I Love You This Much - Chapter 2
Still don't own The OC or I Love You This Much. I didn't indicate this was going to be a multiple part story in the first chapter – sorry about that. I messed something up and couldn't figure out how to fix it.
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There were times at night, after he'd said goodnight to the Cohens, when Ryan would turn, on his way out to the pool house and see them together in the kitchen. The California night framed the kitchen, awash in light. Sandy would be standing, his arm around Kirsten, or a hand on Seth's shoulder, at the island, by the table, in the doorway. Kirsten would be smiling up at him or across the room at Seth, laughing, reaching out. And Seth gesticulating wildly, grinning, eye-rolling. Ryan absorbed those images – wondering at, longing for, the sense of belonging he saw there. He was at the cusp of it, he knew, somewhere in his heart, but he hadn't gotten it yet. Not quite.
As he'd gotten closer to the Cohens, Ryan had begun to realize that who he was would always be affected by who he had been. Even as he recognized this feeling of security, of safety, the growing sense of belonging – with the Cohens, to them – the past, with its uncertainty and instability, could still, on occasion, broadside him.
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He couldn't remember what had started the chase, but he knew it had started in the pool. A lazy afternoon, floating on the rafts; flicking of water escalating to splashing to overturning floats to dunking to running around the pool to dashing through the kitchen into the living room. Slick floors and wet feet, sliding, laughing, crashing, and both boys in heap, with the remains of a table and its many vases and picture frames and glass figurines scattered, it seemed like, everywhere.
"Oh, shit."
Seth's half-giggled, half-frightened exclamation was echoed by Ryan as he uncurled from the ball he'd tucked into, protecting himself from the falling debris and Seth's flailing limbs.
Wide-eyed the boys looked at each other. "Oh, shit."
They scrambled out of the mess, Seth managing to cut his foot even as they searched for an area of floor that wasn't covered with shards of glass. "Shit, Ryan. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" They surveyed the damage, and Ryan felt his heart start to pound. Not only had they broken everything that had been on top of the table, but the piece of furniture itself was in several pieces. "Ryan. Shit!" Seth seemed capable of only those two words.
"We'll clean it up before they get home," Ryan said, hoping that would be reasonable.
"Clean it up?! Ryan, that was Mom's favorite table. It was my grandmother's. That was like the shrine of Grandma stuff." Seth's voice was verging on panic. "Do you realize how much serious trouble we're in?"
Ryan's heart sank to his toes. He remembered now, Kirsten showing him the pictures of her mother, the vases Mrs. Nichol had loved, the delicate crystal animals she'd collected, that Ryan had been too afraid even to touch for fear of breaking one. Oh my God.
"But. We can't just leave it like this, can we?" It came out as more of a question than he'd intended. Maybe it would be better to leave it? That way they couldn't do any additional unintentional damage. Maybe Kirsten wouldn't want them to touch those things ever again, even to try and clean up. He looked at Seth.
Seth was chewing on his lip. "No, you're right. We should clean it up as best we can." He met Ryan's worried gaze. "She's going to be so upset."
Seth limped out of the room for the broom and the dust pan, as Ryan began trying to salvage any pieces that might be worth saving. A couple of the pictures were still safe in their frames, but the rest had broken glass. Ryan carefully extricated the pictures from the glass, setting them aside. Miraculously, several of the little figurines had survived, and Ryan was in the middle of putting them gently with the pictures, when the front door opened.
Crouched on the floor, Ryan froze at the sound of Kirsten's voice.
"What...? What happened?" Ryan could hear the confusion and the dawning realization in her voice.
"Mom." Seth was at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, broom and dust pan in hand.
"Seth. What happened?" Anger now, grief.
"Mom, we're so sorry." He moved toward her.
Kirsten dropped to the floor next to Ryan, reaching out and picking up the pieces of one of the crystal animals.
"How did this happen?" Pure anger now. "Were you boys running in the house?" She took in their board shorts and wet hair, the little puddles on the floor. "Chasing each other in here when I've told you over and over not to bring those games into the house?"
"How could you, Seth? Ryan. How could you be so careless? So thoughtless?" There were tears threatening to take over the anger, but she wasn't ready to go there yet.
"Mom...." Seth was perilously close to tears himself, knowing how much all those broken things had meant to his mother.
"Get out." Kirsten's voice cut Seth off. "Both of you, leave now."
Ryan felt like his blood had turned to ice. He hadn't moved from his position on the floor since Kirsten had come in. Slowly, Ryan stood. He met Kirsten's eyes, and walked out of the room.
"Mom, please. We're so sorry."
"Seth. I can't deal with you right now, OK? Please just go."
Head bowed, Seth trailed Ryan out of the house.
Kirsten sat carefully in the middle of the remains of her mother's things. The vases were all shattered, the pictures cracked. Kirsten picked up one of the undamaged frames, and smoothed a finger over the smiling image of her mother. Looking around, she noticed the small pile of items that had been so carefully set aside. Ryan, she thought with a smile in spite of herself. Always so careful. And as she thought of him, the picture of his face after she'd told the boys to leave, came to her. Frozen, pale, eyes dark with an emotion she just recognized. Oh my God. Kirsten jumped up and ran out of the room.
"Ryan!" Kirsten burst into the pool house. Ryan was sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, while Seth sat at the end of the bed, chattering on while he played with a Game Boy. Two startled pairs of eyes turned toward her. Seth's were questioning, Ryan's desolate.
"Seth, will you let me talk to Ryan alone for a minute?" If anything, the look in Ryan's eyes got worse, as Seth stuttered out. "Mom, it isn't his fault! I started it, I ran into the house. Ryan just chased me in. It was my fault!"
Kirsten looked at Seth in surprise. "Oh, honey, I know that." When she looked at Ryan, she saw an expression on his face that she had hoped never to see again. It was the guarded, closed look he'd worn for weeks when he'd first moved in. But now, knowing him, she could see the emotion that he was trying to hide. She could read his face as surely as she could read Seth's.
She kept her eyes on Ryan's. "I just need to make sure that Ryan understands something, OK? Don't worry. You aren't missing out on any punishment."
Groaning, Seth nodded and headed out the door.
"Why don't you get a start on cleaning up in there?"
Kirsten moved slowly toward the bed, where Ryan had drawn into himself again. Arms wrapped tightly around his legs, he did what he could to avoid her gaze.
Kirsten sat gingerly, and reached out gentle hand. She rested it lightly on his knee, and said, "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Ryan turned his head toward her. The desolate look was now confusion. "When I said, 'Get out' earlier." Ryan flushed, embarassed and surprised that Kirsten had read him so easily. He felt unwanted tears sting his eyes. Turning his head away again, Ryan rested his hot cheek on his knees.
"I only meant that I needed you boys to give me some time to myself. I would never, never mean for you to get out of the house, Ryan. Never." She had tears in her own eyes, and she hesitated a moment before she stroked her hand over his damp head. "Please tell me that you believe me." There was a slight pause, and she felt his head nod under her hand.
"I believe you." It was a slightly broken whisper.
"Do you?" She wondered if he was telling her what she wanted to hear. He nodded again.
"Will you look at me, please?" He turned his head toward her, and she stroked cool fingers over his flushed cheek. "I promise, Ryan, that we will never ask you to leave, that this will always be your home, that we will always be your home." She watched him intently, willing him to believer her. "OK?" He nodded slowly.
"I know." He looked toward the house and then back at Kirsten. "I really do know. It's just sometimes ... things just hit me weird ... and I can't ... I can't... seem to stop myself from reacting in a way I know isn't right." She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "I hate it."
She nodded her head and ran her fingers through his hair. "I think that's OK, sweetie. Or at least not something to let yourself fret about right now. It's hard to change patterns, whatever they may be." She pulled her hand away from him. "Just try to hold on to what's true – that we love you and we're here for you – when those old habits pull at you. The more you practice that, the better you'll be at it."
Ryan blushed again, but this time in shy pleasure at Kirsten's words, and Kirsten stood up.
"Why don't you go help Seth finish cleaning up the mess? I'll figure out a proper grounding period for you both when Sandy gets home."
Ryan crawled off the bed and made his way to the door. Turning back, he said softly, "I'm really sorry, Kirsten. About your Mom's things."
Kirsten smiled sadly. "I know you are, sweetie."
When Ryan was gone, Kirsten sank slowly down to the bed and let the tears flow. Tears for the bits and pieces of her mother's memory that were shattered and gone; and tears for the broken heart of a boy who was just starting to mend.
He grew to hate him for what he had done,
'Cause what kind of a father could do that to his son.
He said: "Damn you, Daddy," the day that he died.
The man didn't blink but the little boy cried.
"I love you this much and I'm waiting on you,
"To make up your mind: do you love me too?
"However long it takes, I'm never giving up.
"No matter what, I love you this much."