Page 23 of Summer of the Boy

Guys flirted with Amanda all the time. She was and I’m assuming still is a knockout. But she’s a girl and no matter how much I cared about her, and I did, if some other dude stole her from me, what did it matter?

But Rid?

Jealousy’s not a good look on me.

It’s not his mom he needs to worry about. She stays locked up tight in her denial closet. Mrs. Rigby, though, she watches our byplay. She watches us closely volleying a silent communication back and forth.

While his mom prattles on, I see the moment Mrs. Rigby gets it. I see the light click on in her eyes and then dim. No judgment that I can read, but what I can read is that she was hoping her daughter would catch the eye of someone as great as Ridley.

Abruptly she looks down at her watch. “Look at the time. Amy and I have to get home. We’re getting up early tomorrow. Going out of town to meet my other daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.”

Ms. McAllister cuts in, “Oh that should be nice.” Although using chipper words, she doesn’t hide her disappointment.

“Yes. She seems different about him. Different than she’s ever been about a guy before. I think he’s a keeper.” Her eyes shoot to Amy, then to Rid. She looks disappointed too.

It has to be hard, seeing one daughter move ahead in life. That has to be a fear of all parents of, I hate to even think the term, special needs children. Will they have a normal life? Dating, marriage, maybe even kids of their own one day?

It’s just, there’s nothing “special needs” about Ridley. Sure he has some difficulties. But I’d never call him special needs.

She’s just given me the opportunity I’ve been waiting for all night. We’re getting out of here, Ridley and I. “It was great to meet you. Since you have to go Rid and I are going to see the new Marvel movie opening tonight.”

And before I can stop myself, I tug up on the fabric at his shoulder, a universal sign for let’s get going.

Rude much?

Yes.

Oh well.

There’s an overpowering need behind my erratic behavior. A driving force to be alone with him driving me out of my mind. And I know that if I don’t get some of that quality alone time out of Rid soon, his mother’s wakeup call will mean she really won’t be able to deny her son’s sexuality any longer.

Deep down, though, I know if I keep up my actions, it will come back to bite us. I mean, when she no longer lets him around me, I’ll have no one to blame but myself, and Rid will have only me to blame. Which will suck.

I sense his growing conflict. He knows my actions could come back to bite us too. Instead of making this dinner easier on him, I caused him stress. I love him. I’m supposed to take care of him but I caused him stress.

The rocking in his seat increasing and becoming more pronounced, he’s one more smart-assed grunt away from total meltdown. His eyes turn glassy and his teeth clench so tight he’ll probably end up needing caps. Not what I want for him. Never what I want for him, so I decide to bow out gracefully and let him have his night with his mother.

I look to him, “Call me later.” Then I nod to his mother and bid my “good night, thanks for dinner.” As I head to leave Ridley stays behind, still rocking, though it’s slowed considerably.

It guts me to leave him behind, even for a night. My few hookups, my ex-boyfriend, if I saw them, I saw them. Jesus, the intensity of my feelings for Rid kind of freaks me out. Is that kind of intensity healthy?

In the driveway, behind my wheel, I take a moment to collect myself as it feels like I should be rocking in my seat too. I’d spent the whole day with the man and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. Mom’s a social worker, she counsels people for a living. Maybe she could help me figure all this out.

The house door opens and light shines from inside illuminating the people standing on the stoop. With the front door wide open, I watch as Ms. McAllister says goodbye to her guests. My cue to leave, as I shift into reverse I’m surprised when my passenger side door opens and slam on the breaks. I never saw him leave the house.

“Hey,” Ridley says, sliding in next to me.

“Hey,” I say back. The air awkward as hell inside the car.

We both pop out with, “I’m sorry” at the same time.

His response confuses me. So as I back out I ask him, “Babe, what do you have to be sorry about? I was the one being a jealous ass in there.”

“I’m sorry my mom was a jerk and you had to listen to her try to pimp me out to Amy.”

“Did you just say ‘pimp me out’?” I throw my head back to laugh heartily.

“Are you going to break up with me?” he asks in all seriousness, which cuts through the lighthearted atmosphere he’d brought only moments before.

---