Tell Me How This Ends

by Victoria De La O

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a nerd,” I tell Elizabeth.

  “Nope.” She smiles, unashamed.

  “Totally hot nerd,” Ryan says, and he leans over and kisses her.

  The sight of them turns my stomach.

  While everyone heads to the living room to watch TV and sit around in a food coma, I go to the sink to clean up. Elizabeth comes in and grabs a hand towel. As I wash the pots by hand, she dries them and puts them away. We keep up this rhythm a while, not talking, just listening to the running water as I rinse and the muted sounds of football and conversation coming from the living room. I know what she’s doing. She thinks she can wait me out—that her silence will rattle my cage. She is wrong. I have been alone with my thoughts for vast periods of my life, and I am comfortable there.

  “You’re going to make me sweat this out, aren’t you?” she finally says.

  “Only fair, since you’re the one who wants to cross the line. Again.”

  “And in this kitchen. Again.”

  I laugh, but it sounds bitter. “Yeah. So spill it.”

  “Are you happy?”

  I don’t pretend not to know how she means that. “It’s not nearly to that point. But I am moving on.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I throw down the sponge. “Are you? You ever notice you’re always digging around inside my head to get to the truth, but you so rarely offer it up yourself?”

  “You don’t think I want you to be happy?”

  “It’s not one or the other. You want me happy but you want me mooning over you, too. You’d think that one of us would be enough for you.”

  “Ouch,” she says.

  I dry my hands and start to walk away.

  “Jude.”

  I turn around, and she is leaning against the counter, her arms behind her.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Then get your head on straight, Elizabeth. And no more talks in the kitchen.”

  It’s not surprising I haven’t seen that much of Ryan in the past few weeks. He took his last final a couple days ago, so his semester is officially over. He has more than a month off now for winter break, so he’s going to pick up some extra shifts and spend lots of time with Elizabeth. But first, he’s heading to Utah to meet her family. By the time he gets back, he’ll probably be able to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” backward.

  Ryan comes into my room and rummages around for a duffel bag.

  “Try the hall closet,” I tell him. “And don’t forget to pack survival gear and a gun.”

  “Dick,” he says, laughing. He is so excited about his trip that he’s practically vibrating.

  I guess it’s strange that Ryan and I have never gone anywhere. I’ve traveled for work, but until Tara suggested Vegas, I hadn’t thought about taking a vacation. Never had the money or time, either, until recently.

  I head to the kitchen and start scrubbing the shit out of the counters and the sink, trying to burn off some energy. When I’m done with that, I get the mop out and attack the floors. I always knew Ryan would get married, have kids. I figured I’d be the crazy bachelor uncle, like Uncle Rob was for us. What I didn’t envision was Ryan being adopted by another family—or maybe even moving.

  I hear him packing in his room, so I finish up and then wander in to see if he needs anything. His shirts and jeans are crammed into the big duffel bag, so I go over and start pulling stuff out.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shoes first,” I tell him, and he hands me his Chucks. I grab his socks and put them in his shoes to save room, and then put those at the bottom of the bag. I tell him to grab his shaving kit, and I put that next to the shoes.

  “Is your toothbrush in here?” I ask.

  “Seriously?”

  I smile, and show him how to roll his shirts to they don’t get wrinkled.

  “How do you know how to do this?” he asks.

  “Packing tips in GQ.” This cracks him up for some reason.

  We finish getting him packed, and he puts his bag by the door, ready for tomorrow.

  I picture Ryan meeting Elizabeth’s family. When I imagine her house, I see a big run-down place, somewhere in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Utah. It probably has wildflowers in the front yard, and a big dog on the porch. There used to be kids running in and out of the house, and Easter egg hunts in the front yard, and there will be again someday. Ryan has never known a world like that, and why wouldn’t he want it if he could have it? And there is no place in that picture for me. If he chooses that path, then it will mean an occasional visit home, phone calls and texts, as our lives inevitably separate, like oil from water.

  I pull him in for a hug, which surprises him. “Have a good time. They’re going to love you.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Elizabeth

  Ryan and I buckle our industrial metal seat belts as the flight attendants do all their last-minute checks. I can feel the energy flowing between me and Ryan. It’s a huge step taking him home with me; he knows it, and I know it. Everything has happened so fast between us, and I’m still not sure how I feel about it. All I know is that if it weren’t for Jude, I wouldn’t be holding myself back. And that makes me feel sick inside.

  But this trip isn’t about Jude. I glance at the guy sitting next to me and smile. My favorite part of every day is when Ryan texts me good night. He includes a song lyric or a line from a poem—or last night, a verse from the kid’s book Goodnight Moon. He’s so trustworthy and kind, and I want my heart to be wide open to him.

  Problem is, there is a corner of my heart still reserved for someone else. I’m trying to use the happiness Ryan brings me to sweep that corner clean—to remove the lingering doubts and longings. I know it can be done if I just stay focused on what’s important. Jude has moved on, I remind myself. Time for me to do the same—unreservedly. That’s my mantra these days.

  I turn to look at Ryan again. Like me, he hasn’t traveled much, so he’s fascinated by this plane ride. He’s been staring out the window for the past twenty minutes, trying to figure out what all the specks are down below. Right now, all he can see is clouds, so he shuts the plastic window cover. I’m holding his left hand, and I give it a squeeze.

  “I should have gotten more time off so we could s-stay longer,” he says.

  “You might want to wait until you meet my family before you say that.”

  He smiles. “I know you would’ve liked to have spent C-Christmas with them.”

  “You can’t leave Jude by himself. Mom’s going to cook us pre-Christmas dinner on the twenty-second, and then we’ll be back in time for Jude’s turkey.”

  “He makes roast beef, actually. But thanks for understanding.”

  Part of what attracts me to Ryan is his devotion to Jude. And vice versa, which is twisted and wrong.

  I lean on Ryan’s shoulder and shut my eyes. Before I know it, the flight attendant is telling us to put our seat backs up to prepare for landing, and then we’re off the plane and heading out of the terminal.

  The minute I step outside it feels like home—cleaner, fresher. Even at the airport, the air is better here than it is in San Jose. The smells and rhythms of the people around me are different, too. Ryan shivers because it’s cold, and he’s only wearing a hoodie. It’s not snowing right now, but it’s only a matter of time. I can’t see the mountains from where I’m standing, but I know their snowcapped peaks are nearby. I’m excited to leave the city and get to my house, with all its open space.

  Ryan is taking everything in. He doesn’t know it yet, but this is going to be a culture shock for him. Even though my family isn’t part of the church, we’re still surrounded by it. Yes, we drink coffee, my dad drinks beer, and we don’t worship. But this entire place is steeped in the church’s influence. For example, Sunday is for church and church only. You’re not supposed to do chores on that day, and you certainly can’t buy alcohol. Those kinds of things won’t be obvious to Ryan, but the multitude of
white folks will be. As will my dad’s attitudes about self-sufficiency, politics, and premarital sex—which he’ll make clear at every meal. When Dad hears that Ryan is a lit major, he’s going to think he’s a hippie. I’m sure at some point my dad will show Ryan the shed, which is filled with a year’s worth of supplies and an enormous gun collection.

  Thinking about my dad makes my shoulders tense, which just isn’t right. My dad and I were so close once. I was his little girl. But when I was at my absolute lowest, he wasn’t there for me. No; it was worse than that. I blew apart Dad’s image of me as the perfect daughter, and he turned on me, too. Now we have some serious fences to mend.

  I’ve been home twice since moving to California: last Christmas and then again this past summer. Dad and I didn’t use either of those opportunities to say what needs to be said. Me, because I was intimidated; him, because he doesn’t have the first clue what to do with emotional scenes. I want this trip to be different—better. And I want to finally put this to rest. We can’t let the tension go on any longer, or we may never find our way back.

  Jeff drives his oversized truck up to the curb. Hard to miss it, since David is leaning out the passenger side shouting at us.

  “That’s my brother David, in a nutshell,” I say to Ryan as he laughs.

  David is two years younger than me. He’s training to be a fireman, and he’s a strange combination of a total clown mixed with a lot of macho swagger. I can’t help but wonder what he’ll think of Ryan.

  David gets out to help us throw our bags in the back. He looks the same—stocky and muscular—although his hair is shorter. I give him a hug, but as I pull away, he ruffles my hair. “Stop that,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder.

  David turns to Ryan and sizes him up quickly. I do the introductions, and then they shake hands, so formal and manly.

  I get in the back of the truck with Ryan, and the boys dive into a conversation about the weather (snow, of course) and what we’re going to do while we’re here. I can tell this is putting Ryan at ease, because his shoulders relax and his speech evens out.

  David can’t help himself; within five minutes, he’s giving Ryan crap about California.

  “No wonder you had to get a girl from Utah, Ryan. Those California girls are hot, but I bet they’re all a bunch of man-haters.”

  “Angry s-sex—don’t knock it till you try it, dude,” Ryan says, squeezing my hand.

  I roll my eyes, but David laughs hard.

  “You’ve never even been out of Utah, bro,” Jeff says. “You sound like a hick.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” David leans back and puts his arms behind his head. “I’m thinking of having Mom embroider that on a pillow for me.”

  Jeff knocks David’s arms out from under him so his head flops back onto the headrest, and that cracks Ryan up.

  And I realize, with horrible clarity, that I probably won’t ever come back to live in Utah. This place doesn’t feel like enough for me anymore. Unlike David, I did leave. Now I wouldn’t be happy here no matter how much I love my family. I have a moment of panic as this thought settles, until I remember the flight is only two hours and I can always come to visit. Maybe I can even lure Jeff to California; it’s worth a try. I know my parents won’t be thrilled, but once you’ve moved forward, it’s so hard to go back.

  I gaze at three of the men I adore most in the world, happy to be cocooned with them inside the truck, where I’m safe and warm. What part does Ryan play in my plan? I can already see he’s going to fit right in with my family; no surprise there. We could spend some holidays here and convince my family to visit us in California. I bet it would all be so easy, but would it be right? It’s too soon for me to know—about him and about my long-term future. I shake my head, remembering how I told Jeff to relax and stop thinking so much. Must run in the family.

  I lean over and give Ryan a kiss and run my hand up his thigh. He strokes my shoulder with his fingertips, and then he smiles at me as we ride in silence. This is good for now. Very good. I close my eyes tight, as an image of Jude laughing at the haunted house tries to intrude. I’m not sure if it’s getting any easier to squeeze those memories out, but I’m damn determined.

  I watch the countryside fly by outside my window. The landscape is especially sparse and brown this time of year. I spot something by the side of the road, and David and I both yell out “skunk” simultaneously.

  “Jinx,” David yells, and I stomp my foot on the floor of the car. Ryan glances back and forth between us.

  “What j-just happened?”

  “She can’t talk now until I say her name. Didn’t you ever do ‘jinx’?”

  “I don’t think anyone in the w-world does what you guys do.”

  “Get used to it, buddy. There’s a lot more where this came from,” Jeff says.

  We live in Centerville. Even though it’s close to Salt Lake City, it feels like a million miles away. We head out of the city, driving parallel to the Wasatch Range. My mountains put California’s puny hills to shame.

  Since our house is in an unincorporated area, we’re forced off the highway and onto smaller roads. Ryan starts to hum the banjo song from Deliverance.

  “Even I know that reference,” I say. David just undid the jinx, so these are the first words I’ve said in half an hour.

  Jeff points out the house to Ryan as we approach. It butts up against the mountain, almost blending into its surroundings, so it feels like a hideout. The front yard isn’t really a yard. It’s sort of wild and untamed, but there are flower boxes running along the edge of our forest-green house. No visible flowers in them, though, because it’s too chilly. Ryan must be freezing. He gets cold when it’s fifty degrees out. Typical Californian.

  Everyone can hear us coming as we turn onto the gravel driveway that leads to our front door, so the entire family comes outside to greet us.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say as she pulls me into a tight, fierce bear hug. I didn’t know how badly I needed that until her arms are around me.

  After I hug all my brothers, I introduce Ryan to everyone. My dad goes over to shake Ryan’s hand and take his measure. Dad seems relaxed, but I feel a twisting pain in my stomach. Mom gives me a look, probably noticing my tension. As everyone walks into the house, she pulls me back so we’re trailing behind.

  She puts one arm through mine. “It’s been long enough, don’t you think?”

  I don’t even pretend not to understand. “What do I say? You know how hard he is to talk to.”

  Mom gazes at me with her green eyes, so much like the ones I see in the mirror every day. She is shorter than me by a few inches, but she’s always felt taller. We used to call her the “Little General” because she kept us all in line so efficiently.

  “He’s your dad. He’ll listen. And if not, you’ll make him listen. That’s what you and I do.”

  True. It’s always been me and Mom against the boys.

  I look for Ryan, but David has hijacked him so they can watch football. Which means I have some free time, and Dad is outside—probably in the shed. That’s where he goes to get some breathing room.

  “Let’s put it this way,” Mom says, placing her hands on my shoulders. “We’re going to have a good early Christmas if it kills me. So you two need to make your peace.”

  When I open the shed door, I see Dad tinkering with a car part. He loves to be alone with his thoughts. Thank God he has Mom to help him keep one foot in the world.

  He turns to look at me but doesn’t come closer. Still, the way he lowers his shoulders tells me he’s happy to see me. I’m so nervous I hear a ringing in my ears. I’m about to confront the man who was my rock for so many years—until he wasn’t.

  “It’s good to see you,” he says.

  I walk in and shut the door behind me. “Good to see you too, Dad.”

  “And you brought a boy.”

  “Yeah. Ryan. I think you’ll like him.”

  “He treating you right, Lizzie?” His vo
ice is clipped and stern.

  Well, I guess we’re getting right down to it.

  “I wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t.” I can hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice.

  “Gotta say, that doesn’t hold a lot of weight, considering the last guy sent you running to California.”

  My anger wells up, quick and fierce. “I didn’t run, Dad. You’d know that if you’d spent more time listening than lecturing.”

  Dad puts his hands on his hips, like he’s gearing up for a fight. “Not sure what else you’d call it. You’ve barely stepped foot here since.”

  I try to rein in my emotions. “I was making a new life for myself. And you didn’t make it easy to stay.”

  I expect Dad to lean into the argument. Instead, he shocks me by taking a breath and then closing his mouth again. “I never meant to chase you off.”

  I shrug, unsure what to say.

  “I know I didn’t handle it right. I might have said some things I shouldn’t have,” he says.

  I breathe deep, holding back tears. This is the closest to an apology I may ever get from my father for the terrible things he said to me a year and a half ago. I know Dad well enough to know that this is hard for him and that every word counts.

  I want to reassure him—to make him feel better—but I know that everything I’ve learned over the past year will be for nothing if I don’t speak the truth. Which is that my father made me doubt that his love was unconditional, and that almost killed me.

  “What my ex did to me . . .” I shudder, unwilling to say his name. This isn’t about him, and I’m never giving him power over me again. “It hurt, but you made it so much worse. You treated me like I deserved his abuse. What happened to me wasn’t my fault.”

  Dad’s dark brown eyes are burning with emotion. He doesn’t look away, because that’s not who he is. I’m grateful for how much of that strength he’s passed on to me.