mrs. Washington says we need. In the meantime, I’ll sit in the back and strap us both in.”
Ryan carried Rafael down the stairs. “Do you know what language he speaks?” Emily asked suddenly as she followed him.
He halted and looked at his son. “How old are you Rafael?” he asked quietly. Rafael just snuggled in tighter. “¿Cuántos años tienes?”
Rafael giggled and held up three fingers. “Tres.”
Ryan laughed. “¿Tres o dos? ¿Cuándo es tu cumpleaños?”
The little boy giggled some more. “Noviembre dies.”
“I guess that answers that,” Emily observed. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”
Ryan fell silent. Emily opened the outer door for him, and then took Rafael so Ryan could unlock his Prius parked across the street. Ryan took Rafael back until Emily was seated in the back seat, then handed him to her, and watched as Emily fastened her seatbelt.
“I’m Emily,” she told the little boy. “Tía Emily. Can you say that?”
“Tía Emmy,” he said, which Emily found adorable. “Soy Rafael.” He added pointing at himself.
“He understands some English I think,” Emily observed. Ryan closed the door and went around to driver’s side. It wasn’t until he maneuvered the car onto the 405 North, that he answered her question about Spanish.
“I started studying Spanish when I was seeing Teresa,” he admitted. “I went home with her for Christmas that first year. Her family primarily spoke Spanish at home, and I wanted them to like me. But I found I liked the language a lot, so I kept studying it. The Honors College expects you to have a second language anyway.”
It was easy to forget that Ryan was not just bright or savvy, but was genius-level smart, Emily thought. The Honors College was picky about who they admitted. She also thought it was a snooty, incestuous club for white boys. She was pretty sure Ryan would even agree with that. But he liked the seminars, she knew, because he actually attended them. Even the ones at 8:30 a.m.
“I thought you were studying Latin,” she said.
“I am.”
He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “Where do you think Teresa would go?” he said at last.
“I don’t know, Ryan,” she said somberly. “But I bet in the papers she left you is an attorney’s name. We can start there.”
He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. “We?”
“She was my friend too. Why didn’t she come to us?”
Ryan shook his head. “Me, I’d guess. I was a mess, remember?”
“None of us are likely to forget,” Emily muttered.
He was silent for a moment. “I still am,” he admitted.
“You’re not using, are you?” Emily asked with alarm.
“No, not drugs or alcohol at least.” He glanced at her in the mirror, then shrugged. “But sex? Has it occurred to you I might be using sex instead?”
Emily frowned. “Sex addiction? Is that really a thing? I just thought you were a man-ho — you always have been.”
He laughed. Stopped to say something, started laughing again.
“On that note, we’re here,” he said, parking the car in front of a two-story brick house. It was next to a church of similar
