Ryan misses the poolhouse.
Not the abstract 'living in Newport' idea. The literal building. He misses having his own space. He misses the king size bed and the 800-thread count sheets. He misses the huge shower with the five-setting massage head. He misses the seemingly endless supply of clean towels. He misses being able to get up in the middle of the night and get something to drink without waking anyone.
Most of all, he misses being able to look around during the quiet times before he falls asleep and see memories of Seth.
The room is stifling. Ryan's skin is too tight, prickled by the heat rising in waves from the bed. His boxers are clinging to him as he slips on his cargo shorts and walks quietly into the kitchen. There's Mountain Dew in the fridge, and Ryan wonders what it means when soft drinks remind you of someone.
He grabs on, because, really, at this point who cares about caffeine? If he opens the screen door to the point right before it creaks, there is just enough room for him to slip silently into the darkness. The streetlight is out, but there's enough moonlight for Ryan to cross the backyard and sink into an old lawn chair.
Ryan thinks that if he had a calendar and a little bit of time, he could pretty accurately calculate the number of hours he and Seth had spent in the poolhouse. Three or four hours a night, at least two nights a week, for what? A year? Eleven months, at least. 384 hours. The lack of hours spent together during at the beginning of his relationship with Marissa, or Seth's with Summer, cancelled out the two weeks straight that Ryan and Seth stayed up till at least two in the morning during a Playstation binge, or the two all-nighters they pulled right before winter finals.
Ryan's been replaying certain scenes with Seth since he got back to Chino. Drunk Seth performing kung fu on the futon. Seth lamenting the lack of Seth/Ryan time. Seth and his twelve page agenda for Tiajuana and that damn sombrero. Seth wrapping Chrismukkah presents. Seth curled up, resting his eyes while he and Luke looked for Marissa. Seth trying to figure out what to do while Ryan was at work. He wonders, now, how the novel is coming. If Seth took his Talmud on the boat.
He tries not to think too much about why, but somehow reliving these moments on nights like these, when Chino and the heat are oppressive…it makes him calmer. Cooler. Somehow, remembering Seth means remembering home, and it's almost like he never left.
Almost.