I need space. Those were the words Jacky said to Ryan the night before they both left for separate colleges. Now, each of them will try to learn who they are without the other. Will their paths lead them back together?
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Ryan
After Ryan had made Pete a breakfast sandwich, he'd hoped to be able to call Jacky from the privacy of the bedroom, since Sam and Jordan were still in the living room. But as soon as Ryan set the plate in front of him, Pete dropped his head into his hands.
"Oh, god, I forgot I was supposed to work today," Pete moaned.
Ryan glanced at the clock; it was after five. Trader Joe's was open until nine, but Ryan didn't know how long Pete's shifts were. "When?"
"I was supposed to start four hours ago."
"Did you call them?" Ryan asked.
Pete dropped his hands. "I was passed out!"
"Okay, well, you can call them now and tell them you were sick."
"They're going to fire me." Pete stared down at his egg sandwich hopelessly.
Ryan piled the frying pan and spatula into the sink and ran some water, taking that moment to decide if he wanted to unpack this box right now, and whether Pete would care about Sam and Jordan overhearing. He took a deep breath and said, "Do you think you might want to cut back on how much you drink?"
He wasn't facing Pete, so he didn't immediately see Pete's reaction. There was only silence. Then Ryan heard a gasp over the running water, and he turned around.
Pete had the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. His shoulders were shaking.
"Hey, man," Ryan murmured. He shut off the water and pulled a chair up so he could put an arm around Pete. "You're gonna be okay. I'm sure they won't fire you for one no-show."
"It's not that, I could give a fuck about Trader Joe's." Pete's voice was thick. "It's just been hard, you know? You're never here, and it's hard to make new friends. We're not the same as them. Everybody asks questions about my family and I just have to be like, They're dead. It's easier to drink and not talk about myself."
Ryan considered that. He hadn't really found people asking a lot about his family – being in college meant most people first asked questions about his major and where he was from. Back in high school, he used alcohol at parties as a means of not talking about his life, too.
He didn't have any answers for Pete. He barely had answers for himself.
"I get that," Ryan said. "I still have a hard time talking about my mom." His voice caught on the last word of that sentence, realizing how long it had been since he'd allowed himself to even think about her.
Pete's head bobbed. "Everybody talks about their families like it's nothing to have one. Like, I hate my dad, or Got into a fight with my mom, or my brother's such a dick, and I'm over here thinking I'd love to have all of it. Most of them still live at home and they're talking about how much they want to move out, how jealous they are that I have an apartment."
