The characters got too talkative (or I just got too wordy.) Anyway, I decided to divide this chapter into two parts.

The same disclaimers apply.

Chapter 5B

"Unlock this door," Kirsten ordered, knocking sharply. "Seth! Now!"

"'m coming," Seth's muffled voice insisted.

The latch turned, and Seth opened the door, shuffling back to allow Kirsten inside. His demeanor defined anguish: shoulders slumped, hair a thicket of tangled curls, eyes smudged with misery. Behind him, she could see his bed, which was obviously untouched, even though both pillows were jumbled on the floor. They looked like they had been pummeled hard and abandoned.

Seth looked much the same way.

Kirsten's stomach knotted with sympathy. Seth was her baby. He was in pain, and part of her wanted desperately to protect him. But she steeled herself against that impulse. This time, Seth would have to suffer the consequences of his actions. No matter how much it hurt them both.

"You don't have to tell me," Seth muttered. "I already know that I majorly fucked up. I know I'm a terrible person and that you and dad hate me now."

Kirsten sat on the edge of his desk, hands folded on her lap. "I'm sure you do know that you—messed up. But I don't hate you and neither does your father. You're our son and we love you. You did a terrible thing, though, Seth, and we do hate that."

She paused, a little surprised by Seth's uncharacteristic silence. Kirsten had expected him to launch into an immediate defense; she actually hoped he would be able to defend himself. When he still said nothing, she demanded, "How could you do it, Seth?"

Seth shrugged, shuffled to the window, looked out for a moment, then wandered restlessly around the small room. Kirsten watched him, frowning.

"I can't begin to understand to understand what you were thinking. Ryan is your best friend, so how you could do that to him. . . Seth, stop pacing, please. Sit down here and look at me." Kirsten pointed to the desk chair, a command.

Reluctantly, Seth slumped into the seat, but he kept his eyes averted.

"Look at me," Kirsten repeated.

Seth raised his eyes, his expression halfway between defiant and despairing. He fidgeting uncomfortably, expecting a question, but Kirsten decided to wait him out.

"It's not like I planned it," he mumbled finally. "I didn't have some grand master scheme to totally fuck—mess—up Ryan's life. It just, sort of, happened."

"Fine. So start by telling me exactly how it just sort of happened."

"Don't you want to wait until dad gets here? He's going to join this interrogation, right? Do the whole good cop, bad cop thing? 'Cause if you try it by yourself, you'll get dizzy, Mom."

"Your father is with Ryan right now. Don't worry. He's going to have a few things to say to you later on."

"Great. Something to look forward to."

Kirsten's initial pity for her son was fast evaporating. "You know, young man, this flippant self-pity routine is not winning you any points. Now, tell me what happened."

"Fine," Seth replied in a monotone. "What happened. Ryan was out. I went into the pool house to look for my iPod. The phone rang. I heard the message. I deleted the message."

"On purpose. Not by accident?"

"Yeah . . . I guess . . . yeah. On purpose."

Kirsten had heard enough of the argument last night to know that was what Seth had done, but hearing him admit it was still painful. "But why, Seth? Why would you do that?"

"I don't know, Mom!"

"That's not an answer, Seth," Kirsten argued. "You must have had a reason."

"I was stupid. Okay? . . . That was my reason. It was just, like, some insane impulse. . . Mom, haven't you ever done anything really, really stupid, and the minute you did it, you sort of stood there wondering 'Who is that idiot'? And then you realized, 'oh wait, it's me.'"

Kirsten shook her head. She could remember many occasions when she had been thoughtless and brash, even--as Seth said, "stupid"--but she didn't believe she had ever deliberately hurt a friend. "No, Seth, not really."

"So I guess it's not a genetic condition then." At Kirsten's sharp intake of breath, Seth grimaced. "Sorry. Bad joke."

"Yes, it is. All right, Seth, let's start from the beginning. You listened to Ryan's message. But you know how wrong that it. It's just like opening his mail—"

"I couldn't help it. I was there. You can't shut your ears, Mom." When Kirsten glared at him, Seth added hastily, "Just making a point . . . Really not trying to be funny."

"Good. Because you're not. And here's my point, Seth. Even if erasing the message was some 'insane impulse,' you still knew it was wrong. And you had to realize that Ryan would want to know about the interview--"

Seth leaned forward. "No, see Mom, I really didn't," he claimed eagerly. "Ryan never even mentioned any internship . . . And he kept saying that he didn't have anything going on Saturday . . ." He saw Kirsten's eyes narrow skeptically and continued with more urgency. "Seriously, Mom, I thought Ryan didn't care—"

"You thought!" Kirsten exclaimed. "Seth, why would what you thought matter at all? Why didn't you find out what Ryan thought? You should have just talked to him."

"I talk to him all the time," Seth muttered. "Why doesn't he talk to me?"

Kirsten sighed, suddenly exhausted. "Seth, that's enough. I'm sick of the excuses . . . You knew what you did was wrong. You could have told Ryan the truth before it was too late."

"I did."

"What?"

"I did tell him."

"But, then, I don't understand. Why was Ryan still going to the video conference with you if he knew he had an interview?"

"Okay, I just . . . I didn't exactly say anything until that morning, when we were getting ready to go."

"Oh, Seth . . ."

Seth cut in desperately, trying to silence the disappointment and disillusionment that he heard in Kirsten's voice. "But, Mom, the point is, I did tell him. As soon as I realized how much the interview meant to Ryan, I told him, and . . ."

"And what?"

"He got furious. I've seen Ryan really angry, Mom, but not at me. He turned into, like, a whole different person, and he wouldn't listen to anything I said." Seth's mouth twisted and he tried to block out the memory. "And then he just took off and . . . I nearly killed him, Mom."

Kirsten's eyes widened in comprehension. "Then Ryan was on his bike . . ."

"To get to the interview. Or maybe really . . . just to get away from me . . . I don't know." Seth didn't even seem to realize that he had begun to cry. Kirsten handed him a Kleenex wordlessly. "I tried to get him to wait until you came back, Mom . . . I offered to drive him . . . but he wouldn't listen to me. He was yelling at me to get away from him . . . and that's why he was riding so fast . . . and he didn't see you . . ."

Kirsten couldn't stand it anymore. She slid off the desk and pulled Seth to her, holding him tight. "Okay, honey," she murmured. "We'll figure all of this out . . . Now, breakfast is almost ready and—no arguments—you're coming downstairs. I want you to go and wash your face, all right? And your hair could use a little attention too."

She ruffled it, and Seth smiled shakily. "Well, sure it does, Mom, now. After you messed it up . . ."

---------------------------------------

"So, what? Breakfast is formal in this house now?" Seth asked, looking dubiously at the dining room table, set with platters of pancakes, eggs, muffins, bacon and sausage, carafes of different juices, bowls of fruit salad and a vase of cut flowers. "I was thinking, like, get a bowl of cereal. Maybe eat in my room?"

"Rosa planned a special breakfast to welcome Ryan home," Kirsten explained as Rosa poured coffee at each place. "So no, you will not be eating cereal in your room today . . . Thank you, Rosa. Everything looks wonderful."

"I'm just warming the syrup for the pancakes. Let me know if you need anything else." Rosa smiled at Kirsten, but she gave Seth only a brief nod before she went back into the kitchen.

"Yay. Signed up another member for my fan club," he mumbled. "Got to get to work autographing those 8 by 10 glossies . . . Mom, you're not really expecting Ryan to come out here, are you? 'Cause he ate in his room last night. And he'd probably be more comfortable there . . . with his knee and all . . ."

"You mean you'd be more comfortable with him in his room. Yes, Ryan is joining us. We are having breakfast as a family," Kirsten insisted. Her emphasis on the word 'family' warned Seth not to argue.

"Right." He dropped into his chair and busied himself unfolding and refolding his napkin as Sandy and Ryan appeared in the doorway. "Just one big, happy family here."

Kirsten crossed to give Ryan a quick kiss. He replied with a half smile, but he looked drained, and he glanced outside longingly. Sandy tightened the arm he had wrapped around Ryan's waist and helped him to his customary chair across from Seth.

Both boys worked very hard to look anywhere except at each other, and it became obvious that neither one intended to eat. They completely ignored all the food on the table.

Sighing, Kirsten began to fill their plates. "Rosa worked very hard to prepare all of this. Now eat," she said firmly. "Both of you."

"Isn't force-feeding like, a form of torture?" Seth asked under his breath. Sandy raised his eyebrows meaningfully and he retreated. "Yeah, no . . . Eating now." He stuffed half a muffin into his mouth to prove it.

"You too, Ryan," Kirsten urged. "Rosa made the banana pancakes specially for you."

Ryan chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded, cut his pancake into small, neat pieces and took a bite. "They're really good. Great," he said unenthusiastically.

"All right." Sandy's deliberately hearty tone attempted to counteract Ryan's apathy. "You know, as much as I love a good bagel and schmear, this is what I call a real breakfast . . . Honey, would you pass the bacon?"

Kirsten handed him the platter, searching for some safe topic of conversation. "Sandy, have you told the boys about your mother's phone call?"

"Sweetheart, come on. I make it a rule never to talk about my mother while I'm eating bacon." Sandy lowered his voice, added in a stage whisper. "Trust me, she'd know . . ." He made an elaborate show of finishing his bacon before continuing, "So when she called yesterday, she sounded terrific. She's responding really well to the chemo. In fact, last week she worked on a Habitat for Humanity house. She says she was just holding nails and pouring coffee, but my guess? She probably put up the whole second floor herself."

"Yeah," Seth observed. "That would be Nana. And if she wasn't doing everything herself, I'll bet she was giving orders and telling the workers exactly what they were doing wrong."

Sandy smiled in agreement. "Hey, we all do what we do best."

"It's wonderful though, isn't it?" Kirsten prompted, breaking a brief silence. "That she's doing so well." She looked at Ryan, who nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "It's really great." He took a quick sip of his juice and sank back in his seat.

There was a pause. It was as if that short exchange had exhausted them all. Then Sandy rallied again.

"You know, you guys missed a great show this morning." He did his best Arnold Schwarzenegger accent. "Kirsten the Terminator in action right in our own foyer."

Despite themselves, both boys glanced up curiously.

Sandy grinned at them. "She took on Julie and Caleb. Together. And you know, as scary as those two are by themselves, together they're like a force of nature. Unstoppable. But they didn't stand a chance against the Kirsten today. I don't think they knew what hit them."

"Yeah?" Seth asked. "Mom hit them?"

"Of course not, Seth!"

"Hey, Mom, it's not like you never slapped grandpa before. Or threw a vase at him." Seth smiled innocently. "I'm just saying . . ."

Sandy checked Ryan's reaction. He didn't join the conversation, but he was watching with interest over the rim of his juice glass, and his body language seemed more relaxed, or at least much less wary.

"Nah, no flying fists today. Kirsten just cut them down with words. Oh, and a door slammed in their faces. There was Caleb, all affronted dignity and self-righteousness. And Julie, looking like your mother had just insulted her hairstyle. I tell you boys, it was a thing of beauty."

"Sandy, really!" Kirsten protested. "I'm not proud of the way I treated my father . . . Well, maybe I am a little. But only because he deserved it."

"Yeah? Why?" Seth prompted. "What did grandpa do?"

Sandy hesitated, and Seth caught the uneasy glance that his parents exchanged. Immediately his mood deflated. "Oh . . . " he concluded bitterly. "Let me guess. This was about me, right? . . . Grandpa disowned you for giving him such a lameass heir. Or maybe he just skipped the middle man and went straight to disowning me."

"Seth, it wasn't that at all," Kirsten claimed uncomfortably. "Your grandfather and Julie just wanted to make sure everyone was all right here."

"And their phone didn't work, right? Or, like, none of their fifteen different phones . . . So you got upset why, exactly? Because they might invite themselves to breakfast and we'd have to share the muffins?"

"Seth . . ." Sandy cautioned, but Seth continued, oblivious.

"It had nothing to do with grandpa deciding that I'm an embarrassment to the family, right? . . . I bet he's glad that my last name is Cohen and not Nichol. It will make it easier for him to pretend that we're not related."

All three Cohens were startled when Ryan suddenly spoke, his voice low and caustic. "Yeah, of course it was about you, Seth . . . Isn't everything?"

Seth's eyes flashed angrily. "I didn't mean that," he snapped.

Ryan shrugged.

"Hell, Ryan, you just have to think the worst of me, don't you?"

And just like that the fragile moment of détente shattered.

Sandy held up his hands in a peace-keeping gesture. "Okay. Back to your corners, guys . . ." he ordered. "We were going to hold off the serious discussion until after breakfast, but I guess we might as well deal with it now."

"Don't you mean deal with me?" Seth demanded. "Because I'm the problem, right Ryan?"

"Like I said . . . always all about you," Ryan muttered.

Seth slammed his palms flat on the table, spilling his water glass. "I know I was wrong!" he yelled, ignoring the liquid pooling around his plate and dripping onto the floor. "What do you want me to do? Have it tattooed on my forehead? Maybe wear a scarlet S for shitass . . .?"

"Seth . . ." Sandy warned, but Seth ignored him.

"Come on, dude . . . I've apologized, I've offered to try and fix this. What do you want me to do?" he repeated furiously. "You know, maybe if you actually talked me to me once in a while, told me how you felt, I'd have a clue . . ."

Ryan glared, his jaw tightening.

"Oh, yeah, the look . . . that's supposed to tell me everything I need to know, right?" Seth mocked.

"Seth . . . Ryan . . . Stop it," Kirsten pleaded. "This isn't going to solve anything. You're going to say something you can't take back . . ."

Seth slumped in his chair, twisting his soaked napkin in his hand.

Ryan looked at Kirsten, his eyes desolate. He was about to speak when he heard Seth mumble, "No danger of that, Mom, 'cause that would require Ryan to actually talk to me."

Rosa's apologetic voice interrupted them. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cohen, Mr. Cohen . . . It's Lindsay, Ryan. She's already called three times this morning, and she sounds so upset. Should I just say that you're having breakfast and can't talk now?"

Ryan looked at her blankly, then shook his head and held out his hand for the phone. Rosa gave it to him and discreetly left the room. For a moment, Ryan clutched the phone, white-knuckled. Then suddenly he shoved it across the table at Seth, who fumbled to catch it when it bounced off his chest.

"You want to get that for me, 'bro'?" Ryan asked coldly. "Or maybe you could just take a message."

Sandy, shocked, reproached him automatically. "Ryan!"

"What?" Ryan protested. "He wants to know how I feel. Well, that's it. That's how I feel."

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his crutch. "So now you know. Happy, Seth?" he demanded, and lurched out the door.

Wordlessly, Seth handed his mother the phone. She whispered into it, "Ryan will have to call you back, Lindsay" and hung up.

"You see?" Seth choked, knocking over his chair in his haste to leave. "Screw this. Why the fuck should I even try? Oh, and by the way, Mom? Dad? Thanks for the great breakfast."

As Seth stormed out of the room, Sandy crossed to Kirsten, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She sagged against him, staring at the shambles of their family meal.

"We knew it wasn't going to be easy," he reminded her.

Kirsten nodded. "I know. But Sandy . . . What are we going to do now?"