Page 17 of Only the Small Bones
“Trust me, he won’t ask you anything.”
She frowned at my remark, her gaze brimming with concern. I should’ve told her everything the last time we spoke, but I hadn’t realized then that Ryan being non-verbal went deeper than him not wanting to speak to me. I still didn’t fully understand it. Maybe he’d speak to her. “What aren’t you telling me, William?”
Sighing, I glanced toward Ryan’s closed door before gesturing with my chin for her to continue to the kitchen.
Setting the bags on the counter, I spotted a whole chicken in one of them. At least it wasn’t tenders. “He hasn’t spoken. I’m not sure if he can.”
She slipped out of her blazer, setting it on the back of one of the stools before crossing her arms. “There could be a number of reasons for that. I’d need to spend more than an evening with him to be sure.”
“This isn’t a session,” I said. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s being observed, but…”
“But you want me to observe him.”
“Yeah, basically.”
She patted my cheek, something she’d been doing since I was a boy.
“Is Davidson coming?”
“No, but Xavier might stop by.” As soon as I said it I realized I’d forgotten to tell him he could come over. I’d told him I’d let him know. My mother seemed intrigued by the news. “We work together. That’s all.”
“Does he know that?” She strolled over to the pill bottle I’d left on the counter in my rush to let her in. I’d been about to take one. I groaned inwardly, not knowing which was worse, her probing me about my love life, or her worrying about my mental health.
“You’re taking these again?” She was no longer concerned about me and Xavier. Her gaze and her tone were soft, her profession making her good at hiding her fear for me.
“Work’s been stressful,” I lied, as if I didn’t know she’d see right through me.
She moved in closer, her heels clicking on the floor. “Work is what you usually do torelievestress.” She eyed my facial expression. I kept it as neutral as possible. “What’s really going on, baby? Is this about—”
“No,” I cut in harshly, not wanting to hear her utter the words. Exhaling, I planted a kiss on her forehead in apology before whispering, “I already have a therapist. I just need you to be my mother.”
“Mothers care, you know.” She swatted my chest when I gave her a who-are-you-trying-to-fool look. She’d been well on her way to doctor-mode, and we both knew it.
“I’m fine,” I tried to assure her. She gave me her own skeptical look. The sound of a door opening saved me. We turned in the direction of the hall, and a moment later Ryan’shead nervously peeked into view, the rest of him becoming visible soon after.
We stared at each other, and maybe his silence rubbed off on me because I couldn’t locate my words. He wore a pair of charcoal slacks and a white button down. The two top buttons were undone. I’d ordered him a decent number of items for any occasion just in case. Better to be prepared than not. I hadn’t expected him to dress up for dinner, though.
He’d slicked his hair back, his cheeks still rosy from the shower. It always took time for him to cool down. I often wondered how he still had skin on his bones when I imagined the molten lava degree of the water he bathed under. It was almost as if he were trying to burn something away. Something that went beyond skin deep. Something he couldn’t quite get to.
I felt underdressed in my loose, paint splattered jeans and threadbare t-shirt. This wasn’t a formal dinner, but I guess he didn’t know that, and I didn’t think to mention it. I’d felt lucky enough that he hadn’t had a fit about her coming over. Good thing my mother was wearing her work clothes. It made it so I was the oddball out, not him.
“Guess we’re being left to make introductions for ourselves,” my mother said, eyeing me with mock disappointment. “I promise you I raised him with manners.” She smiled over at Ryan. “I’m Maxine. Most people call me Maxie, though.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. Didn’t put him in a position where he’d feel rude or embarrassed by his limitations. “You must be Ryan. I hope you’re hungry, because I brought enough food to feed a village.” She shooed me out of the way to get to the bags of groceries. “How about you help me get started, Ryan. Let’s place the veggies in one pile, and everything else in another pile.”
Gratitude consumed me. I hadn’t gotten around to mentioning that he liked to watch his food being prepared, but itseemed she knew the one way to get him to warm up to her was to get him involved.
“You look nice,” I said, emerging from my brain fog to compliment him before adding “You both do,” because I didn’t want it to seem weird that I’d singled him out.
Ryan ran a hand down his shirt, then looked me up and down.
“I, ah, haven’t gotten dressed for dinner yet.”
“Chop, chop,” my mother said to Ryan, her urgent tone meant to activate him. She’d used it on me enough as a child for me to know. “Everyone’s got to work for their food. Mr. No-manners over there brought the bags inside, so I suppose he’s done his part.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as Ryan made his way to the opposite end of the counter. “I wouldn’t trust him to do more than that, to be honest. If it can’t go in a toaster, he can’t make it.” She winked, and Ryan’s mouth softened at the corners.
Ryan started unloading the bags, reluctantly at first, then with more confidence when my mother began to hum, seemingly ignoring him as though she trusted him to do his part. I knew she was fully aware of him and already gathering information for her hypothesis.
I stepped out of the kitchen, then waited until I’d caught her eye to beckon her over. She said something to Ryan, probably telling him she’d be right back, before heading toward me.
“Don’t tell him anything I wouldn’t,” I murmured. I gave her resulting saccharine smile a stern look.
