"Out of Season"
Part Six
By Sister Rose
Disclaimer: The characters of "The O.C." are owned by Fox, and no infringement is intended in this fictional work.
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Ryan Atwood glanced around the diner, the smell of short-order grease filling it. The booths around him were full of truckers and construction workers. Full portions at reasonable prices drew a heavy-labor crowd that tended to tip well for good service.
The laborers also tipped well for generous bosoms flaunted in the line of duty, and the two waitresses were wearing blouses cut as low and tight as the law would allow for nonsex-industry workers, the better to display their tip-catchers.
A muffled country love song scratched through the decrepit P.A. system.
In the middle of all that was Seth. He had ordered a plate of "breakfast meats" -- his phrase -- and was eating sausage patties and bacon strips with lip-smacking enjoyment. His plain clothes quietly spoke money, in spite of Seth's dining habits, and Ryan couldn't exactly figure out how they did it. Summer's clothes did, too....and he wasn't going to go down the garden path of thinking about Summer right now.
It was just weird. Ryan couldn't figure out what Seth wanted from him. He hadn't made a pass -- hadn't even brought up favors owed or in any other casual way mentioned what Ryan could do for him.
Ryan couldn't help thinking that Seth appeared determined to be his friend. Seth didn't even seem to care that he and Ryan had nothing in common or that he had to do most of the talking.
He had jabbered on about the meaning of a novel he was reading for class and how it compared to the anime tradition and whether he should bring that up in the paper he was writing, all the while stuffing in his "breakfast meats."
Ryan had absolutely no opinion to share, having no experience with novels or with anime or with writing papers for English classes.
He wrapped both hands around his warm white ceramic coffee cup, listening, and finally interjected one comment.
"But what does the professor want?" he said.
"I don't know," Seth said, as if it had never occurred to him to wonder. Ryan watched Seth roll the idea around his head, tasting it.
"What does he want? He's responded indifferently to sarcastic remarks in class and my last paper was a C, which was so wrong, it was obviously B work, not my best but then again it came right after a comics convention, so I couldn't be expected to concentrate on Madame Bovary' when I had just scored a mint-condition first-edition Hellboy.' But he does have a katana on his office wall -- I saw it when I went to talk to him about the grade -- so maybe he would have an appreciation for the Japanese culture and would like a little comparative activity. Yes, that could all work out well, assuming I do a superlative job and not a half-assed one like the last paper. You're very wise, Ryan."
Ryan didn't feel wise. He felt sandblasted with words, their meaning swirling past him. He tried his coffee, mentally preparing for what he needed to say, hoping it wouldn't be awkward and knowing it would be. If Seth wanted to be friends -- and Ryan still wasn't sure about that -- Ryan had to ask an uncomfortable question.
"I wanted to know," he started. Seth's brown eyes were locked on Ryan's face. Except for Summer, no one looked into Ryan's eyes. He didn't like it from anyone but Summer. It made him feel naked. He couldn't talk to Seth while he felt naked.
Ryan dropped his eyes back to his coffee cup, still enveloped in his rough hands.
"Yes?" Seth said.
"Did, um," Ryan started again. "You had named your boat for a different girl. Did you ever hook up with her?"
"Summer?" Seth said in surprise. "No, I met Anna and we dated and I kind of forgot about Summer. Well, not really, because you never forget your first crush, but I quit making a fool of myself chasing her."
That sentiment Ryan could appreciate. Seth wasn't the last guy to make a fool of himself over Summer, even if he had been the first.
"How did you remember Summer?" Seth said.
"When you said you changed the name of your boat, I started trying to remember what the old one was."
"Summer Breeze."
"But you're over her, right?"
"Definitely. What's up with all the questions?"
Ryan had taken this conversation as far as he cared to. Any more and he would be confessing to banging the boss' daughter, not something he really wanted the other boss' son to know and not something he wanted to think about when he wasn't going to be banging her any more anyway. It was enough that he knew he hadn't been poaching on Seth's territory when he had been with Summer.
"Sorry," Ryan said. "Want some cobbler? Apple today."
The cafe was busy, so Ryan waved off their waitress and dished up a large bowl for Seth, topping it with ice cream.
"So," Seth said as Ryan brought the bowl back. "This looks tasty."
Ryan smiled as Seth picked up a spoon and dug in, hair flopping into his eyes as enthusiastically as the spoon was flying into the bowl.
"It's terrific," Seth finally mumbled around an especially large bite. "What's it called again?"
"Apple cobbler," Ryan said with surprise.
"Mom's never ordered this before," Seth said.
"It's pretty easy to make," Ryan said.
"Oh, we don't cook," Seth said. "We order. And if it's easy, probably the restaurants we order from refuse to make it. That's what Dad would say anyway."
Ryan didn't know what to say to that, so he took refuge in saying nothing. Seth scooped up more cobbler and ate it thoughtfully.
"How long has it been since you've seen my dad?" Seth said.
Ryan still didn't know what to say, but he couldn't answer a direct question with silence.
"Um, I guess when he recommended me for my job," Ryan said.
"Your job here?"
"No, my construction job," Ryan said. "I guess your dad knew Mr. Roberts through your mother's work?"
"Probably," Seth said. "Plus, everybody in Newport knows everybody else and all their business. My parents' divorce was the talk of the town for about a month, then Luke's dad came out of the closet. I've kinda liked old Luke ever since, just because he took the focus off me. Yes, you wouldn't think I would hate being in the spotlight, but I did."
Seth's voice was full of a bitterness that Ryan didn't recognize from his memories of Seth as a 16-year-old. Well, Ryan was harder than he had been then. It made sense that Seth would be, too.
"And everyone in Newport has to pick sides," Seth went on. "So everyone picked my mom's side because my granddad owns everything and I guess everyone in Newport."
"Isn't that good?" Ryan said.
"Not when it means my dad was forced out of his job and couldn't find a new one," Seth said. "No one would hire him. You can't cross the Newport Group and hope to stay in Newport, even if your son still lives here."
"How long has it been since you've seen him?" Ryan said.
"Let's just say you've probably seen him since I have," Seth said. "And the last time he called he was so drunk that I couldn't understand him."
"I'm sorry," Ryan said. He wondered whether he should tell Seth he had a pretty good idea where Seth could find his dad. It didn't sound like the father and son would have much to talk about if he did.
"That's OK," Seth said. "I'm just happy to be able to talk about him. I can't say any of this to anybody else."
As he scraped the last bit of cobbler and ice cream from the bowl's glazed ceramic sides, Seth said, "So. I've got to run myself, this week."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you," Ryan said hurriedly. He had gotten too comfortable. He felt his face get hot. Just because he had been dumped and had no particular place to go this evening didn't mean Seth wanted to talk to him all night.
"You didn't," Seth said, frowning slightly. "I did, but I have to meet Anna at the library."
Seth started walking toward the register where Joyce was waiting expectantly.
"I can get it," Ryan said.
"My turn," Seth said. "You can have a turn next week. Hey, wait a second. It occurs to me that you don't have my phone number."
Seth turned back to the table, grabbed a napkin and scribbled his number hastily, passing it to Ryan.
"Call anytime," Seth said.
"Thanks," Ryan said, befuddled.
He sat back in the booth, staring at the napkin. Seth had given Ryan his phone number. Did he actually want Ryan to call him? Maybe Ryan was supposed to call to arrange payback for that terrific weekend.
But Seth had said "next week." Was Seth planning on coffee again? Or was he waiting until then to demand payback? Ryan didn't know. He stood and crammed the napkin in his pocket. He waved to Joyce and left the diner, lost in the questions, his feet making their own way toward his pickup.
He glanced up and slowed. He would have stopped, but his feet had other ideas and their momentum took him to his headlights. He couldn't look away.
Summer perched on the rusting hood of his white pickup.