Ryan’s mother shoots me a cautionary look,then pulls out two menus from under the counter and drops them downin front of us. “Hungry?” she huffs.
“Starved,” Ryan picks up the menu and startsflipping through it.
But eating is the last thing I want to do,because I suddenly feel a current of dread pulling me under.
Sean returns an hour later, right as Ryan andI finish our lunch. He looks crappier than before, his eyes arebloodshot and he stinks like - if I had to guess - weed. What thehell do they give him at that clinic?
Ryan grabs his keys and stands up. “Thanksfor lunch ma.”
I guess we’re leaving.
“Thanks for coming, Ryan,” she says andthere’s so much sadness in her voice. She walks around the counterto him, puts her hands on his shoulders and stares into his eyes.The eyes that look exactly like hers. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Ryan says restlessly, thengives her a quick hug.
“It was really nice to meet you,” I sayrespectfully, aware she thinks I’m anything but.
“You too, honey,” her smile is almostsincere.Almost.It’s exhausting trying to convince Ryan’sfamily I’m not out to hurt him, and so unfamiliar to feel theirprejudice towards me because I grew up with money.
Ryan takes my hand and we start walking forthe door. “Bye, Alana,” Sean says warmly.
“By Sean,” I turn and respond kindly, wantinghim to know we’re okay.
Man, he really does look like hellthough.
We walk down the front steps of the diner; Ithink it dropped ten degrees since we came in. Ryan opens thepassenger side door for me and when I slip inside, I’m immediatelystruck with a foul smell.
“It stinks like shit in here,” I say with myhand over my nose and mouth, as Ryan slides into the driverseat.
“Fucking Sean,” he seethes, “smoking trees inmy car.”
“Trees?”
“Yeah, you know. Weed, herb, marijuana,” hesays pissed off.
“I didn’t, but I do now.” I crack the window,letting the chilly December air flow into the car. “What did youand Sean talk about?” I ask curiously as Ryan pulls out of theparking lot.
“Same shit. He calls me an uptight asshole, Icall him an irresponsible prick. A few more choice words areexchanged and then he tells me that he loves me.”
“Oh,” that catches me by surprise, “Did yousay it back?”
“Yes, Alana,” Ryan huffs. “He may be acomplete dick sometimes, but he’s still my brother and he’s a partof me whether I like it or not.”
“Part of you? Like a twin thing?”
“Yes, like a twin thing,” he says and leavesit at that.
As Ryan drives quietly toward the parkway, Icontemplate talking to him about how his family feels about me, iffor no other reason than to assure him that they’re wrong. I don’tknow what they tell him behind closed doors, but if it’s anythingas frank as what they say to me, I know one day that tiny seed ofdoubt inside Ryan will grow into a full blown tree of distrust. Andthat’s the last thing I want to happen.
“Ryan-”
“Shit,”he interrupts me, looking inthe rear view mirror.
I turn to see police lights flashing behindus.
Ryan pulls over and cuts the engine. “Alana,can you grab my registration from the glove box?” he asks as hepulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. By the timethe police officer makes it over to the car Ryan has hisdocumentation ready. He rolls down the window at the last second toconserve heat and when he does, a blast of cold air rolls aroundthe inside of the car, kicking up the potent odor of Sean’strees.
The officer pauses with his head beside thewindow before he asks Ryan for his license and registration. He’stall and slim with an athletic build and thick brown mustache.