He once told Sandy that he didn't believe in dreams, that people where he came from couldn't afford to. It had been a lie. Ryan had a dream, an 80's sitcom kind of dream. Before he moved to Newport, he and Theresa would watch The Cosby Show on Nick-at-Night while her mom was at work, and they would always laugh about how people like the Huxtables didn't exist in the real world, how they wouldn't last five minutes in Chino. Kids who had parents who actually did stuff for them? Cared about them? What a joke that was.
But he would always go home and lull himself to sleep with dreams of a family that was loving and accepting of all its members. He would dream of a place where he could talk about his problems with parents who loved him and wanted what was best for him. He would dream of a home with no fear of abuse or neglect. He would dream of a sitcom family until he fell asleep with a smile.
He wanted a mom who noticed when he failed a class he was supposed to be good in. He wanted a mom who made a big deal out of things like his first kiss and his driver's license. He wanted a mom who made dinner for him and his girlfriend and shared all kinds of interests and laughs with the girl he liked. Instead, he got the mom who didn't even know what he was good. He got the mom was too busy kissing random, married men and drinking away her license to realize those milestones in his life. He got the mom who greeted all of his female friends with ahearty, "You better not fuck his life up."
He wondered, in those old dreams, what a kid had to do to end up with parents like Cliff and Claire. To what god did they pray in order to end up with that kind of life? He stopped just short of saying any prayers of his own, though. He feared the disappointment of not getting an answer more than the stinging slaps his mother would deliver to his cheek for no reason. Still, walking around the pier with Kirsten, talking about everything from Journey music to the best architectural colleges, made him wonder if someone up there had heard his thoughts after all.
"So," Kirsten spoke as they left the concert pavilion and walked in the direction of the car. "What's going on with you and Marissa?"
A fleeting feeling of guilt washed over Ryan as he realized he hadn't given his girlfriend much thought over the last six hours. There had been a time when she dominated every waking second of his day, but this was not one of those. He just shrugged. "I don't know."
Kirsten sucked iced tea through the straw of a huge Styrofoam cup and stuffed her free hand into her pocket. "Well, something is up. I haven't seen her around the house and you're not talking about her. Did something happen?"
You happened, he wanted to accuse, but instead cleared his throat and put his hands deep into his own pockets. "Um, it's kinda," he stopped and turned, his nose scrunched. "It's kind of a long story."
"Well, then let's get some dinner and sit down somewhere," she suggested, noting the hesitant way he was watching his feet while he walked. "Do you not wanna talk about it?"
He wanted to, more than anything. He wanted to talk about it with her. But he wasn't used to this kind of thing. He didn't know where to start, or how. "No, I do. I just. . . I don't know," he stopped talking and inwardly kicked himself. Maybe the problem wasn't that Ryan never had anyone to listen. Maybe the problem was that he never said anything. "I'm not good at talking about stuff."
The blush in his cheeks warmed Kirsten's heart. She reached out and touched his arm, offering him a sympathetic grin when he glanced at her. "I'm not either," she assured him. "But I'm kinda like your mom, now, right? And you can't say anything that's gonna make me love you any less, Ryan, so that's gotta take some of the pressure off, right?"
His grin stretched across his face and he nodded. Never in his life had anyone said anything to him that meant more than that statement did. Never had a few small words made him feel like those did. "Where do you want to eat?" he asked, looking at all the small restaurants along the boardwalk.
Kirsten followed his gaze around and then turned back to him. "Um, I don't care. You pick. I gotta find a bathroom, though." She held up her cup of tea and shook it to show that she had nearly finished all forty-four ounces. "I'll be right back."
Ryan leaned against the railing behind him and turned his face toward the sun. Was it his imagination or was it shinning a little brighter today than it had of late? Nothing - not even talk about his dying relationship with Marissa - could kill his buzz now. Nothing.
"Hey, man," Seth's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Ryan opened his eyes and smiled at his friend, who was eyeing him in slight confusion. "Hey. What are you doing here?"
Seth looked over his shoulder and then back. "Summer wanted to hang at the jazz thing," he explained. "But she had to pee, so. . ." his voice trailed as he hung his head and studied the ground.
Ryan didn't know what to say. Usually, with Seth, it didn't matter. Usually, Seth had plenty to say for both of them. But not this day. "I'm here with your mom," Ryan said dumbly.
Nodding, Seth moved to Ryan's side and rested his elbows on the railing. "I know. I saw you guys over at the pavilion."
"Why didn't you come say "hi"? I know she would love to see you, man," Ryan spoke honestly.
But Seth wasn't interested. "I don't really wanna see her right now." He grew quiet again and then turned his face toward the sun, as he had watched Ryan do moments ago. It didn't feel bright or warm to him. Not much did anymore. "I'm really scared, Ryan," he blurted.
"Of what?" Ryan didn't have to ask. He knew.
"I know you don't want to hear me out, but could you just try? For, like, two minutes?" Seth pleaded. There had to be a piece of his old friend there, one that would give him a chance to unburden his soul. Ryan nodded. "Okay, here's the thing. She's my mom, too, man. And I know we don't agree on the best way to help her, but I think we both want, or don't want, the same thing."
He stopped and Ryan wondered what he was supposed to say. For once, he didn't know where a conversation concerning Kirsten was headed. "And what's that?" he prompted.
"I don't want to lose her," Seth said softly. "And I don't know what's going to happen to her, but I think it cold be bad, if she doesn't get some help. It's not like you just outgrow this, right?" He sounded as though he really didn't know the answer to that question. "I don't know about this stuff, man, not like you do. But I know her. And I know that she will go to great lengths to prove a point when she thinks she's right."
He had saved her countless times, and now Ryan was wishing that she would get out of the bathroom and return the favor. He had done a pretty good job of forgetting the problems for most of the day. Now Seth was bringing everything he already knew back to the forefront of his mind, and he didn't want it there. He liked it in the back of his memory, like a nightmare he'd had once when he was little.
"When I was six," Seth spoke again, watching a bug on the boardwalk moving toward his feet, "we were at this grocery store in Berkley, where we used to live. And I remember that I wanted some pixie stix. Do you remember those?" Ryan nodded. "I wanted them so bad, and she said that I couldn't have them, that they were pure sugar and they weren't good for me. I threw this huge tantrum, and she just kept shopping - she totally ignored me completely. So I tried holding my breath, thought that would help me get my way. And do you know what she did, man?"
He had no idea. "Gave in?" he guessed.
Shaking his head, Seth gave a slight nostalgic chuckle. "She let me pass out. Right there in the cart, she let me pass out for, like, a few seconds. And when it was all over, I had no pixie stix and a hellacious headache." He turned and squinted against the sun while he focused on his friend's face. "I told her that I didn't like her that day, that she was the worst mom ever. And she told me that I didn't have to like her. She was still my mom and it was her job to make sure that I stayed healthy and safe, even if I didn't want to."
He stopped his story abruptly and Ryan looked up to see Kirsten and Summer walking toward them. The women were smiling and Seth offered his mom a polite wave before patting Ryan on the back and walking off, his arm around Summer's shoulder.
Ryan stood dazed, his mind suddenly filling with words from his past, his mother's words. "Truth is irrelevant, Ry. It doesn't matter what you tell people. They believe what they want, what makes them feel better, anyway." He didn't want Kirsten to see the tears building behind his eyes. He didn't want to tell her that he had to do everything he could to make sure she was healthy and safe. He didn't want to tell her the truth, because he didn't want to believe it.
"So, what are we eating?" she asked as he pushed off the railing and fell into step with her again.
He swallowed the tears, cleared his throat, and threw her a smile. "Um, Thai?" he suggested. When the best day ever had ended, when the other Kirsten showed up, he would be the responsible one who made tough choices and hard decisions. But for now, he was going to let her be the mom.