Ok, this chapter is a little all over the place. But I tried to end it on a light note, so there's that.
Enjoy.
Music: Lord knows I can't change
"Oh, my baby!"
She rushes forward and throws her arms around him before she even gets into the apartment. He hugs her back – tentatively – and it's obvious she's much more into this than he is. Luckily, she stays clueless.
"Hey ma," he rasps out when they break apart. She grins, moving past him into the apartment as he shakes the hand of a very large, very tattooed man. Ron, I think his name is.
"You must be Taylor," she gasps, coming towards me and catching me in a hug. Which surprises the hell out of me, because I've never met the woman. We've exchanged a few emails, but only so I could get pictures of Ryan for his twenty-fifth birthday party. I'd called it his quarter-century party... he hadn't been too thrilled. But in the eight years I've known Ryan, I've never met his mother – I was too busy with my own stuff at high school graduation and I was in France when he graduated Berkeley, so I didn't meet her then, either. She lets me go, but keeps her hands on my shoulders, looking me over. "You're beautiful," she whispers proudly, tears welling up and for the first time in my life, I'm speechless.
"Taylor, this is my mom, and Ron, her husband," Ryan interrupts – introducing us like we're all idiots. Like I don't know this is his mother. Like she doesn't know I'm Taylor.
"You didn't tell me she was so pretty," Dawn turns to her son, sniffling a little. I can see the shock on Ryan's face – like he's still amazed his mom loves him. Even after all these years, he still doesn't believe it. Maybe because he's only seen her three times in that time, but still. She calls him at least once a month and holidays and his birthday. She'd sent him pictures of her quickie wedding to Ron.
I haven't told him I know he keeps them in a little box in his bedside table drawer, along with pictures from his childhood. My hands have been itching to make them into a scrapbook since I found them, but I want to respect his privacy. Or something like that.
But right now he still looks stunned, so I need to snap him back before he starts to freak his mom out. "Oh?" I ask her, trying to sound offended, "he told you I was hideous?"
Her eyes go wide with fear. "Oh, no, he… I…"
"She's joking, ma," he cuts in, glaring at me.
"I have a tendency to do that," I agree, giving Ryan a grin in response to his glare. "I keep forgetting that Atwoods aren't good at sarcasm."
"You'll be one of us soon," he threatens, holding up a warning finger as he walks into the kitchen. "Mom, Ron, you guys want anything to drink? Eat?"
"I have lemonade!" I pipe up enthusiastically. "I made it fresh this morning, because Ryan told me you'd be coming over and I wanted to make sure the kitchen was properly stocked and-" he comes up behind me and wraps a hand around my mouth, shutting me up.
"Lemonade's fine," Dawn laughs, eyes flicking between her son and me, like she's trying to fit us together.
We get that a lot.
The wedding rehearsal goes by in a blur.
And when I say a blur, I don't mean a fast blur. I mean everything's blurry, but it drags on, because I'm nervous and everyone's watching me. I can't imagine what it'll be like when all the guests arrive, if I'm this nervous now, in front of my family.
It doesn't help that mom is off to the side, crying like it's the actual wedding, Ron patting her back. Dad sits a couple rows behind her with Julie and Kaitlin and Matthew, seemingly unfazed by the ex-wife he used to hit. Trey's sitting in the back row with Jess, keeping his eyes locked firmly on me and not our parents.
God, we're just a bundle of denial.
I think that's how everyone's trying to deal with this wedding: denial.
Which is actually kind of nice, cause I'd rather not have to go through all the drama, but it's a little freaky, too. The Atwoods haven't all been in the same room in almost twenty years – since dad went to prison. I'm not used to all of us being together with no screaming or pain or… well, alcohol. I can't believe mom and dad have been sober for this long. Trey, too.
On Taylor's side of the aisle, the Cohens sit. Veronica refused to come to the rehearsal – although she swears she'll be at the actual wedding – I'm assuming to try and make everyone as miserable as possible. But Taylor doesn't have a lot of family coming to the wedding and I have family falling from the fucking sky every time I turn around, so the Cohens decided to sit on her side. Sandy and Kirsten watch us proudly, Seth with his arm around Summer as she rubs her belly. Sophie squirms in her seat. Bullit and Katie sit a little farther back, snuggling up together. Next to Bullit is Cody.
I'm going to ignore the fact that the man is probably corrupting my future son with some horrifying story about Japanese hookers or something.
Ryan kind of zombies his way through the rehearsal.
Although, to be honest, I didn't expect anything else. That's how he handles change. And fear. And stress. And happiness.
But I pay attention, making sure every little detail is right. My wedding will be perfect, thank you very much.
Afterwards we head back to the Cohen's – all million and one of us. Seriously, when did our numbers get this big? There's the Cohens: five; the Atwoods: six; the Coopers: two; and the Bullits: two. Oh, and Cody, but I'm not sure if he's an Atwood, a Cohen, or a Townsend. Probably an Atwood. Maybe a Cohen. I won't let him be a Townsend.
And then there's also Ryan and me, which adds up to a grand total of eighteen people. In one house.
We don't have a sit down dinner, just food that you can grab easily and put on plates and eat standing up. Dawn and Frank keep to separate rooms – not so much in anger or hate, but just to avoid confrontation and be respectful. Dawn's in the dining room and Frank's in the living room. Trey stays planted firmly in the middle - in the kitchen - with Jess on his arm.
I had noticed it before; the way she hangs onto him. At first I thought she was just claiming her property, and later I thought she was needy, but now I see the way he loosens up a bit every time she hugs his arm tighter. Like she's pulling the tension from him and taking it into herself.
And it makes me wonder; if all these people can change – Frank, Dawn, Trey, Jess – why can't my mom? Maybe because all their problems and violence stemmed from alcohol and drugs.
My mom's just a bitch on her own.
I'm not sure why I'd been hoping she'd show up today. You think I'd have learned by now.
"You doing ok?" I whisper into the back of her head as I lean my hands on the counter, arms on either side of her body. I feel her smile as she leans back into my chest.
"Yeah," she sighs. "I can't believe it's tomorrow."
"I know. No going back then," I tell her. Ok, what the fuck? Am I trying to scare her off?
"I'm gonna need a new five-year plan," she continues like she hadn't heard me.
"What?" What plan? We had a five-year plan? Was I supposed to know about this? Oh shit, did she tell me about a plan and I zoned out? Shit, she's gonna kill me…
"I had a five-year plan," she clarifies, but she doesn't sound angry, so she must not've told me. "But now I need a new one. Cody kind of… threw it off track."
"Do we need one?" I ask, lifting one hand to brush the hair off the side of her neck so I can kiss it. She tilts her head with a heavy sigh.
"I don't do well just winging it," she explains. "I need a plan."
"No offense, baby," I whisper against her skin, "but your plans suck, remember? You planned on going to the Sorbonne after high school, and you married some random guy and dropped out. Then you planned on going to Berkeley, and we both know how that turned out. And apparently this five-year plan didn't pan out, either."
"I still need a plan," she tells me, a little breathlessly as I kiss that spot beneath her ear that she loves. "Even if it doesn't work out. I like security." I don't press it, cause I get that. The need for security.
I don't say anything else and we watch the party from the kitchen. Everyone's milling around through the foyer, dining room, living room and kitchen, talking and laughing. I feel like Taylor and I are in a separate world – like we're invisible.
Which I'm totally using as my excuse for what I do next.
I let one hand drop off the counter slowly – no sudden moves, that's the way to go. Taylor doesn't notice, too caught up watching everyone. I settle my hand on her waist, letting it slide down until I reach the hem of her skirt.
She only takes notice when my fingers brush the skin of her inner thigh. She tenses, turning her head slightly to look at me – like she's trying to see if I'm actually doing this.
I so am.
"Ryan!" she scolds, voice a whisper, but she doesn't stop the hand that travels under and up her skirt.
"They can't see," I explain, patting the counter with my other hand, reminding her that it cuts us off at mid-stomach. Plus, no one's even looking our way. She gasps lightly when I brush the tip of my middle finger against the silk covering her. "They're not even paying attention to us."
A bolt of adrenaline shoots through my stomach when I feel how wet she is for me. I mean, fuck, I've barely even done anything to her yet. I press my fingers to her harder and she chokes back a groan.
"Don't," she whispers. "Please, Ryan."
I take my hand away with a heavy sigh and she almost crumbles with relief. And now that I think about it, I'm glad she stopped me, because even if she could've kept perfectly silent, there would've been no way no one would've noticed the flush to her cheeks, the sex glaze in her eyes, the smell of her in the air. It's disappointing, yes, but I take slight satisfaction in the knowledge that she couldn't stop me. She could ask me to stop, but she couldn't physically push me away.
Ok, one more time: Seth-like persistence.
"I wanna pay you back for the other day," I explain, making sure to keep my mouth hovering near her ear, just to make her shiver. There's a slight pause as she thinks it through.
"Upstairs," she whispers finally, pushing me back and smoothing down her skirt before walking out from behind the counter. She stops and talks to a few people on the way out, and fuck, she's damn good at being stealthy. I wait until she makes it to the foyer and up the stairs before I leave the safety of the counter.
I'm not so good at the stealth, making a beeline for the stairs and sidestepping everyone. No one notices – thank God – and I take the steps two at a time.
She's in the guest room that used to be my old room – just where I knew she'd be.
"We can't have sex," she warns, unnecessarily, because I already know that. I don't bother to answer, instead closing the door behind me and stalking toward her, catching her up in a kiss. She makes some whimpering sound in the back of her throat, letting me push her back to the bed. I break the kiss long enough to grab her hips and toss her back, where she bounces slightly before laying back and spreading her legs for me.
I kneel on the bed, crawling up her body and she whimpers again, hands reaching out to try and fumble with my belt. But I'm the king of self control tonight, and I pull her hands away with a shake of my head. "This is for you," I remind her. I'm not sure why I'm turning her down, but for some reason, both of us getting off at the same time feels like we're breaking the rules. She nods, lets her head drop back against the mattress, spreads her legs further, lets my hand push her skirt up to her hips, arches up as I pull the silk down her legs and toss it off to the side.
I don't have to tell her to keep quiet, she knows, she's a smart girl. I don't have to remind myself I can't tease her like I want to – God, I want to make this last – but I can't because we have to get back to the party.
I lay on my side next to her, covering her mouth with mine and letting my hand continue its work from downstairs – trailing up her thigh, brushing softly against her, swallowing her gaps and moans, letting one finger slide in easily, adding a second, then a third, stretching her wide, thumb circling her clit lazily. She bucks her hips, meeting my rhythm, running her hands up under her shirt to cup her breasts – my hands being otherwise occupied with holding myself up and getting her off.
I pull away for air, nipping gently at her bottom lip before moving to her spot – right below her ear. She gasps sharply as I press my tongue to it, biting the skin, sucking it afterwards. "Don't leave a mark," she gasps, eyes closed, head tilted back. "I can't have a hickey on my wedding day."
I let out a low, rumbling laugh and focus on tonguing the spot rather than biting or sucking. She hums her appreciation as I continue to fuck her, my dick straining obscenely against the zipper of my pants. I am the king of self control tonight.
"God, Ryan," she whispers brokenly as her hips start moving erratically, "oh God, oh Ryan."
"That's it, baby," I murmur, voice rough with lust, "come for me." She nods, mewing as she starts to clench around me. It reminds me how much I want my dick in there – how good she feels. But I am the king of self control.
"Ryan!" she cries, all the muscles in her body tensing and wetness floods against my hand as she orgasms.
She's fucking beautiful.
The silence in the room is broken only by her heavy panting as she comes down. I roll onto my back, slinging one arm across my eyes, breathing heavily myself to calm down a bit. It doesn't really work – especially because I can smell the sex in the air.
"Want me to do you now?" I feel her shift next to me, probably rolling onto her side.
"I'm ok," I tell her, which is a lie and she probably knows that from the way my pants aren't fitting nicely right now, but I don't care. "Go back to the party before people start wondering where we are."
"You sure?" she sounds uncertain and a little disappointed.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
I listen to her movements as she walks around, gathering clothes, stopping off in the bathroom to clean herself up. "I'll see you downstairs," she whispers from the door before leaving.
It takes a while to get myself under control and I wonder why I didn't just jerk off or something. I think I underestimated the time it would take to recover from her.
Either way, I get up – my pants fitting much better now – and wash my hands in the bathroom, splashing some water on my face. Then I go back down, where it looks like no one's noticed I haven't been here for a half an hour.
Except Trey.
He shoots me a look, flicking his eyes between me and Taylor and I feel the heat rise in my face. He just grins.
The saddest part is, Seth had no idea I was gone. And even if he had realized it, I'm not sure he'd know why I was gone. Because as much as I hate to admit it – as much as I don't want it to be true – Trey knows me better. Seth may know the new me, but Trey was there for everything. He was there for all the shit I can't ever tell Seth or Taylor or the Cohens – stuff Sandy's only read in my file. I hate that I have a file. And that's the only time I've ever been grateful for the incompetence of the system, cause the shit Sandy read isn't even the half of it.
But Trey knows. And if I was hooked up to one of those lie detector machines and they asked me who I felt was more my brother: Trey or Seth? I'd answer Seth and the machine would beep and tell everyone I lied. Trey has always been and will always be my big brother.
It's like mom and dad. I've tried – I've tried so fucking hard – to call Kirsten and Sandy mom and dad. It just never comes out. After all these years, I still call them Kirsten and Sandy, while my biological parents get mom and dad. Even in my head. I can't help it – God knows I've tried.
Blood is thicker than water, right?
Even if the water's better for you; even if the water makes you happier. Blood still knows you better; it pumps in your veins, it reminds you who the fuck you really are. Where you really came from.
Maybe that's why I always got into fights; to try and bleed the Atwood out of me.
"How're you doin, kid?" Sandy comes up next to me, looping an arm around my shoulders with a grin.
"I'm good," I smile back, eyes tracking Cody on the other side of the room as he talks to Sophie and Matthew. They're both half his age, but he seems quite amused by their antics.
I love that everyone's taken him in without question. They're not making a big deal out of it, they're not trying too hard. Bullit especially's taken a liking to him, talking to the boy for the better part of an hour about cattle. I could see the same fearful wonder on Cody's face that everyone has when they first meet Bullit.
"Good," Sandy hugs me slightly and Kirsten comes up to join us.
"So we were wondering," she starts, leaning on the kitchen counter on my other side, "poor Summer walked down the aisle by herself because her dad couldn't make it." I nod, remembering. "We would have offered this to her, too, if she'd told us about it."
"What?" I'm not sure what they're talking about and they shoot knowing glances at each other before continuing.
"I thought I would offer my services as stand-in father," Sandy explains gently, picking up on the way my eyes go wide. I open my mouth to say something – probably something in the oh my God, yes! category – but nothing comes out. He chuckles lightly. "I'll take that as a 'yes' and a 'thank you'," he guesses and I nod enthusiastically.
Out of the corner of my eye I watch Seth leave the party, heading outside and Ryan follows him out, leaving Trey and Jess alone with Frank. The three look uncomfortable with each other still – like Ryan used to around Frank. Like Ryan still does sometimes around Frank and it strikes me how rare the Cohens are. They're the only people I've ever known that can make anyone automatically comfortable.
Unless they don't like you. That earns you a punch in the face from Sandy Cohen: Public Defender.
But they've accepted Frank now, and I keep hoping that someday, Trey will be able to come out for family functions – maybe Chrismukkah? He's Ryan's brother and I know my own family issues are clouding my judgment, but I want Ryan to have as many people in his life as he can. He deserves it all.
"Excuse me," I duck out from under Sandy's arm and head over to where Kaitlin's standing with her mom.
As long as we're making last-minute wedding party changes…
"How did this happen?" he sighs as I sit next to him on the porch steps, the sounds from the party drifting out the front door, the light flooding out with it.
"How did what happen?" I don't look at him. It's that nice time – when it's not quite day, but it's not quite night. Where you can still see your hand in front of your face, but you can't make out what's going on down the block.
"This," I see his arms waving, trying to motion this. "Us. Being… adults." That gets a laugh from me and I shake my head, because I really don't know. "I mean, we're married."
"I'm not married yet," I remind him, my heart doing that jumpy thing it's been doing all day.
"Whatever. And I'm gonna be having a kid in a month. You're gonna be adopting one. What the hell happened to us?" I smile, because I actually know the answer to that one.
"Summer and Taylor happened to us." He groans, resting one elbow on his knee and propping his chin on his hand.
"It feels like yesterday, we were sitting in the living room playing video games."
"We were just playing two days ago," I remind him, ducking my head over the smile. He huffs in annoyance.
"I meant-"
"I know what you meant."
We sit in silence for a while, watching fireflies blink in and out of existence. I know something's bothering him, but I don't ask. He's Seth. He'll talk eventually.
"Sometimes I feel like it's not real." I nod, waiting for him to continue. I know he will. "Like… like Summer and I aren't really married. Like she's not really pregnant. Like we're still back in high school." I don't say anything. "C'mon man," he whines, hitting his shoulder against mine. "You're getting married tomorrow, I don't know how much time we'll get for Seth/Ryan time anymore."
"Nothing much is gonna change," I try to placate him.
"Yeah, it will. We'll both be married. We'll both have kids." His shoulders slump – finally, we're getting to the point. "What if I suck?"
"As a dad?"
"Yeah. What if this kid comes out and I just… freak. Or… or I don't freak, but I'm so horrible with it that it grows up to resent me?" He drops his head into both hands, making some morbid groan.
"Well, I have no doubt your kid'll resent you." His head whips around – horrified – and I start to laugh. "Seth, relax. It was a joke. You have Sandy Cohen's DNA. You'll be cheesy and loud and embarrassing and your kid will absolutely love you."
He laughs lightly, shaking his head.
"I heard my name." We both turn halfway to watch Sandy sit on the steps a little behind us. "Who said my name?"
"Guilty," I hold up my hand as Seth and I shift to face him. "I was just telling Seth he'll do fine as a father."
"Well, he has my genes," Sandy explains with a grin.
"But the kid'll have my genes. I was a horrible child," he breathes and Sandy and I start laughing.
"For your next kid, convince Summer to tell you the sex, cause it sounds really weird having you call it 'the kid' and 'it' all the time."
"It would be nice to know if I could teach the kid to throw like me," he admits. "Or, if it's a boy, Ryan can teach him how to throw."
"Sandy?" Kirsten's voice calls from the doorway and we all turn to look at her. "Oops," she smiles. "Looks like I've interrupted guy time."
"Oh horror," Summer drones, moving past her. "Cohen, let's go. It's getting late and I want food."
"We just ate," he protests, but stands up anyway.
"I want corn," she plants her fists on her hips, looking at him like he's an idiot. "Kirsten doesn't have corn. We're stopping by the grocery store to get some."
"Corn," he repeats, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "She loves corn more than me."
"I love driftwood more than you," she throws back, slapping him on the back of the head.
"Summer!" Taylor scolds as she comes out the front door. "That's a terrible thing to say. You at least love him more than driftwood."
"Fine, I'll give him above-driftwood status," she relents, moving down the stairs, one hand on her stomach. When she passes Seth he falls into step with her and I watch as her hand slips into his as they make their way to their car.
"By the way," Taylor comes up to sit on the steps behind me and she loops her arms around me, resting her chin on my shoulder. "I made Kaitlin my bridesmaid."
"I only have Seth," I protest, turning to look at her better. She quirks one eyebrow.
"Then you'll have to find someone else. That, or convince Kaitlin to back out." The thought makes me shiver – looks like I need to find another groomsman.
"Hey," we all turn as Trey and Jess come out, his arm around her waist. "I think we're gonna head out."
Taylor and I stand up as Frank, Julie, Bullitt and Katie come out, too. Frank and Trey nod at each other, and I hold out my hand for him to shake. He and Jess move past us – she gives a little wave to everyone – and start out towards their car. Behind me, Taylor coughs into her hand, nudging me a little.
"What?" She sighs heavily, rolls her eyes, coughs, and nudges me again, staring Trey's retreating back. I sigh. "You're meddling again," I monotone at her.
"Not meddling," she protests innocently. "Just… steering you in a more… brotherly love direction."
"You owe me," I tell her, leaning in to get close to her ear. "I'm talking on-your-knees-calling-me-master-in-a-French-maid-outfit owe me."
"Deal," she agrees without hesitation. "Go talk to him."
I give her one last glare before heading out after my brother.
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