Page 54 of Written in the Oceans

Rhylan:Whatever I did for your mom to think I’m not a gentleman, can I make it up to you?

His tone is more serious, less mocking, even through text messages.

Me:Depends on how.

Rhylan:How about I start with meeting her?

I pause. Meeting my mom? My mom had suggested it too. But having the two of them actually meet, watching them exchange awkward greetings and seeing her swoon over him like she does when we watch one of his movies at home, is different. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

Me:She did say she wanted to meet you. She saw you drop me off the other night.

Rhylan:Then it’s settled. I’m meeting your mom. We can’t have her thinking that I’m not a gentleman.

He ends the conversation with a winking emoji. I hold the phone to my chest and smile.

* * *

“Come on in,” I answer the door.

Rhylan stands on the other side of the threshold, his hair disheveled and slightly wet as if he has just gotten out of the shower. He’s in sweatpants worn casually with a plain white undershirt. He smirks as his eyes travel down to my equally comfortable pajama pants, a plaid mesh of Christmas red and green. My hair’s tied up haphazardly in a messy top bun, and my hoodie hangs loosely on my small shoulders.

It’s Friday evening, and after a long week of homework, essays, and study groups, I called Rhylan to see if he was free. When he said yes, informing me he was already out, having finished an intense gym session and in need of a relaxed night in, I took advantage of the small window where our schedules didn’t clash. I invited him over knowing that my mom would be with Aunt Janice for the night, though I didn’t tell her that we’d have company. I offered my home as a place that felt secluded from the rest of the world, as privacy felt scarce in our relationship.

With him inside the comforts of my home, I feel like the sumptuous celebrity exterior of Rhylan has melted off, whittling us both down to the most informal and unpretentious form of ourselves. Rhylan slumps onto the couch, eyeing the selection of candies and the large bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table. Before he’s able to make his selection, Angus comes bounding in to sniff up a storm.

“That’s Angus,” I inform Rhylan.

He leans forward as his hand heavily pats the top of Angus’s head, Angus’s tongue hanging loosely from his open mouth. “You’re an old soul, aren’t you?” Angus slops Rhylan with a wet kiss as his smile deepens.

“So,” I start. “I haveYou’ve Got Mail, Serendipity, How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days,andShe’s All That.”

Rhylan reaches for a bag of Twizzlers before perusing the options I’ve laid out for him. “Are you trying to drown me in estrogen?”

I lift a shoulder, smiling shyly. “Something like that.”

“How aboutShe’s All That,” he decides. “I haven’t seen that one.”

“Excuse me?” I say with a gasp. “How have you not seen the greatest nineties movie of all time?”

He shrugs. “It’s on my queue. I just never got around to it.”

“Well tonight is your lucky night, sir.”

An hour into the movie with Angus’s head lying heavily on Rhylan’s lap and Rhylan’s arm draped over the back of the couch behind me, I notice how tonight is different from any other time we’ve spent together. The cocoon we’ve created that encases us in a protective shelter from everything else in the world makes the both of us feel safe and hopeful that maybe this can be our new norm.

I’m slowly learning more things about Rhylan. Like that he’s a dog person, and that he prefers the tongue-shockingly sweet flavor of candies over the savory taste of salty snacks like popcorn or potato chips. Or that he prefers drama flicks over rom-coms, even though he’s starred in a dozen of them. And he’s finding out similar quirks about me too. Like the fact that I incessantly talk during movies, or that, even when it’s hot, I wear sweaters and cozy socks to stay comfortable.

As our attention sways in and out from the movie, he asks me questions. Random topics pertaining to my day to day.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks through a mouthful of Peanut M&M’s.

“I’m having dinner with my mom and her new boyfriend.” I put an emphasis on the wordboyfriend. I’m still getting used to the word when linked to my mom, and it’s still a bit unsettling.

His brows furrow. “Is this the first time you’re meeting him?”

I nod through pursed lips. “I haven’t told her, but… I’m a little nervous.”

He doesn’t ask why or question my intentions. Instead, he silently listens as I slowly pour out my wavering uncertainty.

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