Page 22 of Summer of the Boy

Chapter Five

When we pull into the driveway at Rid’s house, we see his mom peer out from behind the curtain in the window of the front room with her face pinched in a hard-set glare. Very telling, she’s not too happy to see me, or more precisely, my car.

Knowing full well she expected Asshat Trucker to be bringing him home, and knowing full well he sees his mom and her face just as plain as me, he squeezes my hand. A move she wouldn’t be able to notice from her vantage point.

“A few more weeks, Leif,” he offers. “That’s it. Don’t…please don’t give up on me.” I watch him close his eyes and breathe in and out slowly, partly defeated and partly resigned, as if he honestly believes Icouldlet him go.

What the hell?

“Give up on you? Ridley, I love you.” Well here’s to making that giant admission for the first time. I didn’t mean to tell him like this, on a shout, even if I wasn’t actually shouting at him but at the situation starting to get the better of the both of us.

We’re spiraling out of control, love has a habit of causing that to happen. But I know he needs us to hold on, so that’s what we’ll do. And I give his hand one more squeeze.

“A few more weeks,” he says out loud. It’s enough to lighten the mood and get me to laugh instead when he turns to me, “I’m reminding myself now.”

“Oh my god, Rid. Move your butt now or your mom’s getting a show she’s not ready for.”

“I can’t wait to get to school with you,” he casually throws over his shoulder as he opens the door climbing out, and leaving me to think of babies crying and dogs barfing then eating the barf back up. Anything to get my mind off of Ridley and the damn boner he’s left me sporting.

Clearly Mama McAllister wouldn’t take kindly to that after seeing me get out of the car with her son.

Rid noticed. Oh hell, Rid noticed. Right before he’d thrown his “I can’t wait to get to school with you” over his shoulder and climbed out, he’d given that a squeeze too.

Now he waits for me on the stone walk leading up to his front door despite his mother’s encouragement to come inside.

She looks annoyed as all hell with me. Only me. Because how dare I have gotten out of that car? It’s written all over her face, in her body language. I can read people pretty well. But you could be partially blind and see through her wide eyes and hands on her hips what she thinks of me crashing the party. I want to tell her frowning will cause wrinkles but I have the feeling neither she nor Ridley would appreciate that much. Yay for dinner with Ridley’s mom.

This should be fun.

Cordiality, Leif. Remember, cordiality.

“Hey, Ms. McAllister,” I call, jogging up next to Ridley, shooting herthe chin lift. The one known far and wide as the one all dudes use in lieu of a handshake, which I know she’d refuse.

She lets Rid pass but stops me at the door before passing inside. “Thank you for bringing my son home, but we’re having company. You understand.”

“Sure I do. I’m part of the company. Rid invited me.”

“I invited him,” Rid agrees, pulling me through the threshold of the door and knocking his mom out of the way with my shoulder in the process.

Their dinner guests, Amy Rigby and her mom, already sit on the couch in the living room.

Amy’s mom nudges her shoulder urging her to stand, she does, hopping up.

“Ridley,” she says. Not looking him in the eye, or any of us, for that matter. A telltale autism sign. “Hi.”

“Hi, Amy. Good to see you,” he says diplomatically, code for no emotion in his voice. I know him. He’s not trying to be a dick, he just doesn’t want to lead her on.

From that point, things just downgrade from diplomatic to straight-out awkward as Rid’s mom does everything she can to place them together and freeze me out.

When the pizza comes, she arranges Amy next to Rid, Mrs. Rigby next to her and me stuck down at the foot of the table, a lonely island.

Amy likes Rid too. Doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out. Her body language remains stiff and uncomfortable. She avoids focusing on him even more than the rest of us.

Courtship or friendship, no matter which you choose, it’s a dance. For Ridley, a waltz he’s trying like hell to politely keep his arms tight and their bodies that hypothetical balloon width apart, while his mother seems hell bent on forcing the lambada. At each of her “aren’t they cute together?” or “She sure is beautiful, isn’t she Rid?” I hiss or grunt or laugh under my breath.

Ms. McAllister isn’t wrong, the girl is pretty. Really pretty. Long, wavy brown hair she keeps pulled back in a ponytail and a trim, curvy figure. Stunning blue eyes the color of ice. Maybe if he actuallylikeliked girls, he’dlikelike her. Though, she seems to fall a little lower on the spectrum scale than he does.

When I reach for a third slice of pizza, Rid pins me with a pleading stare to get me to shut up. He and I have been “friends” long enough for me to know his mom is looking for any excuse to keep us apart. And although he’s a grown man, she’s still his mom, the woman who raised him—alone—and even more, I don’t think he’s ever truly disobeyed her in his life. But I can’t stop acting like a jealous idiot. I’m in love with the guy. He’smyboyfriend. Mine. None of that matters though when I’m not allowed to claim him the way any guy wants to shout from the rooftops when he’s in love.

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