Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

STEP 8

The weary expression on his father's face was enough to make him burst into a fit of giggles. But he refrained from doing so and making himself appear the maniac in front of everyone in the cafeteria.

He dropped into the chair across from him. In a better mood than he'd been in the last time they saw each other. That would usually please his father. But today he looked cautious. Reserved. And Ryan knew why. It had everything to do with what Ryan was holding in his hand. Dangling between his fingers. He sat the brown paper bag on the table between them. Step eight on his pamphlet raced through his mind.

We we shall do all we can to make amends. In any way that will not cause further harm.

He hoped this would suffice.

"Hi, dad."

"Hello, Ryan." And then lower. "Please tell me there's no drugs in there."

That time he did laugh. Because of course his father would think that. He had every right to. "I need a favor."

"How big of a favor?" His eyes didn't stray from the bag.

"Do you remember Brendon?"

"Your roommate?"

"Yes."

"Oh god!" His hand ran down his face. Stretching the wrinkles residing. "Those are his drugs?"

"They're not drugs, dad!"

"Oh." Suspicion remained. "Then what do you need?"

"Brendon broke up with his boyfriend."

"The tall fellow?"

"Yes."

"For you?"

"Yes."

He broke into a grin. "Way to go." His hand was held up in an invitation for a high five.

"Dad." He looked around to make sure no one was looking before joining their hands. "But now that they've broken up, his boyfriend isn't paying for his rehab anymore."

"Well damn." He sighed. "But that's to be expected.

"Yeah, well, that's where you come in."

"No. George, this place is damn expensive."

"But you can afford to send the whole town here." He whined. "Dad, please do this for me, please. I'm getting better." He hated asking his father for anything. So begging was a real slap in the face to his pride. "I can't continue to do that without him."

"How do I even know you're getting better?"

"Because of this." He dug into the bag on the table. Bringing his father's attention back to it. He lifted the painted blue object out. Sliding it in his father's reach.

"What the hell is that?"

"A cup."

"That's a pretty shit cup."

He snorted at the blunt honesty. Sometimes he forgot where he got that trait from. "I know. I made it in pottery class."

He looked away from the disaster between them. "You went to pottery class?"

"Yes." He shrugged. "I also went to art class, knitting class and meditation class. I even participated in their juvenile outside time. I've been doing every fucking thing they said would help. And do you know why?"

"Because you want me to help your little  boyfriend?"

"No."

"Because you want to get the hell out of here?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll bite." He leaned back in his chair. Resting his hands in his lap. "Why?"

"Because I want to actually get better. I want you to be proud of me."

"Ryan I am proud of you."

"I know that's not true. But I want to make it true. Prove to you- to everybody- that I'm not just some worthless drug addict."

"You've always been more than that."

"I hurt you with my addiction." He continued on as if he didn't notice his father's interruption. "I mean, i've hurt a lot of people, but it was mostly you. But I'm done with that now. I want to... to make amends."

That was it. That was all he had. A fucked up cup and an impromptu speech. Even if that didn't work, even if his father decided not to help Brendon out, he was happy he got it off his chest. He was relived to admit to his father how he felt.

His father didn't speak for a while. He watched Ryan's eyes. Most likely trying to decide if he was being genuine. And then he looked at the cup. Lifting it in his hands to examine it closer. Not that there was a lot to examine. It was supposed to be a coffee mug. Painted blue with green dots on it. Ryan felt like an idiot making it. And an even bigger idiot handing it to his dad.

"This is the worst excuse for a cup I've ever seen." He sat it back down without letting go of the handle. Holding it closer to himself. "But suddenly it's worth an extra six thousand dollars a month to me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. It worked. Holy shit it fucking worked. In an unnatural display of affection, Ryan rushed from the chair to hug his father. Leaning down to wrap the older man in his arms from behind his chair.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."