Ethereal | RJ (HSMTMTS)

Part 5

Ricky's POV

My dad's car is parked in front of the house, and the light is on through the window. I can see clearly inside to the living room, because we haven't bought blinds or curtains yet. It's a little weird seeing it from outside, because from inside, it just feels like a private bubble of space, but it's actually a high-resolution motion picture for the neighbourhood to see, not that any of our neighbours would care to watch a geologist and his son sit and watch TV in the night. 

"It looks like my dad's home," I say. "I should go see what we're having for dinner."

EJ nods and locks the gear into park. I literally just said I should go, but I don't yet. I can unbuckle my seatbelt, but opening the door would be pushing my muscles past their limit. Since when can't I open a simple car door? I swear it wasn't that heavy when I got in. Getting in is apparently a lot easier than getting out. 

"Hey, uh, thanks," I say, "for showing me around and stuff."

"No problem," EJ replies. 

I take another second just looking at him before forcing myself out of the vehicle, but even after stepping down on the concrete, I can't shove the door shut. 

Instead, I spin back to EJ and ask, "Any chance you'd want to hang out again tomorrow?"

"Of course," he says with a grin. "I do still have your skateboard."

I smile, letting the door fall closed, and turn around to start up the path to my front door. I glance back as I hear the car engine sputter to life again, and EJ gives me a wave before pulling out onto the road. A cloud of red dust stains his trail, hanging in the air long after he's gone. 

As soon as I step into the house, I hear my dad calling from the kitchen, "There he is!"

The scent of sizzling tomato guides me through the living room toward the back of the house. There, I pull one of the stools at the peninsula out and sit with my elbows leaning on the counter, watching my dad stir a pot of red sauce. 

"What are you making?" I ask. 

"Spaghetti."

"Oh, yum. How as your day?"

"It was exciting. We studied some rock samples from Silverthrone Volcano."

"Cool."

"Yeah. What about you? Did you do anything fun?"

"Uh, yeah. Actually, I met this guy yesterday, EJ—"

"Oh, yes, I work with his dad. He mentioned you two were becoming friends."

"Yeah. We hung out, like, the whole day, and he showed me around, and he took me to this rock called Not-Quite-As-Big Rock, and he has a really good smile..." Why did I include that?

"That's great," my dad replies. "I'm glad you're making friends. See, I told you this summer would be good."

All of a sudden, the pot with the spaghetti in it begins to bubble over, and my dad rushes to clean it up. 

"Shit," he mutters. 

My dad's never been shy with swearing around me, and the same goes for me around him. It might ultimately have been the one thing that kept me sane when he was going through the divorce with my mom a few months ago, because he never made me censor my language. I was allowed to express whatever I needed to with him, so long as it wasn't completely disrespectful. So I'm not sure why I'm having such a hard time finding words to describe my current state of mind regarding the day I just had.