We sit in the dark for I don’t know how long, gazing at the tree. It looks like it belongs in one of Macy’s storefront windows.
“Alana?” Ryan asks softly.
“Yeah?”
“Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow?”
“Of course. Where?”
“To see my mom.”
I pick my head up and look at him, “Really?”
Ryan nods with big, blue, insecure eyes.
I kiss him on the mouth lightly, then stand up and start walking towards the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I have to go figure out what to wear.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. It’s the first time I’m meeting your mother, it may take me all night to pick out an outfit.”
Ryan laughs, “Women.”
“This shouldn’t surprise you. You’re an expert on women.”
“I’m an expert on one woman,” he corrects as he gets up to follow me, “and even she still surprises me sometimes.”
“I have to keep you on your toes. I have a lot of competition.”
“Alana,” he says engagingly, grabbing my arm, “you are the competition.”
“Smooth talker,” I jibe.
“Smooth enough to get a private fashion show?” he asks temptingly.
“Maybe,” I tease. “You might have to pull a few more lines out of your hat though.”
“Baby,” Ryan slides his hands seductively around my waist, “for you, I’ll pull lines, I’ll pull game, I’ll pull rabbits right out of my hat.”
Ryan and I drive down Parkway South, away from the city and towards the Jersey Shore. We both grew up minutes from the ocean, me in an elite community, him on the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know much about Ryan’s mother, just that he calls her a functioning alcoholic. A person who gets wasted all the time but still manages to hold down a job and keep a roof over her family’s head. He says that’s about all she manages to do. From a very young age Ryan was the one who cooked (if there was any food) and cleaned and kept his family together. He was the anchor and the punching bag when she got out of control. It breaks my heart thinking about the shitty upbringing he had and how desperate he is to have a future different from his past. And how desperate I am to make sure that happens. I’m sitting in the front seat of his Mercedes CLK350, OneRepublic’s Counting Stars is playing on the radio. I’m perfectly composed on the outside and clawing the walls on the inside. I don’t know what to expect, I want to make a good first impression and I want her to like me. Actually, I’m dying for her to like me. I don’t know why, but this is more nerve-wracking than taking the LSATs.
“You know what I miss?” I ask Ryan, hoping conversation will distract me.
“What’s that?” he asks as we pass exit 117.
“Your Wrangler.” It’s the car Ryan drove the summer we met.
“Oh yeah?” One side of his mouth curves up, “We had a lot of fun in that car. Miss your hair blowing in the wind?”
I stare at Ryan, trying to contain my laughter, “Do you?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Ryan is absolutely beaming and I know exactly what he’s grinning at, a very illicit memory. “Maybe we can make this car just as much fun as the Jeep?” he insinuates.
“Maybe,” I tease, running my hand up his leg.
“Did I tell you how much I love you today?” he asks, as he glances heatedly between me and the road.
“Nope.”
“Well, I do. A lot,” he expels, making me giggle as I pull my hand away.
Yeah, we had a lot of fun in that Jeep.
Ryan pulls off exit 105 in the direction of Shrewsbury, another inland shore town closer to Neptune than Colts Neck. We pull into a large parking lot sprinkled with cars. The Americana is an iconical New Jersey diner located on a busy highway; it’s a quintessential eating establishment with mirrored doors, a stainless steel exterior and neon lights. It’s where high school kids meet late night and elderly couples come early morning.
Ryan finds a parking space in front. “Ready?” he asks as he turns off the car.
“Are you ready?”
“No, but fuck it. You have to meet her.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s time.”
“Time for who?”
“Time for all of us.”
“Okay.”
I step out of the car and smooth out my sweater. I decided casual was the way to go; a chunky cable knit sweater, brown leggings and cognac riding boots. My hair is down and my makeup is light. Ryan is wearing loose-fitting jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and black leather jacket. I love it when he wears that jacket, it makes him look all sexy and smooth and urban cool.
He takes my hand and we walk up the front steps together. The inside of the diner is flashy with teal booths and reflective walls, typical diner décor. There’s a large counter directly in front of us with two women dressed in pink button up shirts, aprons and black pants. One has silver hair and dark skin, the other looks much younger with long brown hair, smile lines and Ryan’s blue eyes. My heart starts to hammer when she looks at me. She’s standing perfectly still with an apprehensive expression on her face as Ryan and I approach, like two serial killers are walking towards her.
There’s an uncomfortable silence at first, and I know this isn’t easy for Ryan. He finally clears his throat and says, “Hey mom.”
“Hey son,” she responds uneasily.
“This is Alana,” he says, and she does a once over on me; she doesn’t seem impressed.
I step forward and put my hand out over the counter, “Mrs. Pierce, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
She shakes my hand lightly; as if she’s afraid she’ll muddy me or something.
“You too, honey,” she replies, and it sounds like she has an accent. Brooklyn maybe?
Ryan sits down and I follow suit.
“Coffee?” she asks, as she flips over the white cups sitting in front of us.
“Yes, please.”
She pours two cups and slides over some cream and sugar to me. “Just black,” I say politely before I pass them over to Ryan.
Is it hot in here or is it just me? I pull on the collar of my sweater.
I tuck some hair behind my ear before I take a sip, and Ryan’s mom stops short when she sees one of my mother’s earrings sticking out of my earlobe.
“Those are very beautiful,” she says coolly, stealing a glance at Ryan.
“Thank you, they were my mother’s,” I say graciously, but I suddenly feel uncomfortable.
Ryan and his mother exchange some small talk as I quietly sip my coffee, feeling very much like and outsider.
“Have you seen Sean lately?” Mrs. Pierce asks him.
“Yes, last week,” Ryan answers annoyed.
She gives him some kind of secret look and Ryan gives her one in return. I try to interpret the facial expressions; but I’m not versed in Ryan’s family well enough to understand what they’re implying.
“He’s here,” she says, “in the bathroom.”
Ryan just shrugs, “Okay.”
A few moments later someone slaps Ryan on the back.
“Yo, bro,” Sean says derisively.
We all look at him for a beat and then Ryan stands up slowly, menacingly.
Sean glances down at me, “Hey Alana.”
Ryan steps immediately in front of me, “Don’t even look at her.”
“Geez, defensive much?”
I put my hand on Ryan’s arm. “It’s okay,” but he isn’t having it. He’s still pissed about what happened at Culture.
“You look like shit, brother,” Ryan says close to Sean’s face. I sneak a glimpse of Ryan’s mom and feel the hostility build as she watches them closely.
“I caught a bug,” Sean retorts.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“I may look like shit but I can still kick your ass.”
“Really, because
the last time I saw you I smashed your face into the floor.”
“Boys,” Mrs. Pierce reprimands, “if you’re gonna fight take it outside.”
I feel like I just caught a sneak peek into Ryan and Sean’s childhood.
I study the three of them standing together, taking in their mannerisms and features. It’s obvious where Sean and Ryan get their looks from. They have their mother’s straight nose and wide eyes, perfectly proportionate lips and even the same hair color. You can tell through her worn features and tired eyes that she was stunning once.
Ryan hesitates to move so Sean punches his arm, “C’mon don’t act like a bitch.”
“The only bitch around here is you.”
I can’t see Ryan’s face, but I can see Sean’s; he’s trying not to smile. Smug bastard. Ryan’s right though, he doesn’t look good. His face is pale and thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m not going to tell you again, hash it out outside,” Mrs. Pierce orders.
“Fine,” Ryan bites, never taking his eyes off Sean. I’m getting an educational introduction to the dynamic of Ryan’s family.
“We’ll be right back.” Ryan kisses me chastely on the cheek then heads towards the door.
“Don’t kill each other,” Ryan’s mother drawls.
I see Sean and Ryan talking animatedly through the front window, they’re both exactly the same height and even have an identical profile, except Ryan’s hair is fluffed up, while Sean’s is covered by a hat.
“So, Alana,” Mrs. Pierce says my name, but pronounces it Alaner.
“Ryan tells me you’re a lawyer.”
“I’m in law school.”
“You must be really smart.”
“I study a lot,” I say humbly.
She glances out the window attentively and then leans on the counter, “Let me ask you something.”
“Sure.”
“What’s a nice girl like you doing with a boy like Ryan?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“What’s wrong with Ryan?”
“Nothing, except for the fact he’s a boy with no future who takes his clothes off for a living.”
“That’s a highly negative opinion to have about your son.”
“It’s not an opinion, it's reality,” she stares past me bleakly and I know she’s looking at the two of them.
“I’m not the one who put him in a position to have no future,” I dispute.
She glares at me coldly.
Okay, that was a low blow.
“Maybe not, but what do you think you’re going to do? Save him?”
“Ryan doesn’t need saving,” I assert.
She grunts and looks past me again, this time despairingly, like those two boys are her only lifeline and without them she’d disappear.
“Ryan needs so much more than you will ever know.”
“Then please enlighten me.” I glance back and catch Sean pulling Ryan into a hug.
“He wants to marry you,” she says bluntly.
“Yes, I know,” I turn and look at her.
“And what’s going to happen when he asks and you say no?”
“Who says I’m going to say no?”
“Sweetheart,” she says condescendingly, “the pauper doesn’t end up with the princess, he ends up on his ass.”
Which is exactly what Sean told me at Culture, and I realize the prejudice against me runs much deeper than I could have ever imagined. It stings; especially because I would never do anything to hurt Ryan, but neither Sean nor Mrs. Pierce seem willing to believe that.
“Look,” I say harshly, “it doesn’t matter to me where Ryan comes from, it only matters where he’s going.”
Which is straight to Las Vegas to be a headlining act. Oy!
“I hope he doesn’t make you eat those words,” she says ominously, then plasters on a fake smile as Ryan sits down next to me.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Ryan sighs, “Yeah, as much as it can be.”
“Where’s Sean?” Mrs. Pierce asks concerned.
“He borrowed my car. To go to the clinic.”
Ryan’s mother shoots me a cautionary look, then pulls out two menus from under the counter and drops them down in front of us. “Hungry?” she huffs.
“Starved,” Ryan picks up the menu and starts flipping 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 and I finish our lunch. He looks crappier than before, his eyes are bloodshot and he stinks like - if I had to guess - weed. What the hell do they give him at that clinic?
Ryan grabs his keys and stands up. “Thanks for lunch ma.”
I guess we’re leaving.
“Thanks for coming, Ryan,” she says and there’s so much sadness in her voice. She walks around the counter to 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, then gives her a quick hug.
“It was really nice to meet you,” I say respectfully, aware she thinks I’m anything but.
“You too, honey,” her smile is almost sincere. Almost. It’s exhausting trying to convince Ryan’s family I’m not out to hurt him, and so unfamiliar to feel their prejudice towards me because I grew up with money.
Ryan takes my hand and we start walking for the door. “Bye, Alana,” Sean says warmly.
“By Sean,” I turn and respond kindly, wanting him to know we’re okay.
Man, he really does look like hell though.
We walk down the front steps of the diner; I think it dropped ten degrees since we came in. Ryan opens the passenger side door for me and when I slip inside, I’m immediately struck with a foul smell.
“It stinks like shit in here,” I say with my hand over my nose and mouth, as Ryan slides into the driver seat.
“Fucking Sean,” he seethes, “smoking trees in my car.”
“Trees?”
“Yeah, you know. Weed, herb, marijuana,” he says pissed off.
“I didn’t, but I do now.” I crack the window, letting the chilly December air flow into the car. “What did you and Sean talk about?” I ask curiously as Ryan pulls out of the parking lot.
“Same shit. He calls me an uptight asshole, I call him an irresponsible prick. A few more choice words are exchanged and then he tells me that he loves me.”
“Oh,” that catches me by surprise, “Did you say it back?”
“Yes, Alana,” Ryan huffs. “He may be a complete dick sometimes, but he’s still my brother and he’s a part of me whether I like it or not.”
“Part of you? Like a twin thing?”
“Yes, like a twin thing,” he says and leaves it at that.
As Ryan drives quietly toward the parkway, I contemplate talking to him about how his family feels about me, if for no other reason than to assure him that they’re wrong. I don’t know what they tell him behind closed doors, but if it’s anything as frank as what they say to me, I know one day that tiny seed of doubt inside Ryan will grow into a full blown tree of distrust. And that’s the last thing I want to happen.
“Ryan-”
“Shit,” he interrupts me, looking in the rear view mirror.
I turn to see police lights flashing behind us.
Ryan pulls over and cuts the engine. “Alana, can you grab my registration from the glove box?” he asks as he pulls out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. By the time the police officer makes it over to the car Ryan has his documentation ready. He rolls down the window at the last second to conserve heat and when he does, a blast of cold air rolls around the inside of the car, kicking up the potent odor of Sean’s trees.
The officer pauses with his head beside the window before he asks Ryan for his license and registration. He’s tall and slim with an athletic build and thick brown mustache.<
br />
“Do you know your tail light is out?”
“Um, no officer,” Ryan says respectfully. “I barely drive. We live in the city.”
The policeman, whose nametag reads Officer Vincent, just nods and for some reason my stress level suddenly shoots through the roof. The officer takes Ryan’s identification back to his cruiser while we sit and wait in the car. Ryan’s leg is shaking out of control and the look in his eye is anxious. I put my hand on his thigh. “Everything is going to be alright,” I try to soothe him. “He’s just writing you a ticket,” but as I speak the encouraging words, I know, deep down they aren’t true.
Officer Vincent returns a few minutes later. His face stoic, his body stiff, “Can the two of you please step out of the car.”
Oh shit.
As Ryan and I both step out, another cruiser shows up. Ryan circles around the front of his Mercedes and stands next to me on the sidewalk. “Another freakin’ half-mile and we would have been on the Parkway,” Ryan mutters under his breath.
“Mr. Pierce, I smelt a questionable odor coming from your car,” Officer Vincent explains.
“Yeah, so?” Ryan responds defensively.
“So, we’re going to search your car,” he replies snidely.
“Go ahead,” Ryan shrugs, and there’s something different about him now. He’s cold and uptight. Like his defenses have just shifted into sixth gear.
The two cops proceed to tear the inside of Ryan’s car apart, pulling out everything in the center console and glove compartment. Not that there’s much in there.
“I don’t know why they’re wasting their time, they’re not going to find anything,” Ryan says, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. I slide my arm around his and watch horrified as the officers carelessly manhandle the interior.
They check under the dash and in-between the seats, then the other officer pauses. “Got something.”
What? I think the valves in my heart just clogged.
“What the fuck do you mean you got something?” Ryan steps forward aggressively and I try to pull him back.
The short, stocky officer stands up and holds out a little bag of white powder. What the hell is that?
“Heroin. And it looks like enough to distribute,” he says waving the baggie in the air.
“No fucking way!” Ryan rushes the cop, only to be thrown face down onto the hood of his car by Officer Vincent. I watch stunned as Ryan is cuffed, then the cop with the baggie takes my arm. “You’ll have to come with us,” and pulls out a pair of handcuffs of his own.
Strip Me Bare Page 17