This Close to Okay(88)

*



The picture Tallie had taken of them and the one she’d taken of herself were still on his phone. So was the one she sent him that someone had taken at Lionel’s party. He considered keeping them there forever. He loved forgetting about them, then remembering. At times he’d search Google for Tallie, not happening upon much. He’d search for Lionel, too. There’d been a small article written up in the newspaper when Lionel was released from the hospital, although he’d also been in touch with Tallie then, and she’d told him. There was another write-up about Lionel attending a ribbon-cutting ceremony after the new year and another one in the summer about his wild, sprawling home in Architectural Digest. Lionel, a pregnant Zora, and River sat on their long suede couch, smiling at the camera. Rye went out immediately and bought the print copy of the magazine, read every word about the house he’d been in, which seemed like a dream on Halloween night. The article had mentioned the accident, with Lionel saying a friend of his sister’s had basically saved his life. After Halloween, he and Lionel had texted and talked occasionally, Lionel telling him during that first conversation that he knew the truth about who he was and didn’t give a shit about any of it—Rye was his friend for life.

*



Lionel had called Rye after the holidays and asked him if he’d ever considered opening a restaurant of his own. They spoke at length about how—when and if he was ready—Lionel would love to help him out and be one of his investors. Lionel floated the idea of Rye opening another lake restaurant or a fleet of food trucks. Rye was stunned with gratitude and told him he’d definitely be the first person he called once he could get to a proper headspace about something that huge. And the last time they talked, Lionel had reminded Rye that he had an open invitation to come to Louisville and hang at his place, but Rye hadn’t responded. He kept the copy of Architectural Digest by his bed in his new small, cozy apartment, and he’d gotten a candle that smelled like one of Tallie’s. He’d never lit it, but he liked to take the top off and sniff.

*



He went quiet on Tallie, too, feeling like it was better for her to move on. She had a great life, and he worried his darkness would swallow her up. He had nothing to offer her, and she had so much. And besides, what were they to each other? Friends? Casual acquaintances? Two people who’d hooked up and spent a wild, weird weekend together? More than that? Nothing? It was spring, and he hadn’t seen her since that Sunday after Halloween. And every time he picked up his phone to respond to her, a voice in his head told him it was the wrong time.

He thought of her every day. He tried not to dwell on whether she was seeing Nico or anyone else. He didn’t know if what he felt was jealousy, but it was close enough. For so long he thought nothing mattered. How could it? But he knew Tallie mattered. Her kindness and patience and forgiveness had changed his life by making him want to keep it.

With his parents’ support, and after finding new medication that worked, he’d gotten through the holidays and found himself lifted at the promise of warm weather. He met a woman in the spring whom he enjoyed spending time with after work. She was pretty and smart and funny, and they’d see lighthearted movies together and go for long trail walks, but her pharmaceuticals sales job took her away to Indianapolis. She’d hinted that maybe he could come with her, but he didn’t want to leave Nashville yet. He’d made a close friend at the restaurant where he worked and liked spending time with him and his wife, their families. Rye’s apartment was a ten-minute walk from the restaurant, and he enjoyed the familiar, comforting chaos of his cooking schedule, plus the rituals of grabbing Saturday afternoon coffee at the joint on the corner before work and the walk back to his place late on Sunday nights. Staying busy during the week with only Mondays and Tuesdays off helped keep his mind as occupied as it needed to be. When he wanted to be around people, he could do that. And when he wanted to be alone, he could make that happen, too.

Rye joined a small church in his neighborhood, and some of the people in the congregation knew his story. He tried his best to take 1 Thessalonians 4:11–12 to heart. Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.

He began painting during his hospital stay. Art therapy. He didn’t think about it too hard, just put his brush to the canvas, loving the feel of it. He’d simply paint an entire canvas one color, then cover it with another. His apartment was filled with canvases leaning against the walls. Some of them hanging. The smell of paint soothed him, reminding him of dreams and a future he’d previously kept unwritten.

Rye melted, cooling hard and flat when he saw a kid Brenna’s age, and he knew that would never go away. Brenna would be seven; Brenna would be seven and a half. And the same thing happened whenever he encountered a woman who reminded him of Christine. Christine’s eyes, Christine’s hair, Christine’s face. Christine would be thirty. The stabby math of grief would never add up. It would always be as if Christine and Brenna had gone on a long trip without him, never to return.

But one day. One day, he’d get his ticket, too.

*



He’d gotten Tallie’s art museum voice mail and texts and thought of writing her back I love you too and I’ll be there if you’re sure it’s okay. Wrote and deleted it four times before putting his phone down, leaving it unsent. After hearing about it, Hunter had urged Rye to go to Louisville. “It sounds like she really cares about you…you have to accept that. There’s no way around it. Do you care about her? If you care about her you should go, simple as that. She asked you to. Dude. Go!”