Page 48 of Jerk
“I was actually leaving,” Rye says. “As soon as I change.”
“Nonsense, stay,” My father insists.
“Thank you, but I should be going.”
“Don’t be ridiculous." My father waves him off. "It’s a long drive home, and Elena was about to order some dinner from our favourite. They have the best lobster brought in from the coast."
"Pa, he should go."
“Hannah, put these in our room while Young Rowen and I grab a Padron.”
When my father wheels the luggage out of my mother's hand towards me, she almost falls. She steadies herself, her glasses slipping enough to show a glimpse of purple under her eye.
“Ma!” I reach out.
“Listen to your father.” She puts a hand up, stopping me from moving closer. Without another word, she heads to the kitchen with slow, wobbly steps, like her body is in pain.
“Let me help you.” I’m not leaving her another moment with my father. “I can put these up later.”
“Hannah, please do as requested,” My father pipes up, a cigar from the bar already in his hand. “Your mother is fine.”
“I—”
“And please, take a shower,” he says. "You stink."
Rye’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I’ll stay down here with her. Once you’re back, I’ll go change.” A weight lifts off my chestwhen I hear his words, my eyes locking with his. No smirk. No chuckle.
I nod, my stomach softening. "I'll be quick."
As I roll the suitcases to the master room, Rye shares a story about his time in France before my father's laughter fills the house. It's a sound I haven't heard in a long time. My feet slow as I make my way to the main bathroom, listening as Rye tells a story about a woman who beat a man with a baguette. Small talk isn't something I've heard from him before. It almost makes him human.
He keeps my parents occupied while I finally take a shower, the warm water soothing me. It washes over the burn on my back, reminding me of how gentle Rye was with his hands in the kitchen. His lips on my skin. His hands on my ass. His touch so soft it almost felt wrong.
Did something change between last night and this morning? He can’t answer my text, but he can make me feel… like that?
I won’t get any answers in this shower, so I’m quick to dry off before throwing on a simple vintage sundress. Prada.
When I’m back downstairs, Rye continues to make my parents laugh. My mom still sits in her sunglasses and pashmina, but her mood looks lifted. They’re all sitting in the living space around plates from Silver Lake Bistro, soft jazz in the background. Even with Rye still in that robe, it looks like a scene from a lighthearted rom-com.
“Hannah, there you are.” My mother calls. She picks up a plate of crispy chicken fingers. “We have your favourite.” My brows furrow. Sheneverlets me eat those. “Ryung ordered them.” My eyes shoot to his, and he actually smiles. It’s like a rare full moon, softening the sharp features of his face. His eyes dart around my dress as I walk over.
Did I die last night? This all feels so surreal.
My parents hang on to Rye's every word as I sit on the sofa. They laugh on cue, nodding along to his stories about travelling places with his mother. It’s like we’re back at school, Rye commanding the quad. Except this time, he’s taking control in a place I’ve never had it. My home.
My stomach twists, the feeling from this morning colliding with the feelings I had before. Warmth and cold. Dark and light. Menacing and?—
“You can teach Hannah a thing or two,” my father says, leaning back in his chair. “She's lost without some guidance.”
My brows lower as I swallow hard on my last bite of fried potato. “It's easy to be lost when you don’t have a home.”
“Rowen, are you this ungrateful?” my father asks, ignoring me.
My muscles stiffen, and I need a fucking cigarette. Why does he get all the praise when I’m the one suffering?
I answer my father’s question first, the words falling out of my mouth. “He’s too busy planning sex parties to clock his privilege.”
Rye looks over his glass at me as my father clears his throat. “They’re tied to my mother’s lingerie line,” he says, sitting up in his chair. "It’s marketing.”
