Page 50 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
“My dad had some health stuff come up outta nowhere a while back.”
My cocktail goes bitter on my tongue. Sharp and biting with worry. “Is he okay?”
Ro smiles, but the warmth of it doesn’t reach me the way it usually does.
“Yeah, he’s doing all right. But some of the words doctors threw around back then—”
Ro’s eyelids close so briefly that if I hadn’t learned their cadence, I might’ve mistaken it for a blink, but it’s something else involuntary. It’s his body remembering. Reliving it, and grieving, even now.
“Everything they were saying felt like a death sentence. And ultimately, I guess it is, just not in the way I’d thought. Pops is doing good right now, he is. And I’m grateful for it. But finding out he was sick, realizing that any of us can get sick, at any time,made me grow up real quick. Before that, my life had always been good, but only ’cause I’d been lucky. And luck ain’t a guarantee.”
Ro’s lean fingers circle the rim of his glass as he speaks. The movement as hypnotic as his voice, his words, his story.
“Art had been my life forever, but it wasn’t safe. And back then that’s what I needed. For everything and everyone to be safe. Since I couldn’t controlthat,the best I could get was security. Stability. So that’s what I started chasing.”
I want to ask Ro to hurry toward the part where he promises his dad’s going to be okay. Thathe’sokay too. I want to pull his fingers from the cool sweat of his glass and warm them in mine, until the heat of our touch warms his smile again.
But I don’t do any of that. And as Ro continues, his honeyed tone, thick with emotion, slows my thoughts and movements until everything goes still. I’m transfixed again, and I tell myself it’s for the best.
“That’s why I started the design firm. I had the degree, so it felt like a natural step. I’d never wanted to run a company, but all of a sudden just getting it off the ground became the only thing that mattered to me. I let myself be consumed by the idea of it. And it took off a little, but I couldn’t crave it the way I craved the canvas. I never loved it like that. Then my dad’s stuff leveled out for a while, and I just got tired of running from shit. Which is all the company had ever been—a place to hide. I’m not meant to be the suit-and-tie guy setting meetings. So, in the end, the firm turned out to be the hobby I needed to put away so I could focus on my art. Not the other way around.”
Ro ducks his head like his brief and completely understandable confusion had been something silly. I’m relieved to find humor in his eyes again, but I refuse to let him feel like a punch line.
“I get it,” I say, plainly. “Even separate from everything your dad was going through, it makes sense. Sometimes people haveto leave the thing they love for a minute, so when they come back to it, they know they’re actually choosing it.”
Ro’s mouth curls in anticipation. “If only my ex had been as understanding,” he says, sipping his now watered-down margarita to his lips. “My focus shifted to my dad and the company. Hers shifted to my roommate’s bed.”
“NO!”
I’m practically doubled over the table in horror, but Ro doesn’t look bothered in the least. In fact, he looks more pleased by his story’s shocking finale than he has since we started talking.
He shoos away the memory of her along with my outrage. “It’s all good. She fit me about as well as that suit and tie.”
“Fuck” is all I get out before the waitress returns with our food, but Ro nods like I’ve said everything.
When our waitress turns her back to go, I scrunch my nose at Ro’s plate like the child that I am. “I hope you’re not expecting me to help with those.”
“You’re not gonna try one?” he says, holding an oyster out to me in equal parts offering and challenge.
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “One.You’re on your own for the rest.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Why do people keep telling me that? I never claimed to be.”
Ro squeezes a little lemon and hot sauce on his, so I follow his lead, resisting the urge to plug my nose.
“Bottoms up,” he says, jiggling his half shell in the air. But the moment that oyster slides onto his tongue, Ro’s smug grin disappears.
“What the fuck was that?” he says, coughing. “Is that what it’s supposed to taste like? Why the fuck do people eat these things?”
Nobody in life has ever chugged a glass of water quicker. And I cannot stop laughing.
“It’s not funny!” he shouts.
“It is though.” I swipe at my tears. “Oh my god, you should see your face.”
“You’re cold, E,” Ro says, still looking like he might be sick.
