Bring Me Back(46)

I take a seat on the velvet couch and wait for my name to be called. I have to wait a little longer than normal because of the sandwich. When my name’s finally called, I grab the bag with the sandwich and muffins, plus the cardboard drink carrier. Someone’s nice enough to hold the door open as I head out. I set everything on the floor of my car and I’m pretty sure my navigation system breathes a sigh of relief when I finally listen to her.

Ryder’s house turns out to be only a few neighborhoods over from mine.

It’s a small two-story bungalow. Three steps lead up the front door and a small porch with two white rocking chairs. There’s a large window on the second floor with a balcony. It’s cute and homey, definitely still boasting small touches left behind from Ryder’s wife—like the navy and white striped pillows on the rocking chairs.

I open my car door before reaching over to grab the bag and cup holder. I balance everything carefully so I can get out of the car without spilling coffee all over the inside of my car.

I walk up to the front door, and since my hands are full, I bump my shoulder against the doorbell. It’s only after it rings loudly that I realize I shouldn’t have done that in case his son is still sleeping.

The door swings open and Ryder stands there in a pair of sweatpants and a waffle-knit Henley. Behind him, a little boy runs across the hall, yelling, “Weeeee,” as he goes. The boy is completely naked and Ryder looks exhausted.

“Sorry about that,” Ryder says, pushing his glasses up his nose before ushering me inside.

The little boy comes running back by. “Weeeee,” he cries again.

“Don’t have kids,” Ryder jokes.

“Bit late for that.” I laugh.

He chuckles and closes the door. “Right. Here, let me take that.” He reaches for the items in my hand.

I start to hand them over, but then his son comes running back to us and crashes into Ryder’s legs, making him stumble. I quickly move so that the drinks don’t spill.

“Cole,” he admonishes, “where’s your diaper? And your clothes?” To me, he says, “The kid won’t leave his clothes on. I’m going to start duct taping them on.” He picks up Cole, and the little boy smiles bashfully before ducking his head against his dad’s shoulder. He looks a lot like Ryder with a mop of dark hair and dark eyes framed by thick black lashes. He points to my right. “Kitchen is that way. You can’t miss it. I’m going to get this one dressed … again.” He sighs and starts up the steps.

I head in the direction he indicated and through a dining room into the kitchen. It’s bright and cheery with white cabinets, gray countertops, and yellow walls. I set the drinks and paper bag on the oak wood table and pull out one of the chairs, taking a seat while I wait.

I hear the steps creak a few minutes later and Ryder steps around the corner into the kitchen with a fully-dressed Cole.

“He’ll be naked in twenty minutes, tops.” Ryder shakes his head as he puts Cole in his highchair.

“I got you breakfast,” I tell Ryder. “And I got Cole a muffin; it’s blueberry, so hopefully he likes that.”

Ryder grins. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. Cole loves blueberry muffins, but only because he thinks it’s dessert.” He shrugs.

I smile and open the bag, handing Ryder his sandwich and Cole’s muffin.

“I’m starving,” he says, staring at the Saran-wrapped sandwich with longing. “When it’s just Cole and me it’s hard to find time to feed myself. He’s at a stage where I can’t let him out of my sight.” He picks up the muffin and goes to get a plate. He cuts it into small bite-size pieces for Cole and puts it on an animal-shaped plate. It looks like a tiger.

Ryder puts the plate on Cole’s highchair and the little boy’s face lights up.

I take my own muffin and peel the wrapper off.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Ryder asks, already on his second bite of sandwich.

I shrug and sip at my tea to stall for time. I have no idea what to say.

“Blaire,” Ryder says in a stern tone, “you can talk to me.”

“I know, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Talking to you makes me feel better.”

He grins. “Good. I take it our talk the other day helped?” He raises a single dark brow and waits for my answer.

“It did.” I wrap my hands around my cup. “Yesterday, I was good … not great, but more normal than I have been since I lost … since I lost Ben.” I swallow around the lump in my throat. I hate saying his name out loud now, and I, in turn, hate myself for hating it. Ben was the love of my life and it feels like an injustice to his memory to not be able to say his name, which is why I’m forcing myself to use it. “But today,” I pause, searching for the best way to explain, “… today I woke up and as soon as I opened my eyes I knew it wasn’t going to be a good day. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and not do anything.”

Ryder is quiet and he seems to be mulling over what I said. “But you did get out of bed,” he comments, peering at me over the top of his glasses, “and you called me. Look, Blaire, you even went by the coffee shop and got drinks and food.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, my nose crinkling with my confusion.

“Everything.” He gives me a look like he can’t understand why I don’t see what he’s saying. “You didn’t let your grief conquer you, you conquered it. You saw where your day was going and you stopped it. You should be proud of that, Blaire.”