Title: Coffee Makes a Good Prop During an Awkward Conversation
Author: Erin Kaye Hashet
Rating: PG
Feedback: EKHashet at hotmail dot com
Spoilers: Through "The My Two Dads"
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know.
Summary: Missing scene from "The My Two Dads." Ryan and Frank meet for coffee.
Disclaimer: They're not really yours anymore, Josh. Can I have first dibs?
Author's Notes: Like Summer, I stole a bunny. This one may not be as cute as Pancakes, but thanks to krisherdown for the idea. It started as a missing scene, but kind of turned into a Ryan thought piece as well. Also, I've written a previous "The My Two Dads" missing scene called "Asthma," and while this takes place earlier in the episode, some elements from that story found their way in here.
Coffee Makes a Good Prop During an Awkward Conversation
by Erin Kaye Hashet
His father looked different than Ryan remembered him. Clean-shaven. Didn't seem as big as he had when Ryan was little, although he still towered over Ryan. Ryan wasn't quite sure what he was afraid of, but his heart was beating fast.
They didn't say a word as they walked toward the pier. He was glad Kirsten was there, walking behind him. But he was dreading what would happen once she left.
Once they go to the coffee shop, Kirsten pulled him aside. "I'm going to run a few errands on the pier," she whispered. "When should I come back?"
Ryan had been afraid of this meeting going on for too long, so he couldn't keep the relief out of his voice as he said, "An hour. That should be good."
"Okay," Kirsten whispered back, and squeezed his arm. "Hope it goes well. Call my cell if you need anything."
"Thanks," Ryan said, and watched her walk away. He took a deep breath and headed into the coffee shop.
He joined Frank in the line for coffee. "You order first," Frank said.
"I'll have, uh, decaf," he said. Since his recent sleeping troubles, he hadn't been taking any chances.
"I'll have the house drip," Frank said. "That's what Julie and Kirsten have been giving me. They say everyone likes it." He smiled as if that was some kind of joke, and Ryan smiled uncomfortably back. He reached for his wallet.
"Oh, no," said Frank. "It's on me."
"No, no," said Ryan. "It's okay…"
"I insist," Frank interrupted, and reached for his wallet.
Ryan wasn't sure that was a good idea, since Frank, having gotten out of prison only six weeks ago, presumably didn't have much money, but he didn't argue further.
The two of them sat at a table, and Ryan looked at him. It was so strange to think that his father was dying. He didn't look sick at all. But he also didn't look like the man of whom Ryan had spent most of his childhood in fear. He was a familiar-looking stranger.
"So, you've been living with the Cohens for three years?" Frank said finally.
Ryan cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Three and a half."
"Ah," said Frank, taking a sip. "They good people? They treat you well?"
A hell of a lot better than you did, Ryan thought, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.
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His arm was in a cast. Just a week earlier, Frank had punched him for talking back. Ryan had been standing near the top of the stairs, and the punch had thrown him off-balance. He'd tumbled down the stairs and broken his arm. It was a fall that instilled a fear of heights that never really went away.
And at that moment, he was afraid he had an even worse beating coming. He'd been suspended from school for fighting. It hadn't been his fault. When he bumped against Joe Fletcher in the hallway, Joe had flipped out and started hitting Ryan. Ryan had just been defending himself.
Dawn had screamed at him all the way home after she picked him up at school on her lunch break and drove him home. "Just wait 'til I tell your father," she ranted as the car screeched into the driveway.
Ryan spent the rest of the afternoon lying on his bed, on the verge of tears as he imagined what would happen. He already had a broken arm, and now his father was going to hit him again. He stared at the ceiling and waited.
And waited and waited.
He started to get confused. His mother should have been home. She was usually home before his father, and now neither of them were, and neither was Trey. What was going on?
It was dark when his mother finally got home. Trey was with her. Ryan heard the front door close. He just lay on his bed. Even though it wasn't his father getting ready to hurt him, he didn't want to deal with his mother's yelling again.
The bedroom door opened, and his mother stood there with Trey. Her face was ashen.
"Ryan," she said, her voice shaky, "we were just at the police station."
Frank had been arrested for robbery, and while the emotions that Ryan felt afterwards included shock, anger, guilt, sadness, and fear, the very first thing he felt was relief
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"Yeah," he said. After a long pause, he added, "They're the best people I know."
He hadn't even realized it was true until the words were coming out of his mouth.
It was strange, that his father was suddenly back just as he felt closer to the Cohens than ever. He would never stop being amazed that he was still with them, three and a half years later, with Sandy and Kirsten calling him their son.
He used to feel guilty about ending up living with them. He and Trey had both stolen the car. Trey got prison time; Ryan got a family, one he didn't feel he deserved. He'd thought, for a long time, that his presence only made life harder for the Cohens. Seth got beaten up, the model home got burned down, Luke got shot, Oliver got punched, Theresa got pregnant. Trey came back into his life, and Ryan and Marissa got kicked out of Harbor. And then Marissa died. That was when he'd decided to leave. He didn't want to hurt the people he loved yet again.
But that stupid slide show Seth had done had touched him deeper than he'd expected. He'd spent countless hours feeling guilty and wondering where he'd be without the Cohens, but it had never once occurred to him that the Cohens were better off with Ryan in their lives. Obviously, they thought so, and since that day, Ryan had started to believe it himself. And although he wasn't sure why, the feeling had gotten stronger since Chrismukkah.
It still amazed him that after Thanksgiving, after Sandy had seen him at his absolute worst, literally ready to kill someone, he still wanted Ryan there. He'd made a point of talking to Ryan every day since then, whether it was in the morning on the beach or when he stopped by El Pavo Guapo on his lunch break. He could tell when something was bothering Ryan and always asked, and when he made sandwiches for Ryan to take to Vegas, he remembered that Ryan liked extra peanut butter. And if it wasn't for him, Ryan wouldn't be with Taylor. Sandy had told him that helping people out of jams was what Ryan did, and Ryan been surprised. Helping people out of jams, he thought, was what Sandy did. But why would he not want to do something that made him like Sandy? So he'd gone to help Taylor with her divorce, and here they were.
It was so strange, he thought, how Sandy seemed to know him better than he knew himself. "You're my family," Sandy had said to Ryan when he told him about Frank. "What I care about is you." Maybe Ryan had started out as a charity case, but now he really couldn't deny that Sandy saw him as a son.
As did Kirsten, and in some ways that meant even more. Sandy got people out of jail for a living, but Kirsten wouldn't have brought a juvenile delinquent home on her own. Ryan often thought Sandy had made up his mind about Ryan right away, but Kirsten had taken longer. And yet it had been she who'd saved Ryan when he was attacked in juvie, and she who'd made the decision to let him stay. And she who'd really convinced him that Sandy was right, that he was better than the situation he'd been born into. He and Kirsten were alike in that they both were reluctant to get close to people, and knowing that she'd let him in was something priceless.
"Good, good," said Frank, and cleared his throat.
Ryan felt a twinge of guilt. He wondered if it would have been different if Frank had come back a few years earlier, before he'd come to Newport. For God's sake, he thought, your father, who you haven't seen in eight years, is back here, is dying, and all you can think about is the Cohens?
"So they have a son your age," Frank said.
"Yeah," said Ryan, staring into his cup. "Seth. We're friends."
"You seeing anyone? Any girlfriends?"
"Yeah," said Ryan, looking up. "Her name's Taylor."
"The girl who's living with Julie?"
"Yeah," said Ryan, startled. He hadn't realized Frank and Julie had talked so much. "Seth's girlfriend lives there, too. Summer. It's her house, really."
Frank nodded. "She a nice girl? Taylor?"
Ryan cracked a smile. "Yeah. She's…really something." It sounded vague even to his ears, but it was honestly the most succinct way to sum up Taylor to someone who'd never met her.
He groped for something more interesting to say, and came up with, "She's helped me through a really hard time." And so have the Cohens, but you don't want to hear about that.
Frank raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?"
Great, now he was going to have to think about it. And talk about it. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, uh…" He exhaled. "An…ex-girlfriend of mine, Marissa…right after graduation we were in a car accident…she died."
Frank gave a somber nod. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Julie's daughter. She mentioned you'd dated Marissa. That…that must have been awful."
How much had Julie told him? Ryan wondered, slightly annoyed. Why did his father already know everything Ryan was going to say?
Frank took another sip. "How's, uh…how's your mom?" he asked. "You ever see her?"
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Frank was drunk. So was Dawn, but she was crying, too. They were in the kitchen, yelling at each other. Trey wasn't home. Ryan was eight, and as he sat outside on the porch reading a book, he could hear them yelling.
"How could you lose another fucking job?" Frank screamed. "Are you seriously incapable of staying sober for one day?"
"I'm incapable?" Dawn yelled back. "You're one to talk! Look at you!"
Frank slapped her across the face, hard. "What gives you the fucking right to speak to me right that?" He slapped her again, and she began to cry. "Who's been supporting this family while you're off getting plastered? Who's the fucking paycheck around here?"
Ryan couldn't stand it, the sound of his mother's crying. He threw his book down and ran into the house. Frank's back was to him as Ryan ran up behind him and kicked his father in the back of the legs. "Leave her alone!" he yelled, sounding braver than he actually felt.
The room went silent. Dawn's eyes grew wide. Frank turned around, and Ryan felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart speed up. Frank had already removed his belt and doubled it over in his hands when he said in a low voice, "That was a mistake, Ryan."
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Ryan shrugged. "We talk on the phone once in awhile. Haven't seen her since my graduation. She seems to be doing well."
"Good," said Frank. "Good. What about Trey? You see Trey?"
"No," said Ryan shortly, concentrating on his coffee.
"You know where he is n…"
"Can we not talk about Trey?" said Ryan, a little too loudly. His cheeks flushed when he realized how that sounded, but he really didn't want to think about Trey. One family member who'd hurt him was enough for one night.
Frank looked surprised. "Okay…okay," he said.
Ryan had finished his coffee by then. He shuffled the cup back and forth in his hands. He tried his best to think of something to say. He's dying, he told himself. For the love of God, your father is dying
"How long have you been sick?" he asked quietly.
Frank stared at his coffee cup as he spoke. "I was, uh, diagnosed a couple of months ago," he said. "It was too late for them to do anything."
"Oh," said Ryan. He was silent for a minute, then added, "I'm sorry."
Oh, God, he thought. After all these years, and everything he's done, all you have to say to him before he dies is that you're sorry?
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Ryan was six, and he stood in the driveway watching Trey and Arturo ride off on their bikes. Angrily, he kicked a pebble in the driveway. Trey had actually asked him if he wanted to come, which he never did anymore. Ryan wanted to go more than anything, but there was something wrong with his bike.
Pouting, he started to wheel his bike back to the garage. As he did, he passed his father sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. "Hey, Ryan," Frank called to him, "what's wrong?"
Ryan looked up, hopeful. His father sounded nice today. He hadn't been drinking.
"Trey wanted me to go to the park with him and Turo," he said. "But there's something wrong with my bike."
Frank put his cigarette out and headed down the porch steps. He picked up the bike and examined it. "Oh," he said. "It's just something with the chain. I can fix that. C'mere."
Ryan followed his father into the garage. Frank took out a wrench and began work on the bike. "What were you guys going to do at the park?"
Ryan shrugged. "Play ball. Get an ice cream."
"Ah." Frank smiled. "There you go, that should be fine." He pushed the bike back toward Ryan. "If you hurry, you can still catch them."
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Ryan looked up from his coffee and met his father's eyes.
It was so hard to reconcile the abusive drunk he'd grown up in fear of with the man who sat in front of him now. Despite his illness, he seemed, as Sandy had said, good.
Maybe it really was time for him to make peace with his father. People could change. God knew he had in the last few years. And he remembered how Kirsten's father had died just after he and Kirsten had had a big fight. He didn't want the weight of a regret like that to carry for the rest of his life.
Sandy and Kirsten often commented on how different the two of them were, but one thing the Cohens had in common was forgiveness. They'd forgiven him for everything he'd done, for things he hadn't thought worthy of forgiveness—the model home, the Oliver incident, getting suspended for punching the dean, running to Mexico with Seth in pursuit of Volchok. After all that, they'd forgiven him, and although he often wondered why, they still loved him. He didn't feel he deserved it. But when, he wondered, had his life ever been about what he deserved?
It was his turn now. It was time to move on. He was going to do his best to forgive Frank and let his father back into his life, even though they didn't have much time left.
He'd start, he thought, by inviting Frank to dinner.
The End
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