Page 51 of Not Another Yesterday
“I’m sorry, I missed something,” Steve says. “Who in the world are we talking about?”
Ronan exhales deeply, then directs his gaze at his brother. “Rashana Yates. She’s in the investigative journalism program at Columbia. She’s been… She reached out to me about a story on… on…” The words get stuck in Ronan’s throat. He looks back at me. “But you’re right, I should have told you. I’m sorry. I had thought about it when Rashana first talked to me, but I got sidetracked when my grandmother showed up, and… I don’t know how to explain it, but… I’m trying to be careful with what I give my energy to. Telling you guys about Rashana when I have absolutely zero intention of talking with her is not where I want to put my energy.” He shuts his eyes. “It’s just that there’s so much damn noise, and if I give a voice to all of it…” He trails off. The anguish on his face completely desiccates the anger in me. It crumbles, leaving only the guilt and shame in its wake.
Of course Ronan hasn’t told me about her—wasn’t going to tell me about her—because it’s all still so raw, so painful, so fresh for him. He’s nowhere near done purging his past. While a year without violence may seem like a long time to me, it’s probably nothing to Ronan.
“Ran,” I say softly. He opens his eyes. “I love you. I love you so much, but you need to talk to me. I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to be understanding, but I need you to talk to me. Don’t leave me in the dark. It’s not fair! It’s not fair for me to find out about Rashana from anyone but you. She just showed up at Murphy’s and started asking about you and… it’s not fair!”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
His voice is even, but the words are heavy. Like he’s said all he can say without promising change.
Friday, January 20th
Ronan
Me:
Stay with me tonight.
I text Cat while I grab a quick bite to eat at one of the campus coffee shops in between classes. Break’s over, and both Cat and I are back to our regularly scheduled programming of trying to squeeze in some quality time between our class schedules, Murphy’s, and Cat’s new job.
If you asked her, she’d tell you her job isn’t a real job, but it definitely is. Yeah, she may be working for her mom three days a week for a few hours in the mornings, but it’s honest, paid work. I also think Shane would very much disagree with the assessment that just because you’re working for your parents, means you’re not working a real job.
Cat’s mom broached the idea with her when both our families were gathered at my dad’s on Christmas Eve. She explained that her receptionist asked to reduce her hours in the mornings due to some childcare issues and that this might be a good opportunity for Cat to get some experience.
“Plus, you need something to do other than your boyfriend,” Cat’s dad said. It was meant as a jab—he hardly ever talks to me directly and often will just refer to me as “Cat’s boyfriend”—but Penny and Steve’s snorts of laughter quickly made him realize that his statement came out different than he meant it.
“I’d prefer she stick to doing her boyfriend,” I muttered under my breath, earning me a nudge from Cat, although the grin on her face gave her away.
Cat’s dad didn’t pick up on my comment and just continued to grumble. “You used to play softball and hang out with your friends.”
“Sure,” Cat said with an unimpressed shrug. “But I’m not in high school anymore, and my girlfriends are busy. Vada is in Philly, Summer is in California, and Tori is either with Shane, at school, or at work. And Idohang out with them whenever they’re around.” She turned her attention to her mom. “But I would absolutely love to help you, Mom.”
So since the beginning of the new year, Cat has been working at her mom’s office three mornings a week—answering phones, scheduling appointments, and keeping patient records. From what I can tell, she loves it, which makes me love it in turn. I love that she has something that’s entirely her own, something that gives her purpose outside of school and me, I guess. And she’s definitely bubblier, her mood boosted after I know I’ve done—or maybenotdone—some things that have led to tension between us. I’ve been fucking up. I’m aware. I’malwaysaware. Nothing bothers me more than the knowledge that my actions negatively affect the girl I love more than life itself. All I ever want is to make her happy, to keep her safe. It's just that sometimes those things are mutually exclusive, and, fuck, I’m struggling to figure out a way to give her everything, because shedeserveseverything.
Cat:
Only if you’ll promise to wake me the way I like you to wake me…
The grin on my face is instantaneous. I knowexactlyhow she likes me to wake her when I get back from Murphy’s in the middle of the night. It’s those stolen, quiet hours when the rest of the world sleeps that feel especially intimate. Sex with Cat is always completely consuming, but when my body melds with hers in the middle of the night, it might as well be only us in the entire damn universe. Nothing and no one exists but us.
Me:
I wish it was tonight already so I can (a)rouse you properly.
Cat:
Why is it that just reading your words, I can feel your hands on me, sweet boy. I miss you.
I’m about to write back that I miss her, too, that I want my hands and mouth all over that delicious skin of hers—preferably right fucking now—when I note movement out of my periphery.
I glance up and tense when my eyes meet Rashana’s. I groan—partially frustrated, partially resigned. I can’t escape her.
“Hi Ronan,” she says, more reserved than the last few times she’s accosted me and spouted off like a damn waterfall.
“I’m still not talking to you,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Especially after you invaded my sanctity and talked to my girlfriend.”
“To be fair, she started talking to me.”
