It's Like This (16 page)

“Gotcha. So we’re good,” I say, blushing with one part relief and one part embarrassment.

“Good,” he repeats. “Great, fantastic. You hear me?”

I nod and he kisses me and we sit there quietly for a while.

“Nigh?” he says, after a while.

“Mmm?”

“The safe word thing? Since we’re talking?”

I force myself not to fall into another shame spiral. “I…” I clear my throat. “I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot,” I say. “And, I think, I think if it’s OK, I’d rather we don’t.”

Rylan nods, thoughtfully. “Alright. Can I ask why?”

“Yeah, um, look, I’ve done some reading online and stuff, and I know that we’re supposed to have one and stuff, but I just don’t want one. I would rather just be able to trust that when I say ‘stop’ you will. But mostly I think it is because, as you might have noticed, I’m not super good with the words in general, and I think if I had to say a weird, random word during sex, I would feel so weird about it that I just wouldn’t use it. Whereas with stop, it’s like—a conversation opener. Stop what? Stop how? Does this hurt? Do you want to keep going? I dunno—am I making any sense?”

“Lots and lots,” he promises. “Stop it is. The other thing is—do you want to talk, like, boundaries? Like things you like or things you’re into or things you’re definitely not into.”

“I don’t know,” I reply, slowly.

“You don’t have to answer now. Just thought I’d bring it up—I’ve been doing a bit of reading of my own, since the—you know, our last talk.”

“No, I think I can answer now—I, err, how do I put this? OK. Like, again, I know there is kind of a ‘right way’ to do this, where we like, I dunno, make and swap lists or something, or discuss what’s going to play out before it happens and—I know I should want that—it’s safe. But—I just don’t. I don’t want to know what’s coming. I don’t want to say stuff I will or will not do, because what I want the most is to—Jesus—it’s to do what you want, to take what you give, to accept it and not question it.”

“Christ, Nigh. You’re making me hard.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes. God, the idea of you so willing and wanting and generous—it’s beautiful.”

“I want to trust you not to give me more than I can handle, even if what I think I can handle and what you think I can handle are two different things.”

“God, I want that so much,” Rylan says, petting my hair and kissing my face. “I mean, you can change your mind and just tell me if you wanna discuss something, but fuck, I love surprising you and pushing you and stretching you and making you so, so mine.”

“I want that,” I say. “But I’m not there yet, exactly. I—I’m not sure how I’d react if we tried the choking thing again. I seriously can’t think of anything else I wouldn’t happily, willingly take from you if you thought it best—and I know that’s fucked up, but it’s also true—but I’m not ready for that.”

“For sure. Yes. Of course. I won’t go there. Not now, not ever if you don’t want, OK?”

“Yeah. OK. Thank you,” I say.

Rylan laughs. “Yes, you’re so welcome for giving me unmitigated access to your body.”

“Say that again and I’ll be hard. Jesus.”

“Un-mit-i-gat-ed ac-cess,” he says, his lips moving obscenely with every syllable. “Mine to fuck when I want to, where I want to and
if
I want to—”

I maybe whine a little bit.

“Fuck, babe. I love you so much and you are so, so good for me.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now, bend over the side of this bed and prove it.”

I’ve never moved so goddamn fast.

School: my very relaxed summer made me forget how much
time
it takes up. Hanging around the university centre to get my ID validated; waiting in line for literally an hour and a half to get my textbooks, and now, first day of classes. The majority of my profs just read aloud from the class syllabus, because most of us (myself included) won’t read it if they don’t. This makes for short classes, but a dry, dull day that I can’t wait to be over, because I have plans to hang out with the guys tonight. I feel bad—what with Kya monopolizing my summer, and then the tumultuous and constant assessing of Ry’s and my relationship—I haven’t seen much of them. The plan is just to kick around my apartment and sausage-fest it, but around four or so, my phone goes off.

“Hello?” I ask, because my mother still finds caller ID disconcerting. She says whether I know or not, it’s not polite to assume you know who’s on the other end, and besides, she says, what if it’s a police officer phoning me to tell you that your entire family has been murdered?

“It’s me.” It’s not my mom, but it’s not a police officer, either.

“Tilla? What’s up?”

“You need to get me out of this house!” she exclaims, clearly infuriated. I remember how much I like not living at home.

“Why, what’s going on?”

She groans. “They are driving me crazy, Niles. Legitimately crazy.”

“Mom and Dad?”

“No. The Easter Bunny. Yes, Mom and Dad, Niles. Jesus!”

“Why? What are they doing?”

“Christ, I don’t know? Everything? It’s all, ‘Matilda, have you done your homework? Matilda, have you looked into that scholarship application I emailed you? Matilda, isn’t Toby Wiedermeyer such a nice boy. Does he have a girlfriend?’ And guess what! I have done my homework! And I’ve half done that bloody application, but if they say one more word about it, I’ll put it through the shredder! And Toby Wiedermeyer? Fuck! Let’s just say he’s not the nice little eight-year-old he used to be when he was, say, eight! In fact, he’s developed into kind of an asshole! Like, totally. HELL!”

It’s weird. I can totally relate. I’d just forgotten. I mean, once I moved out, my parents just started to be so happy to see me when I stopped by to do laundry, or say hello, or whatever. My dad whips me up something to eat and hands me some cash and my mom tells me they don’t see enough of me and I have to come by for dinner more often. I mean, it’s nice. But Matilda’s explosion reminds of how tiring living at home could be. Like, always having to sneak around to have sex. It’s not like my parents never said “no sex.” They just sort of implied, evasively, how they did not want to hear about it or know about it, and any time Rylan and I spent alone was suspect. Having lived away from home has kind of made me forget what it is like not having sex whenever we feel like it: not having to be quiet or wait until we think everyone’s asleep or whatever.

“Sorry,” Matilda says, “I sound like a total sixteen-year-old, don’t I? I’m just so…argh!”

“For one, I totally understand. They’re parents, they get like that. And two, you are sixteen, so I think you’re allowed to sound like one.”

“And I’m a good kid! Seriously, Nigh! I’ve smoked like one joint, only, ever, and I don’t go to a party every weekend, or bring home skeevy guys, and I haven’t done anything to shatter their trust, so it’s not like they have to be on my back about every little thing! And let’s be honest, when Kya is my age, she is totally going to be a partier and have a new boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever probably every week and they are just going to be all, ‘Oh, Kya! You are so adorable and perfect!’”

“I would say you know that’s not true, except that you are probably totally right. But you’re not Kya, and even though it doesn’t feel like it right now, I know they think you are pretty rad in and of yourself. And if it helps, I really do understand. Rylan and I actually conducted a good portion of our relationship under that roof…”

“Good God.” Matilda’s voice echoes with horror. “How did you survive?”

I chuckle. “By remembering that even though they drive me crazy, I know they are just like that because they love us?”

Matilda sighs. “I know. But they still drive me friggin’ nuts. Please, please, please tell me I can spend the night at your place. They can’t say no to me hanging out with you. Unless you and Ry are…” She trails off.

“We’re hanging out with Ian and Brice and them,” I reply. “But it’s cool if you want to join.”

“I do. I really, really do. Thank you. Any chance you want to hit the gym for a bit first? I desperately need to run really, really fast and maybe punch something.”

“Sure. See if we can borrow a car?”

“Ha. Nice try. I am so not talking to them right now.”

“Oh fine, I’ll ask when I get there.”

“And be granted one, oh returning prodigal son. God, when can I move out?”

“In a year or so.”

“Was that supposed to be comforting?”

“See you in a bit,” I promise.

* * *

I feel a little guilty because Matilda is totally right: my parents seem thrilled at the idea of lending me a car. They tell me to not even worry about getting it back to them until tomorrow and that they’ll carpool in the morning. They are happy to see me, and Matilda is happy to see me, and I’m guilty with luck and happiness.

Maybe that’s why I have such a thing about Rylan’s family, or lack of acknowledgment thereof. I mean, I can’t help but think, couldn’t everyone just try a little bit? He hasn’t seen his mom since high school, when he moved out, and things change, don’t they? All those things that used to drive me nuts in high school aren’t quite as huge a deal as I thought they were. I don’t know. It just feels weird to me: to have your family in the same city, and not want to see them. But I
know
, cerebrally, I mean. I know I can’t push this with Rylan.

But.

Still.

* * *

Cody, my roommate, is playing COD.

“Hey, man,” he says, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hey, bro. I’m having the guys over tonight for a bit. That all right with you?”

“Yeah, cool, sure, man.” Cody, despite being somewhat unhygienic and possessing a terrifyingly limited vocabulary, is at least easygoing. “Wanna play?”

“Nah, gotta make some dinner. Thanks, though,” I reply.

“I’ll play,” Matilda offers.

“Cool,” Cody responds. “Wait ’til I die and I’ll switch it to multiplayer.”

“Awesome,” I say. “Stir fry good?”

* * *

“This,” Matilda announces, “is seriously addictive. How do you guys ever get anything done?”

“I don’t think we do?” I’m saying, when Rylan bursts through the door.

“Get this. My boss says that if I research it and figure out how to do it right, he’ll let me get a squid for one of the saltwater tanks. A squid! Seriously, how sweet is that?”

“Hey, babe.” he says, kissing Matilda’s head. She ignores him in favour of destroying some Nazis.

“And hey, babe,” he repeats, lowering his tone to one of mock-seduction. He meets me at the doorway to the kitchen and kisses me ostentatiously.

You have to give Cody props. For someone who looks like the stereotype of a redneck-jock-homophobe, he is surprisingly blasé about the whole me and Rylan thing.

“Gonna help?” I ask, and Rylan follows me back in. He sits on the counter.

“Depends on what you mean by help…if you mean, ‘provide sparkling conversation,’ then yes. You bet!”

“If by, ‘provide sparkling conversation,’ you mean ‘chop up this cucumber,’ then you got it,” I come back.

He hops off the counter, and leans in, lips dangerously near my ear. “When it comes to you, I’ve always got it,” he whispers, and even if he’s just playing, it still kind of turns me on.

“Jesus, Ry,” I breathe.

He flashes me a devilish grin and kisses my neck before stepping back.

“So. Tell me about your day,” he demands.

* * *

After dinner the rest of the guys arrive and we play this card game that Cody’s Mennonite ex-girlfriend got him addicted to. Cody kicks everyone’s ass, probably because he spent their eight month relationship playing it instead of getting any.

Brice’s latest bedpost notch texts him repeatedly. Out loud, he bashes her, calling her clingy and annoying, but he nevertheless seems to respond to every single text she sends.

We all have a few beers and it’s on about beer three that I notice that Matilda is doing that thing girls do where they touch their hair way more than necessary, and Parker’s doing that thing where he keeps moving closer to my sister than is really required. I really don’t know how to feel about it.

When we get sick of playing, Parker and Matilda start cleaning up. Their hands bump against each other whenever they go for same pile of cards and they keep laughing and apologizing. Rylan raises his eyebrows. Under the table his hand touches my knee, swaying it back and forth a couple of times. He’s letting me make the call. If I want him to, he’ll call them on it point blank, hopefully making them too embarrassed to continue this strange, fairly subtle flirtation. But if I decide I’m OK with it, then he won’t say anything either.

Parker. I’ve known the guy for a long time. Which leads to Matilda having known the guy for a long time. He and I were in the same class in middle school. I don’t remember how we became friends, but I remember we did a science fair project together. He was way more into it than I was. He goes to school with me, but is in the bio-chem department, which is almost certainly a step up from the, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” department in which I am enrolled.

He’s a nice guy, usually pretty quiet. Hasn’t had a lot of girlfriends. No serious ones, at any rate, and he’s sure as hell no Brice. Regardless, I’m pretty positive three years is too much of an age gap. I mean, he’s in second year and Matilda is in grade twelve. That’s kind of a leap, isn’t it? Of course, Matilda is probably the most mature twelfth grader you’ll meet, but…would Parker really want to attend another prom? Isn’t that kind of weird?

I shift my focus to Matilda. And I see her smiling. At Parker. And I’m not positive I’ve ever seen her smile quite like that. And then I realize: it’s actually none of my fucking business. Like, even if it was Brice she was interested in—I don’t have any right to interfere, or pass judgement, or whatever—I mean, she never has for me. I hear Shona in the back of mind saying something ridiculous like, “Girl’s got a right to booty.” I look back at Rylan and smile and shrug and he kisses me—just shy of slopping drunk.

* * *

After the game, Cody puts on some so-bad-it’s-good movie that he’s heard about. Parker gives me a curious cautious look before sliding in beside Matilda on the couch. I sit on the big kooshy chair in the corner and Rylan plops down on the floor in front of me, like a giant cat just begging to be stroked. He leans his head up against my legs and I appease him, toying with his hair.