I try to push my emotions into the background like I usually do when people talk to me about my dad. Smile and nod. Dissociate and move on. “You didn’t even know about my dad, plus we were kids back then. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, though. And I know I apologized to you for how I acted when you broke up with me, but I want to apologize again now, as a man.”
“It’s really not necessary. We’re different people now.”
“Maybe someday we can go visit him together. I’d like to talk to him—tell him I’m sorry for not being there with you when I should have.”
Unwanted tears well up in my eyes as I imagine visiting my dad’s grave with Ryan. I hold them in. They sting but they’re manageable. I try to talk but my throat is too tight.
As it is, I go to see my dad a few times a year and every Christmas morning. My mom doesn’t know about that last part, but I’m always pulled there then. Maybe it’s from thinking of how he always had his big video camera propped on his shoulder as Jen and I opened presents until we were teenagers. I don’t want him to feel abandoned at Christmas. I’ve always visited my dad alone but maybe I don’t have to anymore.
Part of me is afraid that bringing Ryan to see him is wrong. That my dad wouldn’t want it. That he’d be disappointed in me again. I’m not sure how to feel but Ryan is watching me, waiting for me to say something to his painfully thoughtful offer.
“I’d like that,” I eventually manage. I give in then and allow a couple of tears to fall even as I let out a small laugh. “I really thought we were done with all the emotional stuff for the night. Weren’t we just joking about me being naked?”
Ryan wipes a tear away from the corner of my eye. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. I’ve just had a lot to say to you for a long time.”
“I know the feeling,” I say, still attempting to absorb it all. “It means a lot to me.”
Ryan kisses me, gentle and sweet. “You mean a lot to me. You always have.”
My cheeks pull back in a grin as I roll onto my side. Ryan moves me back to fit snugly against him, tucking the top of my head under his chin.
“So,” I say into the peaceful quiet of the room, “is this the wrong time for me to tell you that I want to see other people?”
I hear Ryan’s quiet laugh against my ear. “Sorry, Sullivan, but that’s not possible. You’re mine now.”
I smile to myself, thinking I probably always was his. I’m still smiling a few minutes later as I drift off into the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in years.
I wake up in an empty bed and with a pounding headache. Rolling off my stomach and onto my back, I massage my throbbing temples. Just touching my head is painful. I expected to feel the usual grossness after drinking too much last night but right now my body feels like I lost in a street fight.
Why am I so sore?
And then, a parade of images flashes through my mind. McFadden’s with Adam, Ryan walking in, pizza, walking home, talking in the living room, Ryan with my manuscript, me, my bed, me on my bed, Ryan on me on my bed.
More images come—varying from bow-chicka-wow-wow to talking about my dad to Ryan whispering into my ear that I was his.
It would be easy to panic but I desperately hold on to the sensations from last night. How I had no regrets. How it felt right. And even though it’s nothing new for me to wake up to an empty apartment, I can’t help but feel like Ryan should be here. That I shouldn’t be alone. And then I realize I’m not alone.
I look to my right and find Duke sitting directly next to my bed, staring at me stalker style, as per usual. A piece of paper is wedged under his collar and I sit up, holding the sheet to cover my torso as I reach out and take the note.
It reads:
Good morning, I already went for a walk and Papa Ryan is out getting breakfast. He said he’ll be back very soon.
A huge smile spreads across my face.
P.S. He also told me to look away when you get out of bed because you’re too hot for me to handle.
All thoughts of hangovers and embarrassment vanish as I break out laughing and lie back down. I extend my arms and hold the note up over my face to reread it. I’m satisfied when I have it memorized. I then let the small piece of paper rest on my chest on top of the sheet, staring up at the ceiling with my now ever-present grin.
I’m doing it again. I can feel myself falling for that wonderful idiot all over again and I can’t stop myself. And what’s worse, I don’t even want to.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt when I hear Ryan push the key in the apartment lock. I scurry into my bedroom, wanting to casually walk out once he’s inside like I didn’t hear him come in.
The door opens and closes, and I come out soon after, feeling strangely unsure and out of place in my own apartment. Ryan is standing in front of the kitchenette with two coffees and a bag with what I’m pretty sure is two scones.
“Hey,” I say, looking to him for any sign
