Page 28 of Summer of the Boy

“I don’t know. Just let me talk to him first. It’s really a decision we should make together.”

Mom stands and pats my leg. Shaking her head, she doesn’t answer me but does mumble a low, “I knew it would happen… that boy’s gonna be my son-in-law someday.” And she walks out of my room.

I might have just had the strangest conversation of my life.

And I’m oddly okay with it.

***

Two more days pass before I see Ridley again. His mother wouldn’t let me come over that day, his day off, and the following days he worked. But she tasked Asshat Trucker with keeping me away. I tried to push through, but the asshat threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave.

He had me going out of my mind not seeing or speaking to him. Was he okay? Ridley McAllister is like a drug. I’m totally addicted and I know it. What’s worse, I don’t ever want him cleansed from my system.

He’s at work, but today I’m allowed back.

“Rid. Hey, Rid,” I call out as I jog up to his game. Something’s wrong though. He looks up, catches my eye but turns away, no smile for me and healwayshas a smile for me. This has me slowing my jog instead of speeding up. Why would he turn away?

He looks good today. Still in one of his T-shirts, but back in those golf shorts he wore when I first met him.

“Ridley?”

Nothing. No response.

“Ridley. Look at me.” He does, but does it opening and closing his hands into fists. It’s like we’ve erased all the time we’ve put in to get him past this.

“You were with Gabe,” he accuses. Shit. “Don’t deny it, he told me.”

“I’m not going to deny it. I’m surprised he told you.”

“He asked me not to tell anyone.” Open. Close. Open. Close. “You warn me off him and you’d been with him.”

“Yeah, like once. We messed around. He was the only other gay kid I knew at the time. What’s going on here? Doyouwant to be with him?”

“No. But you messed around at the jetty.” Crap. “The jetty where I gave you me.” Open. Close. Open. Close. “I think you should go now.” His words come hard. Harder than he’s ever talked to me before, but I can hear the hurt underneath.

“No, Rid. I’m not leaving. We need to talk this out.”

“My mom was right. I’m not ready for this. You should go.” Open. Close. Open. Close. “I’m not ready,” he repeats himself. Open. Close. “You should go.”

“Come on, we need to talk it out.”

He still won’t look me in the eye. “Mr. Trucker,” he yells. He yells for the asshat.

“Fine, I’ll go. But we’re not done.”

“We’re done,” he whispers.

The pain in my gut at those words is so harsh I feel like he literally shoved a blade in and twisted. I have to get out before I make a fool of myself crying like a flipping baby.

***

For two weeks I avoid the carnival and the boardwalk, the beach and the jetty. Gabe had the nerve to show up to the jetty the last time I went. Jock cut, board shorts and rippling abs on display. He actually thought I’d blow him. In secret of course. Because he’s not gay. After all, he has a girlfriend. Ruin my shot at love for a secret blowie. Just like Gabe-freaking-Cera.

Mom wanted to talk but talking would be the last thing I want to do. So to avoid her and her questions I’ve been hanging at the park across from St. Luke’s Medical Center.

Farther inland the humidity this time of year can reach unbearable levels. In my effort to hide, from the heat and from the world, I stick to the swings tucked underneath the canopy of lush green foliage from the hickory trees to shade me from the direct sun. I’d rather be at the beach, but it’s too hard.

Heartbreak sucks.

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