Ryan’s coming in from the other door just as I am and we both freeze, unsure what to do with our once again shared space.
“I thought we agreed this was my spot,” he says, humor hidden in the corners of his mouth. “I am new here after all.” He shakes his black hair out of his eyes, and I struggle to not tell him to get a haircut already. It’s the dare hidden in his words, the one that creates our own world, that stops me. I don’t want to break this spell.
I cross my arms over my chest but meet his smile with my own. “You probably wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
“Who’s the medical coach here?”
“Who’s the patient coach?”
A full smile is all I get in answer and I just shake my head in an attempt to hide my own. “You make tea, I’ll set up the show?” I offer.
Neither of us moves, as if we really are too afraid to cross some invisible line. This is exactly where I want to be. As much as my nights have become a thing I do alone, Ryan’s company has been a welcome reprieve.
“Oh absolutely not. I am not letting you have this back until I see you walk through those OR doors.”
“Put the disc in, let’s see how far you got. I’ll go get tea.”
In the kitchen, I drum my fingers on the counter waiting for the water to boil, trying to work through how Ryan and I went from enemies to friends in just a few short days.
The water boils and I bring the tea back into the living room. Ryan’s already seated on the couch, the show paused on the title sequence.
“How did you get into this show?” he asks as I set the tea down and curl up on the couch next to him.
After catching a yawn in my sleeve, I start on the explanation. “My dad, he watched the original when he was a kid, and when I was old enough he thought it was something we could do together.”
“Does he…” Ryan lets the question float off into the air, but the meaning of his words is clear. Is my dad around? Are he and my mom still together?
“Yeah, they’re still together. He just works a lot. Hazards of having a kid who needs a lot of health care.” My dad doesn’t always get to spend a lot of time with me because his job keeps him busy. I’ve never stopped to wonder if he likes what he does or even if this is his life’s work. He just … does it.
It pays the bills. It makes sure I can go to the hospital. It’s completely and totally responsible. Not like my dream. A brief picture of myself onstage pops into my head and I bury it fast.
“You watched this whole thing together, though.”
“Multiple times. We do a few other sci-fi shows, but this one always feels like home.” Strange how I never trusted Jack with this story. He knew I liked BSG but never got into it. But here Ryan is not only loving it but embracing this thing I crave. I crave hearing his commentary or even just the random thoughts he has while watching. Being with him is like being home.
“What?” I ask, touching my face because Ryan looks at me with concern.
“There are like five smiles in this entire show. This is not a happy, comfort show.”
“Oh, and what should I watch? What is medical coach approved?” I lean in, invading his space, chin in hand, challenging smile in place, daring him to push me away.
“Hey.” He gives me a playful shove at the mention of his nickname. The contact ripples through my body, making me long for something I’ve put on hold, saved for someone else.
I want more.
The realization is startling, and—No, I want Jack. This is why I’m doing everything; my body is just confused. I laugh and try to play it off. He is just my medical coach.
Nothing more.
I split my attention between the episode and trying to bottle up these new feelings. We’re deep into our second episode when Ryan asks, “Do you think Luis would notice if we just didn’t go?”
“If we don’t show up I think he would personally hunt us down. That, or he’d put Caitlin on us both. Why do you keep asking this?” He asked the same thing at dinner, and I haven’t forgotten that he wasn’t excited about this from the beginning. “What’s wrong?”
Ryan studies his hands and lets out a big breath, his cheeks puffing out.
“Rule three,” I say, reminding him we both agreed to always tell each other the truth.
“You’ll call me a hypocrite.”
“You’re afraid of your friends showing up?” I don’t wait for him to answer because I heard him at dinner, saw the fear in his eyes when his mom mentioned them.
“You said your one friend might get it.”
Ryan buries his hands in his hoodie pocket and leans his head back on the couch, studying the ceiling. I sit up and close some of the space between us. Everything in me screams to back up, pull away, let him work through this, but I find I can’t. I want to know what he’s thinking, his hopes and fears about tomorrow.
“Yeah, Sarah would get it. I guess. They’re great—I mean Will and Nate—we’re on the same soccer team. Sarah’s been our friend since forever.… I just … How did you get out of it?”
“Unfortunately for you, I am going to see my friends tomorrow. Jack’s performing and Brooke will be there.”
His head snaps up, like he touched a hot stove. There’s shock and fear, and hiding under all of that is hurt. Something deep and lasting that I don’t know how to respond to. “Does that make me bad? That I don’t want them to see me like this?” The look he gives me is somewhere between an apology and real curiosity.
I snort. If he thinks I am going to be a kind and build-you-up sort of coach, Ryan should go find someone else. “No. Were you expecting it to?”
“You’re willing to see your friends.”
I roll the answer around in my head. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” My gag reflex perks up at those words. I mean them, there’s nothing wrong with using a cane. There’s nothing wrong with Ryan. Hell, there’s nothing wrong with any of us here, someone just needs to tell the rest of the world.
“Thanks.” He sounds about as happy as being told he needs a root canal on top of everything else.
Lucky for him, I’m an expert at not letting my friends know about all of this. “Don’t let them take control of the conversation. They want info, you change the subject. They ask how you’re doing—Eh, I’m fine. Or be honest—like really honest, it scares people. Be you, not your medical file.”
“You’re not your medical file, you know that, right?”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “Obviously, I’m cool.”
“But, like, we could do this even if we weren’t here.”
“We wouldn’t be doing this if we weren’t here.”
“If there’s one good thing to come out of it.” He holds my gaze, and there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me wish he’d always look at me like that. Here, in this moment, we could be the only two people in existence, and he sees me, not the sarcasm and a cross-stitch pattern that I usually operate on, but me with all those ugly, unidentified parts of me that are not fit for anyone. He sees me and he’s totally okay with it.
“I’ll be right there with you,” I say.
“Promise?”
“Rule number four?” I ask, and pull out my phone to add Rule 4: We’ll always be there to our growing list. He nods like we’ve committed to something beyond today.