It's Like This (21 page)

“Look. I’m not lying when I say you need to hear me out. So please don’t say anything until I get it out. Just listen, all right?”

“I’m not making any promises.” My voice is cold, accusatory.

“Please, baby?” he begs, gently.

“Just talk,” I hiss, though I’m probably lying.

“OK,” he says. “Fuck. OK. Here goes.”

I stare him down, trying to make him feel just as shitty as I do in this moment.

“Look, Niles.” He exhales softly, and sweeps some hair off my forehead. “You know I love you.” This cannot be good. Anything that starts with, “You know I love you,” by universal law or something must follow with a cruel, horrible, “but…”

But it doesn’t. He just keeps talking. “And you know I’m crazy about your family. And…I’ve talked to your parents, and they’ve agreed to lend me the money so that I can go back to school.”

This is so far off from where I thought it was going that I don’t even know how to react, but he just continues, “I know I should have mentioned it before, but I didn’t want to say anything until it was for sure and I didn’t want you to feel awkward and have to choose sides between me and your parents. I mean, money gets between people, and you would get weird about it. You know you would.”

I sputter, but he’s probably right. I’d try to convince my parents that it was a good idea, and if they weren’t for it, it would be awkward as fuck, but I guess they were, so…But this means—this means what, exactly? Like, he’s going back to school, so what? Rylan’s words aren’t stringing together any semblance of sense.

“So—you’re moving or something?” I ask, utterly unable to keep quiet, or my voice steady.

He raises his eyebrows, a confused expression on his face.

“What? No! I need to do upgrading at the college first, but then there’s a program here—nursing—I didn’t say. I think I wanna be a peds nurse, because of all the stuff with Kya and visiting her there and it just seemed—but Jesus, I’m rambling, we can talk about that later. That’s not what I want to talk about. I just wanted to show you before I talk to you about what I
do
want to talk about that I, you know, have a plan. I know you think I’m just kind of wandering around aimlessly half the time.”

He’s a bit right. I mean it doesn’t bother me that he doesn’t have his life all mapped out, I mean, who does?

“But I swear I’m not. I’ve put a lot of thought into it and I really want to hang out with kids and also do some good, and it means I can get work pretty much anywhere, hopefully, so you can do your thing if you want to and—again we really don’t need to go into all that right now.”

I seriously had no idea Rylan ever thought about the future, like, at all, so I kind of just stare at him. Finally, I swallow and say, “OK. So. That’s good. I mean. I’m happy for you, Ry, but that’s not the kind of thing that is going to make me run away, so would you please just tell me what exactly is going on?”

He bites his lip and taps his fingertips anxiously against my ribs. “Christ.” He exhales, then looks me straight in the eyes. “Niles, I want you to marry me.”

* * *

I don’t know if it’s a minute or a second or an hour that I sprawl there, tied up and bug-eyed and utterly unable to form anything resembling human speech.

“What?” I finally spew out. Ineloquent as fuck, but what the hell else am I supposed to say?

“Please don’t talk.” He presses his fingers to my lips. “I know. You’re freaking out. Don’t freak out. Just listen.”

I shake my head free. This is not happening. He’s lost it. What’s wrong with him? We’re not even twenty-one.

“Untie me.”

“No.”

“Rylan. Untie me.”

“No. I will. I mean if you really want me to, I will, but you said you’d try. Please just hear me out. And then I’ll untie you. I promise. So will you stay? Just like this? Just for a minute?”

“Fine.” I grit my teeth. The bastard certainly knew what he was doing. Of course I would try to run. He’s being completely irrational. He might be totally brainless, but I’m not. People our age are not supposed to get married. They just mess everything up. They ruin the relationship and bicker all the time and make everyone around them uncomfortable. Plus they are a total financial drain on their families. How many times have I seen people roll their eyes when they hear about two stupid kids getting hitched? How many sarcastic comments and predictions of failure? Why would he want that for us? Things are good, great—fuck, we’ve only just learned to talk shit out. Why the hell is he doing this?

“It makes sense.”

He goes to caress my face, but I jerk away from him, so he opts for resting his hand on my chest instead.

“If you think I don’t know what you’re thinking, you’re wrong. You’re thinking this is ridiculous, that I’m insane, but I’m not. Think about it. We’ve been together for almost four years.”

Three and a half,
I correct him in my head.

“And you know I’m completely crazy about you.”

Or just crazy
, I add, silently.

“And I don’t want to be with anyone else. And you don’t either.”

So what? Just because we don’t want to be with anyone else doesn’t mean we should get frickin’
married
. What is
wrong
with him? I go to talk but he cuts me off.

“Niles, I’ve been lonely my entire life.”

There’s a deep, hollow sadness in his voice that I hate, because Rylan’s loneliness is something I’ve worked hard at denying, along with his other weaknesses, for years.

“And then I met you. And from then on, it didn’t matter what my fuck-up of a family did, because I had a new one, a better one, but mostly, I had you.” He gives me a nervous little smile. “Which means, you’re pretty much all I’ve thought about for the last four years.”

He looks at me, waiting. The words are intense, of course they are, but Christ. What have I been doing with my life since I met him? Obsessing, constantly, over him. It’s practically all I do. And when I haven’t been obsessing over him, it’s because I’ve been with him, or because he’s been there to help me handle everything else I might need to obsess about—Kya and school and Tilla’s newfound dating habits…

But still. That doesn’t mean we should get married. I mean, come on!

“And I’m not saying I want to get married tomorrow. I’m thinking in like a year or six months or something. I’ve saved up some money.” He rattles on. “Well, not, like, a fortune. But I’ve been working at Nook since I was fifteen, and I’ve saved the better part of it. I take care of myself. You know I do, and you know I can take care of you—that I will take care of you.” He’s got his hand along my jaw and veracity in his eyes.

And for some stupid reason, part of me starts to want it. But. Really? Like…really? Marriage?

“We’re too young,” I mutter.

“No, we’re not. We’re young, sure. But lots of, like, religious couples get married way younger than us. Hell, people we graduated with are already celebrating anniversaries.”

“Christian kids get married so they can have sex. We’re already having sex,” I point out.

“Don’t be so cynical!” Rylan argues. “Maybe they get married because when they realize they’re in love, that’s it. They can stop looking. Besides, your parents weren’t much older than us when they got married, and it worked out for them. Not everyone who gets married young is religious.”

“Then it’s because they’re pregnant. Again, not something we really need to worry about.”

“So what are you saying?” he challenges. “That we’re not really in love because we’re not old enough? That we can’t get married because we don’t believe in God, or because we’re not about to have a kid?”

“No. You know that’s not what I think. It’s just. There’s…stuff. Things I want to do…” I don’t know how to finish my sentence and I wish my hands weren’t fucking tied above my head, so that I could at least cover my face and surrender. I tug sharply at the restraints, but the knots don’t loosen. Rylan rubs my wrists meaningfully.

“I know,” he soothes. “I know that, but babe, I’m not asking you to take out a mortgage and adopt a Chinese baby and file for life insurance. I just want you to be with me. And, anyway, all that stuff you want to do, like graduating and travelling and, I don’t know, finding a career—do you really picture doing all that on your own?”

I… No. Of course I don’t. Every time I picture myself taking off to explore Norway or Vietnam or wherever I happen to think I might want to go someday, Rylan is always there with me. When I think about Kya’s birthdays, or Matilda’s prom, I can just see Rylan there, dressed preposterously for the occasion and passing out forks, because it would be weird, off, terrible, if he wasn’t there, because he’s already a permanent fixture in my life.

But even still, marriage is…big.

“Couldn’t we just…move in together?” I ask.

He fiddles with his tongue piercing between his teeth. Shakes his head. “No.”

I wait for him to elaborate.

“I know this sounds neurotic, and I probably should see a therapist at some point,” he starts. “But it’s just that…my parents ‘just moved in together’ and it didn’t mean anything. They never got married. It was like it was something they maybe planned to do and then just never did, and so everything just felt temporary. There was no loyalty and no reason to try and hold out or work on things. It was like they were just both waiting to find someone better, or to split because they couldn’t stand it anymore.”

I go to protest,
we are so not his parents
, but he won’t let me.

“I know we’re not like them,” he assures me. “And that lots of people who live together totally get married and stay together forever and I absolutely don’t judge them for it, because it really does seem like the rational thing to do. But, when I was a kid, I promised myself I would never live with anybody else until I was married. Which is lame, I know. But. I want…I want to buy towels with you. I want to fight over whose mouldy Tupperware is on the counter. I want to have a wedding and a registry and a first dance, and, hell, just a big party with all our friends.”

And I wonder if I don’t want that too. “I don’t know, Ry…” I whisper.

His hand cups my neck and his tone is deliberate as he steamrolls ahead.

“And then I want to move into a new place, a place that’s just mine and yours. Where I can pack your lunches and share your bathroom and fuck you at six a.m. I don’t want to come home to empty rooms anymore, and I want it to be for real. Not just some half-assed trial period. Hell, I even want to wear a ring and say pretentious shit like ‘my partner’ when people ask about it, and have everyone feel envious that I’ve found you, when they’re still single and alone. I want you to be my family: legally and otherwise. I love you. I’d do anything for you. You
know
that. Please, Niles. Please,
please
say yes.”

He stares at me, begging, for a long moment. The power, unexpectedly mine, makes me uncomfortable. Finally I drag my eyes away.

“Untie me.” It isn’t a request.

His chest deflates but he tugs the knots loose. My arms fall, aching and helpless at my sides and I rub my wrists and lick my lips and look at him: my beautiful boy.

And then I say what is quite possibly the stupidest thing I ever could and ever will say.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Because everything, every fucking little thing he just said, makes perfect sense to me.

And Rylan bulldozes me into the bed, jolting pain from my ass to my entire nervous system and I scream because it hurts like a son of a bitch, but also because I know for goddamn certain that he wants me, and will want me, and will never not want me, and, fuck it, that’s all I ever wanted anyway.

Anne O’Gleadra was born and raised in northern British Columbia, Canada. She has an BFA in acting and an MA in theatre history. She still can’t quite believe that she is lucky enough to live, work, and go to school on beautiful Vancouver Island. She loves Fringe festivals, camping and reading what her partner has dubbed “kissing and feelings” books. Her home is a tiny basement suite where she lives with her sardonic partner and her tolerant fish, Pluto.