21. Ryan

21

Ryan

T his week at home has felt like a dream come true. It’s tough to come home again for Christmas because playoffs are always in full swing. Having Violet here in the home where I spent the majority of my adolescent life feels right. It’s the missing piece to the puzzle. I’m not alone anymore.

Mom makes sure that we do all the traditional holiday things: cooking a turkey, baking cookies, wrapping and unwrapping presents, and watching old movies. I love her and the fact that she still does all of these traditions for us, even though we’re adults. I would usually fuss about how she doesn’t need to go overboard in her condition, but the look on Violet’s face makes it worth it. She hangs on my mom’s every word, laughs at her corny jokes, and volunteers to participate in all of her Christmas crafts.

I sneak out of bed early to check on my mom. Waking up at 5 a.m. isn’t new for me. Sleep doesn’t come as easy as it used to, so I’d rather wake up than uselessly toss and turn in bed for hours.

I tiptoe out of the room and gently crack the door behind me to not wake up sleeping beauty. Before I walk across the house, I peek through the small crack in the door to take another look at my sleeping girlfriend. Her hair is tied in a messy bun above her head. Her small hands grip the blankets just under her chin. The rest of her body is wrapped into a blanket burrito.

The first few nights here, she went through her rituals. She checked to make sure she unplugged her hair straightener five times and the position of the door lock. After a few times in and out of bed, I grabbed her tight and wrapped my arms around her in silence. Her legs instinctively wrapped around my waist, and her head nuzzled into my neck. I created a barrier around her to make her feel safe. I whispered calm words into her ear until she was too exhausted to stay awake anymore. That has become our norm. If I can be that person for her every single night, I want to be. I’m out of my depth with this one, and I don’t know the right things to do or say, but I’m willing to learn.

I shut the old creaky door, head down the dark hall, and into the kitchen. I haven't heard from Mom yet, so I have a few minutes to make my coffee and watch some ESPN highlights before checking on her. I allow my thoughts to wander to the past week. It’s been a dream come true.

Jolting me out of my thoughts, a loud buzzing noise fills up the quiet ambiance of the house. I check the pocket of my gray sweatpants to see who’s calling, but the sound isn’t coming from there. I scan the room to make sure I’m not hearing things and spot my mom’s phone on the kitchen table. She must have left it there overnight. I pick it up to make sure it isn’t an important call. That’s when I see a voicemail from the physical therapist’s office. I opened her phone to see five more unanswered voicemails from the same number. My stomach drops, and my body tells me that this isn’t a good sign. I unlock her phone and listen to each one over and over.

“Ms. Shane, we are reaching out to make sure you received the letter in the mail about our pricing increase. We haven’t heard from you since, and you have missed your last month of appointments. Please call us back so we can get you back on the schedule. Thanks again.” Beep.

The next four are identical messages with the number of appointments my mom has missed increasing with each voicemail. How many messages has she already listened to like this?

A ringing sound fills my ears, and tunnel vision clouds my sight. I stare at her phone and try to keep my composure and concern under control. I want to launch the phone across the room and break it, hopefully leaving a hole in the old wall.

She hasn’t been going to physical therapy .

That is the only thing that keeps her muscles at the strength they are at now. Price increase? Why wouldn’t she tell me? My breathing intensifies, my palms sweat, and my heart might as well beat straight through my chest. Without thinking about my next move, I barge into her room, holding her phone in my shaky hands. Luckily, she’s awake.

“What is this about?” I’m standing at the foot of her metal bed frame, waving her phone back and forth.

“What is what about, hon?” she asks so calmly that it makes me want to scream. She’s casually lying in bed with a home and garden magazine sprawled across her lap. She’s wearing her readers and looks completely at ease. That makes one of us.

“You have been missing your PT appointments for months and haven’t told me. I don’t care about the money, mom. I’ll figure it out. You need this therapy.” My voice cracks with pathetic desperation.

“Ryan, baby. We need to talk.” She pats the spot next to her, making an oof sound with her thick comforter. I fall into the spot like I did so many times as a kid and troubled teen. Our talks always grounded me and helped me see things through a clear lens. I’m not so sure today’s conversation will go the same way.

“The price increase, it isn’t just a few hundred dollars. It’s a lot, and I think it’s unreasonable. I tried to sign up for insurance, but I got denied because ALS is a pre-existing condition. You know my muscles won’t ever get better. I can’t see paying for this or putting more pressure on you to find the money when I’ll only deteriorate in the end. I even…” I can feel her gently pat my back, but I can’t let her finish this sentence.

“Stop,” I cut her off.

“Ryan, this isn’t going to…”

“I said, stop . You’re going to PT. I’m calling them today to get the updated invoice. It’s not a choice for you. This is the only thing we can do, and I will die before I let you quit trying to get better. I’ve been saving up some money giving one-on-one football lessons. It should be enough to cover the difference.”

Lies. I’m lying straight through my teeth. I don’t have the money, but I know how to get it. I need to make a few calls to people I never thought I would speak to again, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what I need to do to get it. It’ll get paid.

“Ryan, I don’t want to rely on you for this. You have your own life with a future. Please don’t make your life harder for mine,” she pleads with me, but I have no wiggle room on this decision.

“It’s as good as done,” I say with finality. I’ve always had a fierce instinct to protect and care for her. How could she be so nonchalant with her health?

I storm out of her room, still furious that she kept this from me. Sitting at the kitchen table, I run through ideas of how I can get money quickly. With football, school, and lessons, I’m slammed. It would take forever to save up the amount of money she’ll most likely need for one week's worth of visits. I could reach out to the team. We’ve done fundraisers in the past for people in need around the area, but then I'll get the looks of pity that I hate, like some charity case that needs saving. I do have a way to get a huge chunk of change in a matter of days. I’ll have to revert back to my old ways of lying, cheating, and stealing, but this time, I know how to fly under the radar.

This is the exact reason I never let anyone into my life. I have to make tough decisions like this without a solid plan. I don’t get the happy ending. The life I built, or thought I was building, may come crashing down right in front of me, but I’ll try my best to save it. I may have to break her trust to convince her everything is okay because I know if I lay it all out on the table for her, she’ll do anything to help. The problem is, I can’t be saved. I won’t drag her into the dark abyss of my old life. I need to do this on my own.

Violet

Turning over in Ryan’s warm bed, I reach out to grab my muscular pillow, but my hand hits an empty spot. I lean over for the nightstand to check the time on my phone, 9 a.m. Dang. I woke up later than usual this morning, but I’m surprised Ryan’s warmth leaving the bed didn’t wake me up. Rolling out of bed, I head to the bathroom and take a look at myself in the mirror. My face looks refreshed. There are no hints of dark circles under my eyes, and I owe my good night's sleep to Ryan’s patience and understanding. He’s been great with accepting my rituals and compulsions, better than I could have ever imagined. What I thought would drive him away has brought us closer together.

Having someone to turn to that isn’t Hartley feels really good. I love Hartley, but my love for Ryan is on a different level. Hartley and I have lived in survival mode for so long that it feels nice to allow myself the comfort of letting Ryan take care of things for me.

I finish my morning prep by brushing my teeth, running a brush through my hair, and seeing what they are up to in the living room. When I walk out of Ryan’s bedroom, I see every muscle in his bag rippling taught. His hand grips an ink pen as he's scribbling something down on an old receipt. His shoulders are set high, and he tosses the pen on the table before covering his forehead with his hands. I walk up to him slowly and rest my hand on his back. He jumps a little from his chair and turns around.

“Oh hey babe, what are you doing up this early?” he asks nervously.

“It’s already nine. I’m surprised I stayed in bed this late. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just lost track of time. We should start packing up our stuff to head out tomorrow. I want to leave pretty early in the morning.” His eyes don’t quite meet mine. His jaw is set tight, and the grinding of his teeth doesn’t stop.

“Ok, I’ll start packing right after I change. Is your mom ok? You seem on edge.”

Before I can dig into his mood even more, he snaps back at me and says, “She’s fine, Violet. Could you stop with the twenty questions, please? I’m heading out for a while. I have some things I need to get done.”

With his cryptic and snappy answer, he gets up quickly from the kitchen table, not bothering to tuck his chair back into its place, and leaves. I’m left alone, feeling like a confused idiot. Instead of staying at the table for his mom to walk out and see me pathetically staring at the door her son just stormed out of, I go back into his bedroom.

Something is wrong. Did I do something? Why is he so short-tempered today? His behavior this morning reminds me of the Ryan I met at the beginning of the semester. The one that didn’t let me into his life and shut everyone out. Now I know that’s a facade. I don’t want him to go back to that version of himself, but I’m worried he’s slipping from me. Is he stressed seeing his mom’s condition? Or is it something more?

____________________________________________________________________

Violet 1 p.m.: Are you ok?

Violet 5 p.m: I’m starting to worry.

Ryan 5:30 p.m.: I’m fine. I’ll be home soon.

Ryan returned home late this afternoon. He sits on his spot on the bed and stares off into space. I’m beyond annoyed that he didn’t seem to think it was important to reply to my texts or let me know where he was going. We haven’t said much to each other, and his mom hasn’t come out of her bedroom today.

While he was gone, I reviewed the syllabi of my new course load and packed my things to leave in the morning. I kept up the silent treatment and headed into the bathroom to shower for the night, spending more time than usual in the hot water. After my shower, I applied my skincare treatment routine in no rush to return to my moody boyfriend. He has no right to treat me like this, even if he is angry. I can’t control that.

I chose to wear one of Ryan’s football shirts tonight. Even though I would love to wring his neck, I like the way his clothes smell like mahogany and man. It helps me sleep. Silently walking out of his bathroom, I roll into the queen-sized bed next to the man I desperately love but can’t crack open. He gets up to turn the lights off. The bed bends when he returns. He suddenly pulls me to his bare chest and whispers, “Vi, I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you.”

I prop myself up on one arm. I can’t see his expression in the dark bedroom, so I speak my mind. “Then don’t shut me out. I thought we were past this part of us,” I plead for him to continue to let me in, but he doesn’t answer. His hands find my stomach under his enormous shirt, and he rubs circles on my skin, making it difficult to think straight.

“Why did you apologize?” I ask.

“Because I needed to.” His answers continue the vague theme. That’s not the answer I want or need.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Everything is fine, Vi. Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t give up on me. P..Please, no matter how much I screw up, don’t leave. I..I need you.” The pain is evident in his cracking voice.

His heart wants to give me the information that I so desperately need, but his head stops him. This man can’t get out of his own way. I change tactics because words are useless tonight. Giving him time will hopefully allow him to confide in me. Instead of continuing my pursuit for answers, I lean on his chest and kiss him softly, nuzzling my head into his neck for the night. I won’t continue to push him, but something unsettling is happening. I hope and pray love is enough for us because I can’t imagine a life without Ryan Shane in it now that I have him.