The next chapter of "The First Time" was supposed to deal with Ryan's first kiss, but this story wanted to be written first, since the gift plays a part in the kiss episode.

I own nothing. Still.

2: A Gift from Ryan's Dad

The first time Ryan's father gave him a present, he wasn't around to see his son's reaction.

In fact, he didn't know about it at all.

Birthdays passed pretty much unnoticed in the Atwood family, a fact Ryan had accepted years ago. Still, he knew that some people considered them a big deal. He'd seen enough evidence: lockers at school decorated with balloons and construction paper cards, kids strutting the halls with dollar bill corsages pinned to their shirts. Before he became embarrassed to show up with a handmade or recycled gift, Ryan had even attended neighborhood parties complete with cakes and silly hats and songs and stacks of gifts. Now, he only went if the party was for Theresa, because—well, she was Theresa and Ryan couldn't say no to her. Besides, she always smiled with her entire body when he showed up, even if he was empty-handed.

Ryan definitely didn't want silly hats and songs, and just the idea of a public display at school made him cringe; but somewhere inside him lurked a furtive hope for some kind of celebration, just a little something to let him know he mattered. It crept up from his chest to his throat, a shivery kind of tickle, a teasing sense of being on the edge of something exciting.

When he opened his eyes on the morning of his twelfth birthday, Ryan allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for exactly two minutes before shoving it away.

He was too old for silly, pointless dreams.

Anyway, Ryan figured he already had gotten his birthday gift. Four days ago, his mom's latest boyfriend had stormed out, amid a torrent of tears and screams and accusations, and the crackle of breaking glass. Steve had left Dawn with 200 in unpaid long distance charges, a boarded-up kitchen window, and a beer-stained brochure for a wedding chapel in Vegas.

But he had left. That was the important thing, as far as Ryan was concerned.

It made him feel guilty sometimes that he preferred his own life when Dawn was single, because Ryan knew that his mom was never happy alone. Actually, he suspected that his mother didn't know how to be happy alone, or even how to be alone, at all. Without a man around, Dawn just seemed to go through the motions of living, skimming over the surface without ever connecting with anything. Well, anything except her cigarettes and glasses of whatever booze was handy.

But not connecting with Ryan, or with Trey. At least not in any way that counted.

That's why Ryan was stunned into immobility when he and Trey shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast and found Dawn already sitting at the table, apparently waiting for them. She almost never got up before mid-morning, not unless she had some special reason. The fluttery feeling rose again in Ryan's throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing it down as he examined his mother.

Dawn's hands were wrapped around a glass that held orange juice and maybe—maybe, Ryan hoped—nothing else. Her eyes were closed as if waking up was not worth the effort, not just to see her kids off to school.

But she was there. She might not be alert, but Dawn was there, and at the sound of their footsteps, she even mumbled a drowsy, "Good morning, boys."

After one startled grimace, Trey shook off his own surprise at finding Dawn in the kitchen. "Morning, ma. Hey, love the hair," he smirked. "What is that? The dirty dog look?" He pointed a thumb in his mother's direction and added a faint, "Woof!" before pulling a box of cereal out of the cabinet and letting the door slam shut.

Dawn winced at the noise and ran a hand over the matted strings of her hair. "Huh," she replied without rancor, or, in fact, any real interest. "For your information, I haven't had my shower yet, wiseguy,"

Trey rolled his eyes. He whispered to Ryan, loud enough for their mother to hear, "Yeah. Her fucking shower this week, she means."

"Come on, Trey, don't." Ryan shifted uncomfortably and braced himself. "Don't listen to him, Mom. You know how Trey likes to mess around."

This was a new habit of his brother's—baiting Dawn, mocking her, criticizing her openly—and Ryan hated it. Whenever Trey did it, Ryan always felt like he was straddling a crack in the earth that his weight had to hold together, and if he didn't balance exactly, one foot on either side, the fault line would widen until they all fell in.

Because Ryan couldn't deny it; Trey was right. Trey was always right about their mom's shortcomings. That wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't so ruthlessly honest about them too. It was like Trey was always trying to shove a magnifying mirror in front of Dawn's face just when she looked her worst. Lately, he had started talking to her differently too, using a new tone of voice, both unctuous and sneering, and a special vocabulary, full of private insults, like the nickname he'd chosen for herThe Train Wreck.

But Dawn was their mother, and Ryan knew it wasn't right to talk about her that way. Doing that—it was like disowning her or abandoning her, like cutting away some part of themselves and pretending it didn't belong to them. No matter what, Ryan felt compelled to defend her, to remind Trey—and Dawn too, really—of the times when she actually acted like a mom.

Because there were times like that. They just didn't happen very often, and Ryan hadn't expected his birthday to be one of them.

Ryan knew that his mom didn't like seeing her sons get older. Not that she was sentimental about their childhoods. It's just that as their birthdays reminded Dawn that she was aging too, and claiming to be twenty-seven—well, she couldn't really get away with it anymore, no matter how skillfully she applied her makeup. Definitely not with Trey around, and soon not with Ryan either.

At least not if Ryan ever started growing. He scrutinized his wavy reflection in the toaster, looking vainly for change, for some indication that he was on the verge of puberty. The image didn't show height of course, but Ryan had already checked that secretly behind his closet door. The mark on the wall just verified what he already knew; he hadn't gotten any taller since last year.

At least his voice was already changing. It still wasn't consistent, but the high little-kid trill had pretty much disappeared, replaced by a warm near-baritone that made Ryan feel older, bigger, tougher, and made strangers look twice at his baby face, wondering who really lived inside.

"You want coffee, Mom?" Ryan asked, scrubbing out the grungy pot. "I'll make some."

"Sure," Dawn said around an uncovered yawn. "Why not?"

Trey swiped the orange juice glass from her hands, and sniffed it ostentatiously.

"Hey!" Dawn objected, blindly wiping drops off her arm with the fraying belt of her robe. "Whaddya think you're doin' there? I was drinking that, Trey!"

"Well, mark the fucking calendar, Ry," Trey drawled. "It really is just juice for a change." He took a loud gulp and then slid the glass back in front of his mother.

Ryan sighed with relief and glanced over his shoulder at Dawn, but she was frowning, her brows pulled together. "Calendar," she muttered, tapping her long nails on the table. "Calendar . . ." Then she nodded, clapping her hands lightly. "That's right. Ryan, it's your birthday, isn't it baby?"

Ryan shot Trey a look, begging him not to comment. "Um . . . yeah."

Dawn laughed and opened her arms wide, if not her eyes. "What, you think I'd forget? Hey, I was there, kiddo. First person in the entire world to see that beautiful face. Come here, get your birthday kiss from your mom."

Ryan ducked his head, his lips curving in a faint, hopeful smile. He wrapped his arms around his mother's neck and leaned into her, grateful that her breath smelled like orange juice and cigarettes and nothing else. Dawn's chapped lips slid over his cheek, winding up near his eye, and she tugged his hair affectionately.

"Got something else for you too, baby."

Trey snorted. "You got Ryan a gift? What, was there a fucking prize in the cereal box or something? When did you leave the house to buy Ry a present, TW?"

"Trey . . ." Ryan whispered, still wrapped in Dawn's one-armed hug. He snuggled closer, hoping to distract his mother before she noticed Trey's contemptuous shorthand for "Train Wreck," but it was too late.

Dawn's eyes opened to half slits. "TW?" she demanded. "What the hell is TW?"

Trey grinned, and Ryan realized with horror that he fully intended to explain what the initials meant.

"It's nothing, Mom," he interjected hastily. "Just one of Trey's stupid nicknames. It means, you know . . ." Ryan cast about frantically for a flattering, or at least innocuous, expression that could begin with TW. The only phrase that occurred to him was "Terrible Woman," and he swallowed the sour taste of betrayal when he couldn't push the words out of his mind.

Trey watched, enjoying Ryan's panic and confident that there was no way his brother could finish the sentence. "Go ahead, Ry," he urged, cocking his head at their mother. "You're so fucking smart. Go on and tell her."

Ryan glared at him and gave up. "Just . . . nothing, Mom. Like when he calls me LB. It's just . . . Trey being Trey, that's all."

"LB?" Dawn muttered vacantly.

"Sure, ma. You know. LB—little brother," Trey claimed, his tone ingenuous, even though his lips quirked with crafty satisfaction.

Ryan hissed softly. He knew exactly what LB stood for, and while the L did mean "little", B was not shorthand for "brother." But there was no way Ryan was sharing that information.

"Oh." Dawn's mouth contorted with another yawn. She gave Ryan a final squeeze and released him. "Yeah, well, nicknames. That's fine for your brother and your friends, but remember, Trey, I am your mom; you'd better treat me with some goddamn respect if you know what's good for you."

"Oh, I'm pretty goddamn sure what's good for me, don't worry," Trey retorted.

Ryan's eyes flickered anxiously from his Dawn to his brother. "Mom?" he prompted, nudging his shoulder gently against hers. "My present?"

"Huh?" Dawn blinked, having already forgotten.

"My birthday present?" Ryan repeated.

He wasn't particularly interested in the gift. Last year Dawn had belatedly given Ryan a Monopoly game with cheap plastic pieces. He had hated everything about it: the mercenary theme, the interminable time it took for anyone to win, the boring rectangle "houses", and the fake pastel money that reminded him of all the problems that real money—or the lack of it—caused in his family. But Ryan desperately did not want the day to start with Trey and his mother arguing. He'd create any diversion necessary to prevent that from happening.

Trey pulled a carton from the frig, sniffed it, soaked his cereal and then chugged the remainder of the milk before putting the open, empty container back where he found it. He jammed an elbow into Ryan's side on his way to the kitchen table. "Greedy little bitch, aren't you Ry?"

"Don't call your brother a little bitch," Dawn muttered automatically, as she shuffled into the living room and began rummaging through the closet there.

Trey's voice was completely innocent. "Hey, it's just a nickname, right LB?" He grinned at Ryan who glared at him.

From the other room, they could hear Dawn pulling down boxes and apparently shaking out the contents, muttering, "Shit, I know it's here someplace. Shoulda looked for it yesterday when I thought of it." Finally, she breathed a triumphant, "There it is! Figures it'd be the last place I looked."

Trey snorted. "Yeah. Imagine that."

Dawn came back into the kitchen, her fist curled tight around something.

"Man," Trey scoffed. "I am fucking jealous already, Ry. That looks like it's some goddamn great gift. What did you get him, Ma, a piece of gum?"

Dawn's mouth twisted ruefully. "Actually, I didn't get you anything, baby," she admitted, rumpling Ryan's hair. "But I'm givin' you something. This was your father's, and I want you to have it." Her fingers opened, dangling a silver chain that glinted in the morning light. "So I guess it's really from me and your dad."

Unexpectedly, Ryan felt his eyes start to sting. He swiped his hand over them viciously, disguising the movement as an attempt to brush his long bangs off his face.

"That's . . . great, Mom. Thanks," he said, his voice cracking faintly. "That's a great gift."

His mother dropped the chain in his outstretched hand. Ryan felt the metal tickle his palm, watched it settle into a cool, slightly tarnished coil there.

"Yeah, well . . . it used to have some kind of medallion on it, but I don't know what the hell happened to that. Your dad and his stuff, you know?" Dawn said with a shrug. "But the chain's real silver, I think. Or damn close anyway."

Trey stomped over, glowering. Instinctively Ryan closed his fingers over the chain and then, for good measure, plunged his fist into his pocket.

"If that was dad's, why the fuck are you giving it to Ryan, TW?" Trey demanded. "I should get it. I'm older. Older sons are supposed to get the stuff from their fathers. Shit, Ry, let me see the damn thing anyway." He yanked Ryan's elbow, trying to dislodge his grip, but Ryan tensed his muscles and held tight.

Dawn pried Trey's hand off Ryan's arm. "Leave him the fuck alone, Trey. You got your father's damn personality. Ryan deserves to have something from him."

Trey's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. When Dawn went back to bed, leaving them to clean up the kitchen before school, he sidled over to Ryan and whispered menacingly, "That fucking chain should have been mine, Ry. So consider it your goddamn birthday present from mom and dad and me too."

Ryan nodded, solemn; the argument seemed logical to him.

Trey studied his brother for a long moment and then sighed, relenting. "Jeez, Ry, you shouldn't take shit like that from anybody. Even me." His mouth curled derisively. "One more thing I gotta teach you, I guess. But anyway, I got a real birthday present for you. 'Cause, after all, you're growing up, right? Even if you're not tall enough to fucking prove it."

He patted the top of Ryan's head, then emitted a muffled, "Oomph," when Ryan unexpectedly growled, "I don't take shit like that from anybody," and drove his shoulder hard into Trey's stomach, collapsing them both. The boys hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, laughing and gasping as they wrestled until Dawn's sharp voice froze them.

"What the hell is going on out there?"

"Nothing, ma," Trey claimed, breathless. He broke Ryan's chokehold, surprised by the effort it took, and straightened his shirt. "Just givin' Ry his birthday smacks, that's all."

"Yeah? Well, you two better not be late for school. And no ditching, Trey! I don't need another call from that nosy, horse-faced attendance officer."

Ryan scrambled to his feet. "We're going, Mom." He grabbed his jacket and whispered, "After I get my birthday present, right, Trey?"

Trey grinned. "What? You mean this?" He opened his gym bag and, with a flourish, produced a Playboy Magazine, its cover slick, glossy, and surprisingly unspoiled. "Here you go, little brother. Happy birthday. And hey, sweet wet dreams, Ry." Trey flipped the magazine open to the centerfold, holding it vertically, grinning.

Ryan looked at the picture, flushed, looked again, and clamped his legs together, the way he did at school when the teacher wouldn't give him a pass to the restroom. "Thanks, Trey," he stammered, afraid that he'd hear his old little-kid voice when he spoke. He took the magazine, debated briefly where to hide it, and finally slid it into his own backpack, protected between his math book and his social studies folder.

Trey watched, his eyes narrowed appraisingly. "I figured it was about fucking time you got some of your own stuff so you'd stop sneaking mine, you know."

Ryan felt his skin begin to burn. "Trey, I . . ." he stammered.

"Yeah? You what?" Trey demanded. He shot Ryan a mock-scowl as they left the house. "You didn't think I'd figure out you were messing around with my things? Shit, Ry, if you didn't want me to know, you shouldn't have left my stuff neater than you found it. Straightening up my stash—it's a dead giveaway, man. You know I'm a fucking pig." He knuckled Ryan in the shoulder affectionately and then vaulted off the porch.

Ryan smiled, thrilled by Trey's good humor. "Yeah, but hey, you said it, man, not me." He locked the front door and deposited the key into his pocket. It pinged against the heavy twist of metal, and Ryan paused, pulling out the chain. His fist clutched it tightly for a moment and then opened. The chain suddenly felt too heavy to hold.

"Trey?" Ryan called. "Wait a minute, okay?"

His brother, already halfway down the sidewalk, pivoted impatiently. "What? Fuck, Ry, would you get moving? You're the one who never wants to be late."

Ryan raced after Trey, catching hold of his arm. "Here." He rushed the words, so he wouldn't have a chance to change his mind. "You should have this, Trey. I mean, you're right." Ryan gave a self-deprecating shrug, and thrust the chain at his brother. "You're the one named after dad, and you're older, so . . . this should be yours."

"Fuck, Ry, I don't want it," Trey snorted. "Piece of crap jewelry."

Ryan blinked up at him, his blue eyes cloudy, the fragile happiness completely erased from his face. "You think it's crap, Trey? Really?"

He waited. The answer was important.

Finally Trey took a deep breath. "Nah," he said, slinging an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "When are you gonna stop taking everything so serious, Ry? 'Course I don't really think it's crap. But you should keep it." Trey lowered his head and whispered confidentially, "You heard what mom said. I got dad's personality. His looks too. I don't think you got one goddamn thing from him. Except this." Trey took the chain, and closed his brother's fingers around it, letting his hand cover Ryan's for just a moment. "Now you've got something from dad too. And I think . . . yeah, he'd want you to have it. Happy birthday, little brother."

Trey spun away and raced down the street.

Ryan stood for a minute, feeling the cold metal grow warm against his skin. Then he jerked out of his trance as he heard Trey call, "What the fuck? Would you move it, LB! Or the next birthday present you get will be detention from your homeroom teacher!"

Ryan laughed, pocketed his father's chain, and took off running after his brother.