A/N: Sorry for the delay, all! I know I said last week, but I had every intention of getting a paper done early and working on the chapter and, well, I didn't! (Life as a college student, what can I tell ya?) Thus, with that paper out of the way, I kept going with this chapter, and I have to say that I'm pleased with how it turned out. I hope you guys think so, too! I was really happy with the response to the last chapter, and even more glad when I saw that even some of you who don't ship RM are still taking the time to read my fic and say such kind words. Thank you all so much; you have no idea how much I appreciate it! "Roll Over Me" is a song by The Autumn Film. Please review (as always) and have a lovely evening!
III.
Roll Over Me
Tuesday and Wednesday, December 1st and 2nd
Tuesday morning passes for Ryan as it has most days—uneventfully. These days, he lives off the staples most people would believe only bachelors would, not men who had once been married. Ryan, though, has lived his life mastering the art of the microwave. His childhood in Chino had meant heating up whatever was around or going hungry. He is fairly certain that the last time he had an actual cooked meal was the months he stayed with Sandy and Kirsten after the accident. Since then, life has been a veritable parade of macaroni and cheese, pizza, or takeout.
The kitchen is another thing Jenna would have clucked at. His wife had tried valiantly throughout their marriage to learn to cook, and she'd been getting halfway decent at it. There had always been some kind of food either on the stove, in the oven, or in the fridge or freezer. The cabinets and pantry had been filled with Cody's baby food. Their kitchen had been one of the most well-stocked Ryan had ever seen in his life.
Now, his is bare and there is not much hope of anything filling it any time soon. Mrs. Longenfeld sometimes comes by with food—the Christmas cookies from the day before are an example—but she does not do it often; he knows she is busy and wouldn't want her spending too much time trying to feed him, anyway.
There's a knock at his door sometime around noon, and he gets up to answer it, expecting Mrs. Longenfeld or a few intrepid Girl Scouts. Instead, he finds Sandy.
"Sandy," he says, surprised, and just barely confused. "I thought you said you'd be out here next week."
"I did. But I figured I could come out early and surprise you; you might've cleared out to a hotel if I'd given you any more warning." Sandy quirks his eyebrows and reaches out to hug him. "It's good to see ya, kid."
Ryan returns the hug, but can't really appreciate the ambush. He shouldn't have put it past Sandy, who's arguably been trying the hardest these past two years to get him to do something. Sandy was the one who helped him out in the first place, the one he'd always looked to for guidance. Ryan is grown now, a good twelve years older than when Sandy had first met him in Chino, but it doesn't stop Sandy from wanting to help. He doesn't think anything could.
"Let me change," is all he says to Sandy, since he's still in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he goes upstairs to his bedroom. He prefers to sleep on the couch, so the bedsheets are unruffled, made with the precision of a military man. He tried, the first few nights after he moved into the house, to sleep in the bed, but he'd found that even a change of living situation couldn't get rid of the feeling that Jenna was missing.
He pulls on a better t-shirt and finds a reasonably clean pair of jeans. He combs his hair some, but it doesn't make much of a difference. He needs a shave; he hasn't really been keeping that up recently. Jenna always hated stubble, and he'd always made the effort to be trim for her, but there's no need for that anymore. A thought briefly crosses his mind about Marissa, and he reminds himself to at least make the effort to look better the next time he sees her. For some reason, he doesn't want her to think things are really that bad, even when they are.
When he goes back downstairs, he finds Sandy in the kitchen. He isn't looking around, but he's leaning against the counter, and he straightens as Ryan walks in. "You been eating at all lately? The place looks pretty bare."
"Yeah, I haven't had much time for shopping lately… and my neighbor's been stopping by with food. I'm pretty sure she won't stop until she's given me every recipe in her book."
"Kid, I'm a lawyer. You can't get away with not answering the question," Sandy says, with a small laugh and a pointed look. "I came all the way out here; the least you can do is let me take you to lunch."
As Sandy pointed out, he's a lawyer—it's next to useless to argue with him, or so Ryan has learned over the years. This is also something he's noticed has rubbed off on Kirsten; they brooked no refusal when they'd told him to stay with them after Jenna and Cody's funerals. So he agrees, and Sandy leads him out to his rental car.
Sandy mentions a steakhouse recommended to him by the same friend who'd asked him to lecture, and Ryan agrees, since he'd have no preferences himself anyway, given that eating out has never been his thing since he'd moved here. No point in going out to eat when you're going to eat alone. Drinking alone, on the other hand, that's just fine with him.
"Noticed your car's gone," Sandy says. "Any reason?"
"I had a drink after a meeting last night. Didn't want to drive, so I left it at the community center; I haven't had a chance to walk back over yet to get it."
"How's your shoulder been lately?" Sandy asks, glancing over as he drives and then turning his eyes back to the road when he notices Ryan stiffen slightly.
"Some days are better than others. The humidity makes it worse."
"Still taking the painkillers?"
"No. Hasn't been that bad for a while." Or if it has been, the alcohol has worked just fine to kill the pain, and he just hasn't thought of it.
Silence lingers for a moment before Sandy asks something else. "You mentioned your neighbor coming by every few days. Anyone else you talk to?"
He wonders if he should say something. Word could get back to Julie, and who knows, she could still have it in for him. But then he realizes that he doesn't really care if Julie objects. They're older now; what can she do to them? It's not like she can send Marissa off again.
"Actually, I ran into someone yesterday. Marissa Cooper."
Genuine surprise crosses Sandy's face, and that's not an easy thing to do: being a lawyer, he's seen it all. "Really, now? There's a name none of us have heard in a while."
"Tell me about it. Here, of all places."
"Guess you can't outrun the past." Sandy says it before realizing he's probably speaking to the right person for that one. Isn't that what Ryan's done?
They keep quiet until they reach the steakhouse and get out of the car, until they're seated and given menus by the waiter.
"Speaking of the past," Sandy says after they've given the menus enough contemplation, "Kirsten heard from the McKeevers. They're thinking of coming by for Christmas dinner." He pauses before adding, "If you're okay with that, that is."
Ryan senses the unspoken sentence: if you even come at all. He doesn't want to hurt Kirsten and Seth by not coming—it's Kirsten's dinner and Seth's holiday. And it's more than obvious that Sandy's trying his damnedest right now; the ambush and the plane ticket he mentioned in the answering machine have made that clear. He knows that they want him to come back. They'd never go so far as to expect it, as to tell him what to do, but he knows that after two years of evading, a year and a half of holing up in New York, he has to do something.
He hasn't, though, seen the McKeevers since the funeral. They'd tried seeing him in the hospital, but Kirsten had been the one to eventually tell them that while their kindness was appreciated, all it would do would upset Ryan. Ryan hadn't corrected her. He'd avoided them at the funeral, had turned and driven away if he'd seen them at the cemetery the few times he'd gone to see the graves. He knew it was rude, knew they probably thought him an awful son-in-law, but it had been overwhelming enough to deal with day-to-day life afterwards, and now he was expected to deal with in-laws grieving even harder than he was?
"It's good that Kirsten still hears from them," is how he responds, deflecting the sort-of question posed to him by Sandy. He's sure Sandy notices, but this is one that will be let go, for now.
"Claire usually calls her asking about you. Toby's stopped by my office a couple times. They're worried, kid. Haven't heard from you in so long."
"Haven't found the time to call," Ryan says, a little awkwardly—when did he become Seth?—and knowing that's a lame-ass excuse for two years of no contact. What else is he really doing besides sitting around out here? With his business on hold, there's not much for him to do besides looking at those videos and going to the group.
He supposes that can change, though. There's Marissa to think of now, although he doesn't quite know what to think of her as. The thought of something romantic is still somewhat foreign. It's been two years, but if he can't even bring himself to sleep in a bed because it reminds him of Jenna, what would he be like in a relationship? Next to useless, probably. Maybe that will change; maybe not.
Being friends can't hurt, for now. He already made a move towards that when he didn't refuse her number and the offer of company. It can't hurt, and he resolves to try it. Being a recluse and a misanthrope won't get him anywhere.
The rest of the lunch passes fairly well. He finds that it's easier to talk to Sandy now, in person, than it has been on the phone. Once the subject of the McKeevers is dropped, it's easier to talk, period. Out of everyone, it's the easiest to talk to Sandy. He's wise enough to make his concern more subtle than Kirsten's—Ryan's difficulty in talking to her stems from not wanting to upset her any further. He also seems more at ease with Ryan than Seth, who, while he can be serious and has been, sometimes finds it difficult to be around this Ryan, more somber than ever and unable to joke or really respond to his adoptive brother's attempts to cheer him.
That night, for the first time, he doesn't feel the urge to watch the videos. Some nights he doesn't, but the urge is still there. Most nights, he does watch them. But the lunch with Sandy, and his realization about wanting to have something with Marissa, have gotten him to the point where he's able to recognize that part of what's holding him back could be not letting Jenna and Cody go. Maybe it won't happen right away—hell, it's a near-guarantee that it won't—but moving towards it would be a start.
After the lunch, Sandy had dropped him off at the community center to get his car, and had told him that he'd be around for the rest of the week, that he'd stop by a few more times. Ryan had driven home, heated up the leftovers for dinner. For the first time in a while, he'd sketched, a vague idea for a construction project taking shape in his mind. Still not ready to immerse himself fully in it, to get back into his work, he'd put it away, but it had been a small start.
Sitting on the couch the next night, Wednesday, he can see the various Christmas decorations on other houses reflected in his window. The colored lights, the inflatable Santas, the lit-up reindeer—all of them are present. He has no doubt that were someone to put them all together, they would amount to the contents of a modest Christmas store. Mrs. Longenfeld alone could open one of her own, if she were so inclined. For a second, his eyes drift towards the door in the next floor's ceiling, the one that leads to the attic. He thinks of the decorations sitting there in the box labeled Christmas, thinks of getting them down… and then thinks of Cody's hands reaching for that red Christmas ball.
For a second, he closes his eyes, steadies himself. No. He can't do it just yet. But there is something he can do.
He picks up the phone and dials.
Wednesday nights are slow. She waitresses at a diner down the road, sometimes taking the morning shift, sometimes taking the night. Lately, she's been taking any hours they'll give her; work is as good as anything to take her mind off it.
Wednesday, though, was always the night she stayed in with Isobel, usually with a bad movie on whatever channel they could find, usually with a pint of ice cream. It had just been their ritual, and the thing Marissa had found worked the most to give her some stability. That had really been what Isobel needed, what Will had asked Marissa to try and give her, and thus she'd never had hours on Wednesdays.
Without Isobel, though, Marissa finds that Wednesday nights are suffocating. She thinks of cleaning out the bathroom, of at least moving Isobel's things or even throwing them away, since they won't be needed anymore. But no, she's found that she likes them there. It's a reminder, a reminder she knows is probably unhealthy, but one that she wants to keep around.
Cleaning out the bathroom is the only thing she's been able to think of for the night, and with that option gone, she finds herself unable to think of anything else. She's fairly tired, since she hasn't been sleeping much lately, and she's thinking of heading in early—very early, given that it's barely 9—when her cell phone rings.
It used to be that as a socially-conscious teen in Newport, her phone would always be ringing, and she'd usually pick it up without a second thought. Now, though, she screens, always checking the caller ID. Her dad, she picks up for, but he's usually the only one who cares to call these last few years. Kaitlin, sometimes. She hasn't heard from Summer in forever—no doubt because of her mother's efforts, like it had been for Ryan—and isn't even sure if the number she has for her friend is still in use, although she's been too afraid to pick up the phone and actually call her, anyway. She's mainly interested in making sure she doesn't pick up when her mother calls.
Surprised, she finds that the person calling her is Ryan. She'd figured that he'd take her up on her offer eventually, but she hadn't expected the call so soon—he'd just seemed so closed off. But she quickly answers, trying to dampen the eagerness in her tone, not wanting to scare him off. "Ryan?"
"Marissa. Hey. I was… wondering if that offer was still good. I've got some takeout menus here and a marathon of old horror movies."
"Seth-approved, I'm sure," Marissa says, with a little laugh, though it's still not easy for her to think of the people she left behind in Newport. "That sounds nice. I'll be over in about a half hour, okay?"
"Okay. I'll see you then."
She hangs up and then darts into her bedroom, changing out of the sweats she wears around the house and into a comfortable sweater and jeans. Despite her attraction to him, she doesn't want to pursue him romantically just yet. Her realization about who he must have lost has put her off that trail; she'll only make a move if he's ready for it. No, she's not trying to come on to him, but she wants to at least look presentable.
Ryan was attempting to make the same effort. After ordering the food—Chinese, which makes him think of numerous occasions where Kirsten's ordering had been overtaken by strings of requests from him, Seth, and Sandy—he goes into the bathroom, trying to shave without being too quick and slashing himself like some overeager thirteen-year-old. With no father around, and A.J. being as uninterested as it was possible to be in his girlfriend's sons' welfare, Ryan had had to learn to shave, years back, from Trey. Trey hadn't been so great at it himself at first, either, and Ryan had cut himself more times than he could count. He'd gotten better over the years, thankfully, but he tries to go slowly in order to avoid that ineptness.
The doorbell rings just as he gets on a shirt and jeans, and he opens it to find the delivery man. He pays for the food and takes it into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and starting to remove the cartons from the bag as he hears a knock.
He opens the door and gives Marissa a smile—a small one, but probably the most he's managed in ages. "Just in time for the disembowlment."
"I hope you mean the movie; I don't think I could eat the food otherwise." Marissa returns his smile and follows him into the living room, carefully shutting the door behind her. "Nice place," she adds. It's fairly big, if bare; she'd noticed the lack of Christmas decorations outside, and sees that the inside isn't much of an improvement. No family photographs or anything.
"Thanks; I like it. Make yourself at home; I'll get some drinks… water all right?"
"Yeah, that's fine." She sits on the couch, noting from the extra pillow or two and the throw over the back that it seems to be slept on fairly often.
He returns with two glasses of water and plates; she puts some lo mein on hers and watches him select a dumpling. Taking a bite of the food, she admits, "I was honestly a little surprised you called. I was glad you didn't refuse the offer, don't get me wrong. Just didn't know how often I'd be hearing from you."
"I honestly didn't think I'd be calling." He figures that if she's being honest, he can be, too. "But, ah… Sandy came by yesterday; he's out here for the week. He's been trying for a while to get me to do something. Figured something like this could be a good start."
"Seems like it," she agrees, taking a bite of the lo mein and swallowing before adding, "and I'm glad you picked me to start with."
He hesitates for a minute, wondering how to respond. He's not made of stone—it's been two years since he's been with a woman, and he can't deny that the attraction he used to feel for Marissa is beginning to stir. Marissa's not coming on to him; that much he knows. She's grieving, too, though neither of them have asked who for. She's not making that move just yet, and neither is he.
But any attraction aside, any lingering doubts about telling her the truth aside, he's able to realize that he's glad, too. A friend is what he needs. He's about to keep it to himself, to be the old Ryan and even the Ryan of the past two years, but he reminds himself of the effort he's making. And he smiles, even more genuinely than before, and says, "Yeah. So am I."
