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My mom eyes me with a knowing look when I come downstairs.
“Where are you off to?” she asks, glancing up from the book she’s reading. Her purple reading glasses slide down the edge of her nose.
“Going with a friend from Group to set our paper cranes around,” I say, hedging toward the door. It’s so close, but so far away.
“Ivy,” she asks and then with a knowing smile, she adds, “or Ryder?”
I can’t lie to my mom—I mean, it’s my mom. “Ryder,” I mumble. Her face breaks out into an ear-splitting grin. “It’s not a date.” I point a finger at her in warning. Her smile never falters, though.
“Mhm,” she says.
“It’s n-o-o-o-t,” I sing-song.
Before she can make a comeback, I bolt for the door and I’m out of there. I’m pretty sure I can hear her laughing through the door.
I get to the coffee shop a few minutes late and Ryder’s already there waiting. He sits outside on a bench, one leg crossed over the other with two clear cups filled with something iced and delicious looking. He dressed casually in a pair of khaki shorts, a white t-shirt that stretches across his muscular chest and leaves little to the imagination, and a pair of black tennis shoes. A pair of sunglasses hides his eyes but I know he’s spotted my car.
I get out and head toward him.
“Hi,” I say shyly. I don’t know why I feel so nervous all of a sudden. I mean it’s Ryder. He’s my friend, despite the fact that we both might kinda-sorta have feelings for each other.
“Hey,” he holds out a drink for me, “I got this for you. You like iced tea, right?”
I smile and take it from him, immediately taking a sip. “I love it,” I say, as if that w
asn’t obvious by the way I slurped it down. “Thank you.”
He smiles up at me and even though I can’t see them I know his eyes are crinkling at the corners. “You’re welcome.” He stands and nods to his right. “Shall we?” There’s a strip mall that way, with lots of parking, and also several restaurants. It’s an excellent place to lay around our paper cranes.
“Where are yours?” I ask, holding up my envelope as we walk along the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.
Ryder grins and pulls out the white envelope stuffed in his back pocket. “Got it right here. You didn’t think I’d forget them did you?” He jokes and pulls out one of the folded birds.
I duck my head so he can’t see my smile. Being with Ryder, it’s easy. As easy as breathing—normal and completely natural. It’s something I could get used to and I think that’s another reason why it scares me so much.
Ryder opens his envelope and lays one of the origami birds on a car we pass by. I smile at the sight of it and my heart … It feels happy.
“So,” I ask him, squinting from the brightness of the sun even though I’m wearing sunglasses, “your parents watch Cole some weekends?”
“Yeah—” he looks down at the ground when we step off the sidewalk onto the parking lot “—they do it maybe once every other month or so. It gives me a break and they love spending time with him. He loves it too. They spoil him rotten and give him too many cookies.”
I laugh at that and pull one of my own paper cranes from the envelope and leave it on the bench we pass. “It’s nice that you have them.”
“It’s nice that you have your parents too,” he comments. He hasn’t asked me anything about them since that day at the mall. It kind of surprised me, but then again it didn’t. Ryder has made it obvious he wants to know me, but he’s not pushy about it.
“They’re great,” I agree, my throat closing with emotion. “They … uh … they live in Florida now, but they dropped everything to come back here and be with me after Ben died. I didn’t always make it easy on them to stay, especially my poor mom, but they persevered and I’m so incredibly thankful that they’re here. I’ll be sad when they leave.”
“That was nice of them.” He sets a paper crane on one of those large planters that hold small trees and people tend to sit on.
“They’re good people,” I say. I take a sip of my iced tea and look around for a place to lay a crane. I end up running into the parking lot and sticking one on a random car. Ryder and I continue through the strip-mall, now beneath a covered awning. The shade feels nice and is much needed. It’s hot enough to fry an egg out there. “What do you normally do on your off weekends?” I look up at him, waiting for his answer.
He shrugs. “Most of the time I just hang out at home—catch up on laundry, grade papers, that sort of thing. If I’m really feeling adventurous I might go see a movie. I love movie theater popcorn; the stuff you get at the store isn’t the same.” He smiles boyishly.
I laugh lightly. “That’s kind of boring.”
“Maybe so,” he says, “but I enjoy the peace and quiet of being at home.”
“So…” I begin and then pause, unsure if I should ask what I want, but I finally decide what the hell. “Have you dated any since…?”
