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“If I’m not mistaken,” Avery says, “I think this is how people die of hypothermia.”
He sounds exactly like his mother. He does not notice this. Ryan does, in a good way.
“Time to return to the real world,” Ryan says.
“No,” Avery corrects. “This is the real world, too.”
Is it?Ryan asks himself, not entirely free from doubt.
“It is,” he answers aloud.
Avery stands up, then extends a mitten to help Ryan up. Ryan doesn’t really need the boost, but takes it anyway.
He also uses it as a decoy to take Avery’s attention away from the snowball he’s formed in his other hand.
—
Coming in fromthe snow: At no other time does home seem so much like hearth. Avery and Ryan don’t appreciate how wet and bedraggled they are until the door is closed and they are shucking off their coats and slicking off their boots. Their shirts are fine—maybe a little sweaty—but their jeans and socks are soaked through.
“Let’s get those pants off you,” Avery purrs, and theyboth laugh, because neither of them aspires to turn this particular moment into porn.
It’s not that Avery isn’t curious. It’s not that he hasn’t scrutinized every bare moment of skin that Ryan has ever shown.
It’s not that Ryan isn’t tempted. He is so far away from his parents, so far away from any restriction. But he is also wearing an embarrassingly shoddy pair of briefs. And it is so quiet that he feels if he undid his fly, the sound of the zipper would ricochet throughout the house and cause Avery’s parents to come running.
“I’ll be right back,” Avery says. He runs to the small laundry room off the garage, and is relieved to find the dryer has been run, not yet emptied. He pulls out a pair of his father’s sweatpants and a dry pair of his own jeans. Quickly, he changes into this new pair of jeans, then empties out the dryer and puts the old pair inside, along with his socks. Then, barefoot, he returns to Ryan, offering the sweatpants and pointing him in the direction of the bathroom, where his dry towel awaits. Now it’s Ryan’s turn to say, “I’ll be right back,” before he tiptoes off to change.
They aren’t separated for longer than five minutes, but each of them feels the separation, feels the other one in another part of the house, waiting. In the bathroom, after bunching up the ankles of the sweats so they won’t drag on the floor, Ryan looks at his watch and is amazed to see it’s ten-thirty. But he can’t figure out if he’s amazed that it’s soearly or already so late. They seem to be the same thing in the snowbound night.
When Ryan returns to the family room, he finds Avery has transformed the sofa into a bed, and is besheeting it. For a second he stands in the doorway and watches as Avery throws his body over the bed to tamp down the fourth corner of the fitted sheet. Without a word, Ryan puts his wet clothes on the floor and goes over to help.
“Here,” he says.
Avery unfolds the top sheet and throws half of it over to Ryan. The truth is, he never, ever makes his bed if he can get away with not making it—but since this is where Ryan will be sleeping, he feels he should make it right. So there they are, smoothing the surface, making parallel movements to tuck it in, make it even.
Next, the blanket. The same teamwork of two.
Pillows are put in place, and the job is done. Avery looks across the bed at Ryan and wants to crawl right over, pull Ryan down, mess up everything they’ve just made.
But Ryan doesn’t catch the signal. He feels bad about his wet clothes sitting on the carpet. So he moves and picks them up again, asks Avery where they should go.
“I got it,” Avery tells him.
“No, no, it’s fine—just tell me where they go.”
“In the dryer. Here.”
Avery walks Ryan to the laundry room and opens the dryer for him, as if he’s its doorman. Ryan bows his thanksand throws his jeans and socks on top of Avery’s. With the press of a few buttons, they begin to tumble.
“So what now?” Avery asks, hoping the answer will be a return to the bed they’ve created.
“I want to see more of your room,” Ryan replies. His way of sayingI want to know your room, which is another way of sayingI want to know you.
“Okay.” If there is any disappointment in Avery’s voice, Ryan doesn’t hear it.
Once they’re in the room, Avery expects Ryan to sit down, stay awhile. But instead he remains standing, surveying.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing that you’re proud of here?” Ryan asks. As soon as he says it, he doesn’t think he’s made any sense. But Avery knows what he means.
