Can you imagine how it feels?
I'm glad for Ryan. His biological father really seems to care. He is patient with him. He really wants this relationship to work. I think this is good for Ryan. Everybody needs some own family and knowing there's still someone left after he had lost it nearly completely, must be comforting. But I'm also afraid. I'm afraid his biological father might hurt him. Ten years are a lot. Ten years jail shape you and it's hard to get your life into order when you're out. And there is this big fear he might take Ryan away from us. Right now, I don't think he would do so. There's still a huge gap between them. But Ryan is working hard to get it decreasing. It sounds strange, but he's my son. I'm envious of Frank Atwood. He appears in front of my door and wants my son. And worse of all, Ryan is acting easier and more comfortable around his biological father than around us. But we are his family. Okay, he's acting easier around us too. He's more open towards us, letting us in on his thoughts. But it's not fair. We were working hard and did hardly succeed and this man, who hadn't cared for ten years? And he shouldn't dare coming to me and telling it was because of his lock up, because even there they have phones. But Ryan seems to trust us. He doesn't want to meet his father alone, yet. So he's coming to us. I watch them. I can't imagine having seen Ryan smiling that often.
"And, what about a girlfriend?" The man is acting around his son – my son -, as if nothing had happened. This was a lie. But maybe it was better than everything else. It's too hurtful to accept their father-son-relationship. We've been those who had to fight the boy through all those tragedies.
"Does…the colour of your face mean yes?" This unstrained conversation. I only have these unstrained conversations to my own son. Why can't I have them with Ryan? Why do they always have to be about a new problem, a new conflict?
"So, I take it as yes. Will you introduce me to her?"
"Dunno…do you…do you want to?"
"It's up to you. I don't want to push you." And that's the difference between you and me. I know who his girlfriend is. I know her, because I'm around.
"Hey, is Ryan there?" My wife steps into the kitchen. Her kiss distracts me from my jealousy.
"Yes, he's outside. Why?"
"I want to know if he has everything he needs for preparing the dinner."
"Is it his turn again?" I ask. Since he arrived here we're eating more self-made food than before. He's a real good cook and I wonder what is making him cooking that well. And why does he like to cook? I have no clue, but I guess it's only another result of growing up all alone.
"And what's on the menu card for today?" Her big smile tells me: lasagne. She loves Italian food and especially Ryan's home made lasagne. It's ridiculous: a teenager who cooks. But sometimes I think he only wants to show us that he's okay with us. His way to say I like you.
"Ryan!" My wife calls out. I see him turning around.
"I just wanted to know whether I have to go out again, to get something you need for dinner."
"No…uh…thanks…but I have everything."
"Oh…it's already late. I better go home then." His father says. I feel relieve. I'm not sure how long I'm able to hold back my strange feelings about this situation.
"You can stay and have dinner with us…of course only if you want to…and…and if Ryan is okay with that." My wife steps in. Hope destroyed. I have no right to grump about this. We were told that his father would come out one day. We knew that this had been the reason why we weren't able to adopt him. Yes, inwardly I'm only waiting for Frank Atwood to mess this up. But I have to put Ryan's well being on firstplace and fact is: the boy couldn't handle another deep hit.
"Depends on what Ryan says."
"Uh…yeah…if…if it's okay." The boy is still not easy in making decisions. And no I don't like this one. But I can't let him feel that. I would only push him away and then? I watch them all come in.
"How many will we be this evening?" My wife asks, but Seth already enters the kitchen with Summer in tow.
"I don't know Mum, but nevertheless can Summer stay for dinner?" His own son asks.
"Why not?" I ask back. This house is usually busy. It has to be. It's scary when it's only me and my wife around here. I notice how Frank Atwood disappears politely into the background of the scene.
"Well, then it's only Marissa who's missing for the evening." I suggest. Why? I want to show him, who the father is in this house. And I want to show him, what he had missed for so long. In my eyes he has no right to inherit the father role after ten long years. The boy looks a little uncomfortable and I'm afraid I might have said something wrong.
"Go and get her. Julie is not home." My wife steps in and then his face lightens up.
"Seth, this is Mr. Atwood. Mr. Atwood, this is my son Seth." I have to introduce them to each other, because as it looks like, we'll have to see him more often.
"Hi, nice to meet you." Mr. Atwood says. It's curious. He acts like Ryan, only a little more mature. But he's the same way shy as the boy is.
"And this is Summer Roberts." I go on.
"Hi." He says and then Ryan appears with Marissa. When I look at them I always have to think of Kirsten and me. They're both so different from each other, but fit perfectly together.
"And I'm Marissa Cooper." She introduces herself. She's self-confident. That's what the boy needs.
"Frank Atwood."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." She says and I see she's honest. She wants to be a part of Ryan and she wants to know his life.
"Well, then this will be a huge dinner. Ryan, do you still think you can handle this? We can easily order something." My wife asks him.
"Uh…no…it's okay." He answers.
"I help you." Marissa says and takes his hand. They're so in love with each other.
"If…if you don't mind, I can help too." His real father offers.
"Yes…uh sure."
"Okay, then what do you want to prepare for dinner?" His real father asks on. I see there's a connection. It's the same that's between my own son and my wife – the same between my own son and me. Maybe I have to accept that it's impossible to build up the same relationship to a boy who's not yours and grew up somewhere else than under your shelter.
"Lasagne."
"No way! This is what I used to make on weekends. Do you remember? Trey never stopped begging for it and you liked it too." His real father asks.
"No…sorry." Ryan whispers. Now he had made his first mistake.
"Well, then let me show you what you've forgotten about." And with this sentence he again takes Ryan's uneasiness away and they start their project in the kitchen. My own son and his girl and my wife are setting the table. And I? What am I doing? I get the feeling of being dispensable occurs somewhere in the depth if my inner world. I start to think, whether I'm really dispensable. Not for my own family. But for Ryan? I'm replaced and I can't blame him.
"Or do you remember when Trey nearly ate half of the casserole?" His real father goes on. He really seems to be happy having his son – the last remaining one – around.
"I know he was keeping awake the whole night, telling he never wanted lasagne again." My boy answers. He had lost his shyness. Wow, he's developing fast. But maybe it's Marissa who's giving him support. She always does. She had been the one, helping to fit into Harbor at the beginning. She had shown him that Newport was not much different from Chino, making it easier for him going out once in a while. She really had been able to make his time easier. And I? I always have these conversations with him, which don't even succeed. I'm jealous of everyone who knows how to handle my boy.
"You can't roast the mince together with the garlic!" I hear his father protesting.
"Yes, I have to."
"But it's getting dry."
"I'm not roasting it on a hot flame and moreover I need to do this to get a better flavour." Yes, this boy knew how to cook. I would like to know, whether he is able to teach my wife a little.
"I never did that."
"No, but you're old and your time is over Dad." He says laughing. No…wait…has he…no he…Dad? Why in hell? How could he call him Dad in front of my ears? I didn't want to hear this. It hurts because it's making clear to me I can't hold him here. He'll leave, moving to his real father and then? This man was no Dad. He had been in lock up for armed robbery. He hadn't protected his boy through these ten years. He hadn't been there for him. He was no Dad. He didn't care.
"Don't be so nasty towards you father." Marissa says teasingly and slaps my boy's arm. No, this man wasn't his father. I was his Dad, because he wasn't able to care enough. I was the father the boy needed because I gave him the support and comfort he needed and I still give it to him.
"Okay, you're the boss now." His father said.
"Oh no, I doubt that." Marissa says, taking the spoon out of his hand.
"Hey! Give it back."
"No.
"Oh, yes." And then he starts to kiss her. I'm used to Seth kissing Summer, when we're around, but Ryan? He's really much more relaxed and I should feel happy. He's back on the right track.
"Eww, stop this soft porn and get the dinner ready. I'm starving." My own son says, when he passes by.
"Seth, you're always hungry." My boy says.
"I'm still growing." My son answers. I watch my boy's real father. He's enjoying what's going on – he's enjoying being together with his son. I can't blame him for that. But I feel the day will come on which we'll all wish all this – no matter how much we enjoy this time – will never had happened.
The dinner goes joyful and when they kids are finished they disappear in the pool house and we stay with Frank Atwood.
"He hasn't eaten much…is …is it normal…I mean Ryan. He isn't eating enough for his age." Frank Atwood starts and I'm stunned to witness how carefully he must have watched his son.
"You're right. He isn't a good eater lately." My wife answers. In her look I see, she feels the same I do.
"And…he seems to be depressed. He never was much of a talker, but he neither was mute and…he used to be happier than this. Sorry, if I offend you. I'm…I'm just worried about this change in my son." And now I see in his eyes. He's concerned and he wants his son's wellbeing as much as we do.
"I can imagine. We're concerned either. We think he's still trying to handle the last months." My wife goes on.
"Of course. He had lost his Mum and his brother. I just thought…he might overcome this one day."
"How? He watched how his brother got shot in front of his eyes. He got into detention for something he hadn't done. At least he was send into a foster home for difficult kids. And all this for no reason, in my opinion. This would be even hard for us to cope with." I try to explain. I don't want him to think we're the reason for the boy's miserable state.
"And added to that his life before." My wife says.
"Was…was his life…These ten years were they that bad?" I can't answer this question, because I don't know if I want to tell him.
"Might…are you allowed to tell me…something? I only want to understand him and I guess for that I need to know what had happened in these ten years." We can't keep it back from him. My wife looks at me and I know it's my turn.
"If you promise us, not to tell him. He's already mad that we know about it." He nods and then his full attention is on me.
"His file mentions several kinds of physical abuse, negligence – the reason why he had been in a foster home for quite a while. With fourteen he had been in a four week detention, because he had stolen food. Not easy to handle for a kid in that age." I try to explain, keeping the details out. I don't think he can handle them as I see in his expression he already took it hard.
"Nobody gets a four weeks detention when you stole food." He only answers.
"If it's too often, yes." I go on.
"But…why? I mean…food? This doesn't mean…does it? This…Dawn wasn't the best mother, but she usually was able to feed the boys." I only can shrug my shoulders. For me either it's impossible that something like this can happen.
"And there's still more." My wife steps in. This was what I wanted to keep out. If he's the father he pretends to be, he won't take it good if we tell him. He looks at me and I want to keep it out. I can't. He's his father.
"His file also mentions something about…" The words don't want to slip my mouth as it is too hard to speak them. Only the words are hurting.
"It mentions something about…sexual abuse, over a quite long time. When they found out, he was nine. We don't know when it started, but they say it probably was not only one time." I watch his face. There is an anger written on it, I never have seen before.
"This explains a lot." He says and then leaves. I follow him.
"I'm sorry for telling you…" I apologize, because the pain on his face makes me feel guilty.
"I'm such an idiot. I could have protected both my boys, if I had passed the gas station this one day. It wasn't even planed. But, do you know how hard it is, if your kids can't go on any school trip? If you can't get them any presents on birthday or even Christmas? How bad you feel, when your kids go hungry to bed, although you already left out dinner only for them having something to eat? How miserable it feels, if your kids are ill and you can't get them the treatment they need, no matter in how much pain they are? You reach a point on which it becomes unbearable and then…you're ready to do everything. And…at the end I only have made it worse." He says. No, I can't imagine. Seth always had gotten what he needed, when he was ill, had been on all school trips, got everything he wished for – even when it wasn't Christmas or his Birthday – and even could choose what he wanted to eat. No, I can't imagine.