I cleared my throat and looked at my watch. I had fifteen minutes to be at coffee with his mother, so I didn’t argue despite the fact that tearing away from this moment actually caused me a sense of anguish and fear that I’d not get it again. “Okay. You’re right. I should.” I gathered my purse and my bag and headed toward the door. He walked me out, and we kissed one last time before I drove away. I cried a bit on the way to the patisserie, though I really had no idea why. Fear about facing his mother? Sadness about the time with Ryan? Nostalgia? Happiness about the beautiful tender moment we just shared? Thoughts of where that might’ve led made me smile. Even in that nonsexual, awkward moment, my body had responded to him. My panties were damp from the way his lips pressed mine, the way his tongue and mouth teased my neck, and the way his hands felt around me. They brought back memories, physical ones, the kind when the body was all on its own and separate from the mind, and those memories flooded back every time he touched me like that. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be optimistic and positive. He loved me still. I smiled as I pulled into the parking space and locked the car.
* * *
I sat at the front of the bakeshop for ten minutes, waiting on Ryan’s mother, thinking, wondering if she was going to show up. I reveled in the smell of fresh baked bread and pastries of all kinds. The front of the place was a bakeshop with a display case where you could buy pastries of all types. They were beautiful and colorful—jelly and fruit-filled confections, alongside coffee cakes and cinnamon rolls. I watched customers come in and buy pastries. Others came to the counter on their way out after dining, intending to take a box of fresh pastries home with them, and still others came in pairs with loved ones, asking for a table in the back. It was a wonderful place and one that calmed me; a perfect choice on his mother’s part. It represented Caroline Riverton perfectly, warm and calming in an unspoken indescribable way.
The minutes ticked away, and I had just decided that I’d give her another five minutes before leaving when she opened the door into the foyer. I stood up and smiled. She nodded and continued walking toward me. I held my arms out to hug her. She offered me a lean, accepting my hug but not reciprocating it. The hostess led us to a table, handed us menus, and stepped away.
I took a deep breath, urging myself to sit upright and be strong. “Mrs. Riverton, I am so glad you decided to come.”
“I’ll only be having a coffee. I don’t have much time.” Her tone was noncommittal—not angry, not warm, just plainly stated. I had no idea what to expect.
“Me, too. Just coffee.” I set my menu at the edge of the table, unfolded my cloth napkin, and placed it on my lap. Smoothing it onto my thighs felt good and reassuring as I considered how to begin. She sat across from me in the booth, her slate blue eyes somehow seemed more dull than when I had last seen her and her hair more grey, too. She must’ve been nearing sixty though when I left for Germany, I don’t remember ever actually thinking about it. Now, she looked like a senior citizen, frail and weary, skin more wrinkled and shoulders sagging. Still, she sat there proudly, indomitably across from me; the strength that I had always admired about her seemed to radiate from her still.
“I am so sorry to hear about,” I paused searching for the appropriate reference. ‘Jim’ was likely too familiar and ‘your husband’ likely too impersonal. “Mr. Riverton.” I finally said. She tore her eyes away from the window and looked at me. “I am also sorry that I wasn’t there for you. That I didn’t know. That Ryan and I weren’t talking then.”
“As I recall, it was you who weren’t talking…” She pursued her lips and raised an eyebrow.
All my muscles tensed, reflexively defensive. I swallowed and breathed through the desire to defend myself and point out that Ryan never called me back or contacted me in any way. Instead I nodded. The waitress came back with coffee and asked if we’d like to order. It was a relief to know that she’d not be back anytime soon.
“I regret that Ryan and I weren’t talking. I regret my side of that. And I take responsibility for it. You were important to me. You are important to me still. I admired you and loved you and missed you. When I came home from Germany, I wanted to come see you but…” I tapered off, somehow feeling like my thought process back then might come into question. She tilted her head slightly forward, urging me on. “But I thought that it might be weird or awkward. What if Ryan was there when I came by? Or what if it was no longer okay? What if I was being stupid to even consider it? I second guessed myself and I chickened out. I had no idea that if I had come by, I would not find you living happily here with Jim right by your side as it has always been.”
“You hurt Ryan.” Her tone was sharp. “He was devastated by so much in his life at that time, and you literally couldn’t finish one difficult conversation with him before you quit the relationship.” I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to stop her, but she raised a hand. “No. Let me finish. I don’t want to hear your reasons or excuses. Your side may matter someday but not now.” I closed my mouth and looked at my silverware. My coffee begged for creamer, and maybe sugar, too. The spoon wanted to be held, the cup needed to be raised to my lips. My legs wanted to move, to get up, and run. My jaw begged to be unclenched and set free to defend myself against her accusations. My stomach churned. And I just sat, listening, understanding that this was the reckoning that I had expected.
“I thought I knew you before you left. And certainly, I knew how much my son loved and needed you. I told you that and asked you to hold onto his love and remember it. Do you remember that conversation?”
My eyes stung with tears at the shame of having disappointed her. I remembered the moments she held me and spoke to me so lovingly, the wink she gave me as we left her house that day. When she had said, ‘He loves you like I’ve never seen him. Remember that when you’re missing him in Germany,’ and she had called me her unofficial daughter-in-law, it made me feel like she was my own mother who had warned me of something and even told me how to avoid it. And then, after I had disappointed her, she was now asking me why I hadn’t listened to her. I was six years old again, sitting here in front of this woman whom I respected so much. “I remember.”
“And yet you couldn’t be there for him. You couldn’t hold onto his love for even three months.” She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. “I know he is seeing you again. And I cannot stop him. But I am not as open to the prospect.” I silently cried as she spoke. “I loved you, as I would any daughter-in-law, sometimes even as the daughter I never had.” She paused and shook her head. “I loved and trusted you with my son. I blessed the relationship and encouraged him. He found such joy in you, and I wanted him to have that.” She paused and pointed a finger at me from across the table. “And you abandoned that. You left him standing alone at a time when your love should have been his leaning post.” She took a deep breath and continued through gritted teeth, “In the time since you have been gone, I have guided my family through some of the most…grief…the worst…” her eyes were bloodshot and I thought they glistened with tears, but none fell, “the worst events of our lives.” She finished her thought, barely audible. Looking into her mug, she sipped and swallowed slowly as if the coffee were mud.
She sniffed and began again more firmly, “We are different now. All of us. Even you, dear. Ryan is not the same man you knew before Germany. Find a new relationship with a new man, even if the new man is Ryan, but do not try to rebuild what was lost. It is gone, and so is that man.” I finally stirred cream and sugar into my coffee and gulped a huge swig of it, sucking up my tears and sitting more upright again. Was she accepting that Ryan and I were dating again, giving her blessing, giving me advice? Or was I still being chastised? I couldn’t tell. I just listened and nodded intermittently.
“The man you left behind when you went to Germany is dead. Think of it that way, and do not try to force my son back into that old mold. I wanted to see you over for
dinner tonight because I wanted to see you interact with him. You leaving today; it reeks of cowardice. This will not be easy, and I’d rather my son start new with someone else.” Maybe she wasn’t accepting us after all. Maybe this coffee idea was a pretty bad one. I still had a long drive ahead of me, and this was a terrible way to start it.
We sat in silence for a long while. It was likely only four or five minutes, but it felt like twenty. I wondered if it was my turn to speak, if she was waiting on me. I had so much to say, though at the moment, sentences weren’t readily coming to my head. I cleared my throat, feeling as if it was now or never. “I love him,” I began not knowing what I’d say next. “I love him as much as I ever did. I was wrong and selfish in my insecurities and fears. It hurt him and you and….” I was so relieved that these were the words that were flowing and not the angry defensive ones that also sat just behind these sentiments. “And I am so sorry.” I reached across the table and grasped both of her hands. “I loved you as much as any daughter-in-law could love a mother-in-law, even more. I loved you as a friend and advisor. I loved you as Ryan’s mother.
“He was the love of my life. I knew that then, but feared that I was not his. I know what you said. I heard you, and, in that moment, it felt so reassuring and real. I am sorry that that feeling faded or was washed away in the sea of my insecurity. I cannot help that now.” I did not know where these words were coming from, but she hadn’t stopped me yet, so I kept going. “What I can do is love him still and always. I can build with him a relationship that we fashion together. I don’t expect or even require your blessing,” she squinted at me, her lips a thin line, “but I would like it. And what’s more, I would like to rebuild a relationship with you.” I stopped. The words stopped stringing themselves together in my head, and I was blank, afraid of her reaction and hoping that I had not said too much.
She squeezed my hands, looked me in the eyes, and nodded. “I will wait and see how this goes. I will not discourage him anymore than I already have, but I am not hopeful about your future. I respect this.” She motioned to the table. “It took guts to invite me out alone. Without Ryan here to shut me up, I had no idea what I’d say to you. I respect that, and it reminds me of why I liked you.” I beamed and squeezed the one hand that remained in mine.
“It does not mean that I like where you and Ryan are going. Trying to recapture the past is impossible. And trying to overcome such pain is something I cannot fathom. I am willing to watch and wait. You leave a lot more now with this new job, I understand. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I do, but—”
“And you expect that these trips will be different for you emotionally?”
“Yes, they are. They are already. I—”
“And are they different for him?” My mouth sat agape. “Or is each one another little Germany relived?”
“I…I hadn’t thought of it that way….”
She asked more questions and made points on how difficult the road back into Ryan’s life would be. She said that he may accept my role for a time, but she didn’t know if he’d ever trust me in a lifetime way again. She asked if I could find peace in that kind of love—a partial love—a love that was not going to ever reach the heights of our previous relationship. She pressed me for my intentions and for my level of commitment to our success. We spoke in a respectful but wary way. By the time noon came, I was exhausted. I couldn’t believe that it had only been an hour.
Her phone vibrated and chimed. “I have an appointment, so I have to go.” I nodded and smiled weakly, looking for some sign that this had gone well. She didn’t oblige me. “Thank you for the coffee and the conversation.” I moved to get up and hug her, but she held her hand out and waved me off. “Don’t get up. I’m in a rush, nearly late already.”
“Thank you for meeting me, Mrs. Riverton. I really appreciate the time and opportunity.”
“Yes, yes. It’s fine.” She sniffed dismissively. “Appreciate my son.” She looked at me sternly. “Appreciate his time and the opportunity he is giving you now. Appreciate that, and we will have begun something.”
And with that she left me sitting there alone in the patisserie. The smell of the pastries no longer brought the comfort that it had an hour ago. At this moment, I wanted out of there and back to the smell of the ocean and my condo.
Chapter Twenty-One
The drive home was awash with memories and feelings, all revisited through the new shades of perspective that Mrs. Riverton had added and the new revelation of Mark’s suicide and Ryan’s abandonment of riding. I reconsidered him and me and what we might become. My new job had me on the road a lot, and his had him comfortably living there in Las Vegas. Would we ever live with or near each other again? And what about this dirt biking thing? I wanted so desperately to see him in that specific happy place again, to watch him ride and to feel the joy rolling off of him; but was that selfish of me too? Was Mrs. Riverton right? Was Ryan really a whole new man? One who no longer desired riding, who no longer found joy in it? Was I wrong to want it for him again, to want him to find that joyous place on the track again?
I passed up the Zzyzx exit and smiled, remembering how he and I had talked about meeting there back when we were online chatting before we ever met. It was the precise midway point between our homes at that time, and, even though there wasn’t a town or solid rest stop there, we thought that meeting there might still be memorable and special to just the two of us. I had pictured camping in the nearby state park and maybe hiking through the trails. Maybe Ryan could even bring his dirt bike. I smiled at the memory of having been so full of anticipation about meeting him after so long.
I drove on and continued to reevaluate all that had happened, smiling, laughing, or crying as the memories washed over me. I loved Ryan and couldn’t imagine life without him playing a role…even if it was not as my romantic interest. I relived some of our most intimate passionate moments, like the way his hands felt on my body, how his lips and tongue so adeptly stoked my bodily responses, bringing us further into passion and sexuality. His lips on my neck this morning had felt exactly as they always had—loving, tender, and warm while also being insistent and sensual. My pelvis responded to him, seizing and melting, dampening my panties and hardening my nipples. I could feel him touching me still. Always. Just a passing thought in that direction and he was again in my presence, my body responding, reacting, igniting, ablaze with desire for him.
By the time San Diego came into view, I was exhausted emotionally and physically. I fell onto bed as soon as I walked in the door, not even bothering to change my clothes.
* * *
Ryan and I met two weeks later on my last weekend before the trip at the National Park off Zzyzx. It was a nostalgic weekend of reconnecting and making new memories. When I had suggested it to Ryan, he was instantly on board. We camped among the trees and hiked through the days. On the second night, as Ryan built the fire, I pulled a couple of beers from the cooler we’d brought.
“Do you think we can make it?” I asked, handing him one of the bottles.
He looked at me over his shoulder. “The fire?” He smiled. “Oh, I got this. I did fine last night. I just need a minute.” He winked and turned back toward the fire pit.
I smacked him on his ass and plopped down on a nearby log that we’d dragged over to make a bench. “You know what I meant.”
“And I don’t have the answers. I know that we’ll make it through this weekend.” The kindling caught fire, and he blew on it, encouraging it to grow. “I know that I’m enjoying you and this time together. Ask me about that stuff. Don’t ask me about the future.” He stood and joined me on the log as the fire slowly crept its way around the remaining wood in the pit. He kissed me as he sat down. “I love you. I know that. And now…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I think we’ve about exhausted what I know at this point.”
I leaned into him. �
��Liar.”
“Wanna eat?”
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
We worked together to roast hot dogs and pull together a camping-fashioned dinner. I liked how much closer we’d become over the past month or so; I wanted it to continue. I was leaving the following week for the UK and had a sickening feeling of déjà vu tickling the deepest recesses of my mind. I worried that somehow this short trip, after such a period of healing and rebuilding, might actually be the end of us. In my head, I knew it wasn’t true, but a part of me feared it anyway. I watched him move around the fire and the campsite, his muscles flexing and moving, the fire casting playful shadows across his jawline. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I wanted to; I wished I could see thru this dim light of dusk, past the smoke, and through my own fears and insecurities into the comfort and reassurance that his eyes held. My eyes traveled over him as he moved. God I missed his body. I missed touching, stroking, holding, pulling, dragging, playing, sucking, kissing, nibbling, nuzzling, fucking. I wanted him now, as much as ever. I’d have preferred to have him for dinner instead of the roasted hot dogs and beer. I handed him a bun as he came back over with paper plates.
He took a stick from me and wrapped the browned hot dog in the bun. “Dinner fit for kings,” he proclaimed, setting the dog on a plate and handing it to me. I laughed and handed him another bun. “What? It’s perfect. Fast, easy, smoky, yummy.” I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Maybe ‘yummy’ is up for debate. But still.”
As we ate, we joked and laughed. I stole opportunities to touch him, and he didn’t resist me. Later, as we lay on the blanket in front of the fire, I kissed him, tasting the charbroiled hot dog flavor and reveling in this moment. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Ryan.”
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