Because of you. Because of Drake. The truth is there, but more silence builds in the kitchen.
I don’t know what I’m doing bringing this up. It’s as if I want to ask for help wading through the difficult thoughts, but don’t want to dig too deep and disturb all the sleeping pain and remorse.
Ava is annoyingly perceptive. She never was one who let me crawl into my shell. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You block them out because of whatever happened with Drake . . . and me, don’t you?”
I pause my scrubbing. Over the years, I never realized how much losing Ava and Drake impacted the other relationships I made through college and the MLB. But she’s right. It did.
“Ryder,” Ava whispers. She rests a hand on my forearm. “They want to know you because you’re worth knowing.”
I clear my throat. “So are you.”
Our eyes lock for a few breaths. Is she thinking the same things? Is she hating how it fell apart? When she sees me, does she see what we lost? Does she wonder what might’ve been if we hadn’t?
“I’m glad you still come see my parents,” I admit and start washing the pan again. “I’m gone a lot. It’s nice to know they aren’t alone the whole time.”
“I wish I could come out here more,” she says. “But I meant what I said. Your parents were second parents to me. I couldn’t leave them even if . . .”
“I left,” I finish for her.
“Right.”
“I’m not sure how we’ve never crossed paths.”
She snickers. “I’ve been rather strategic and only come when I know you’re on the ballfield far, far away.”
I want to ask if Drake joins her, but don’t. “They never mentioned you came over.”
“Yeah.” Ava sighs. “Just like my dad never told us he has season tickets to the Kings.”
I drop a spoon into the sudsy water. “What? I mean, I’ve seen him at a few games, but season tickets?”
“Yep. It’s the dirty family secret that just imploded. My dad has been there watching since you were drafted, apparently. Why do you look like you’re about to be sick?”
“It’s sort of surprising since I’d convinced myself Jack hated me.” I scoff like the idea is ridiculous. “Then he talked to me after the meeting with the board. He told me I still had a place.”
“Why would my dad hate you? Oh, because you got his daughter pregnant? Or do you think it’s because you left after she had surgery to cut out ovarian cancer after she found out she wasn’t pregnant anymore, and was incredibly depressed?”
Now, Iamgoing to throw up.
“Way to put it all out there,” I whisper.
Ava’s smile fades. “Better than letting words unspoken keep being unsaid. I can’t breathe sometimes; I just want to spit it all out and talk to you about what happened.” Ava studies the countertop. “I don’t hate you, Ryder. I never did. And my dad doesn’t hate you, either. He’s known you longer than he’s known me. My parents miss you too.”
If they miss metoo, then that implies other people miss me. Like her.
Ava hurries back to the table to finish clearing the last of the dishes. I shouldn’t, but I like the idea of her missing me. Makes the pain of missing her a little more bearable to think it wasn’t unrequited.
The Williams, in my head, have always hated me. I knew my mom and Marianne still saw each other. I was secretly grateful my issues with their kids hadn’t wrecked a solid friendship. No mistake, my parents probably wanted to ask as much as I did, but the circumstances were too painful, too complicated, but the conversation is always boiling beneath the surface in my house, and Ava opened the door to the past that shaped us.
A tragic love story about a boy who loved a girl, how they created something, then lost it all.
Ryder
Age Eighteen
Her tears soak my T-shirt.Ava sniffles, her head on my shoulder in the backseat of my car. We’ve been silent since leaving the doctor.
My head still hasn’t caught up. It was only a few weeks ago we were both freaking out as we sat down and told everyone about the pregnancy. Now . . .
