𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒔
First when I hug Owen for a solid minute do I realise that we only ever hugged as a quick hello. I also realise it means much more to get a hug from a family member, from someone older than you who you don't have to worry about as much as your have to with your friends.
I guess Owen just feels more like a dad than anyone else. Levi might've been more consistent, but Owen is taller than me like my dad, he has the ice blue eyes and the light brown hair without the rage and the threats and the yelling. You won't find yourself unconscious with a bruises and a black eye on these floors, and if you do, it definitely wasn't Owen's doing, and Owen will be the first to hunt the one who caused it down.
"Where's grandma?" I ask as soon as I let go. Stupid first words to say when you meet someone face to face after one of the most important people in both of your lives died, but what else is there to say?
Nothing will mend these wounds, ever. No words, no hugs, no stupid funerals with stupid fathers who don't deserve to be there.
"She went to bed," Owen says.
It's not even past eight. Hell, is it past seven? I don't know. It's dark outside, but it's always in River Bay.
I guess grief can make you tired. My body usually reacts to virtually everything by not allowing me to sleep.
Without a word, Owen puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me out into the kitchen. Seeing the checkered tablecloth and the lamp hanging low over the table makes me want to cry for some stupid reason. It's on, but dimmed, and grandpa and I always had it like that when grandma went to sleep or read and we'd play some board game I barely knew the rules of to fill the occasional silence.
It wouldn't have been like that if my dad didn't turn out the way he did. By telling people, I put guilt on my grandparents. I never meant to do that. I tried to tell them it wasn't their fault and I didn't blame them in any way, but I don't know if that was ever enough.
Grandpa died with that guilt.
I drop down on a chair, staring out over nothing. I'm waiting for some emotions to reach me. They never come. My stomach is empty and so am I.
Owen sits opposite of me. "Listen, I know you didn't want to talk about the funer—"
"Then don't ask."
"No, listen. I need to know if you're okay with Ralph being there."
I take a deep breath, somehow trying to force the feeling of family down. In this context, that makes it worse, and I want to yell that no, of course I'm not okay with it, but doing that will result in Owen and grandma having double the work to make sure my dad somehow gets to be involved, because yeah, naturally someone like him deserves that.
"I am," I say, biting back a harsher tone, "stop asking."
"No, Rhys, listen, okay? Actually listen and look me in the eyes as you're answering. Are you okay with Ralph being there? It's more important to both me and my mom that you're not focusing on that at the funeral, far more important."
I look him straight in the eyes, and manage to say, "It's fine," without hesitating or looking away or doing some other tell of lying. Guess irritation makes you a better liar. Irritation. Frustration. Anxiety. Panic. I don't know where I'm at. I'd rather not think about it.
Owen gives me that look Levi always gives me when I'm lying through my teeth. For some reason, I always got frustrated when Levi did it, like he should've believed my lies.
I believed his.
Well, technically, he never lied, just withheld information that could've changed my life, which is even worse.
No matter how overbearing, I have Owen, so I don't need Levi. I kind of have my mom, so I don't need Owen either. Mom. Maybe I should've stayed. Fuck the funeral. Who needs some person who couldn't give less fucks telling you about someone who meant the world to you? Who needs flowers and black clothes and awkward conversations?
I could've been dancing. I could've not started worrying about Eli again. Noah and I could've been fucking in the hotel.
"It's fine," I repeat. "Stop asking."
Owen leans back in the chair, licking his lips. "I'm calling him tomorrow, so tell me quick if you change your mind."
"I won't." My brain is still imagining a scenario where I do, when the funeral won't be spent in fear or maybe full on panicking. But, I guess, happiness, or at the very least one pleasant moment fucking ever, is too much to ask for.
