77
Chris
I’m sitting on the swinging bench in my garden, a glass of wine in my hand and tears pouring from my heart. I’ve started to come out here a lot in the evenings, every time I miss him so much that I want to cry – and out here, Evan can’t hear my sobs.
He didn’t really ask me anything about why Ryan had gone, just like he never did when Ryan was here. He just understood: he saw the empty spot on the sofa and filled it himself, just like he always has. I don’t want Evan to do that for me. He’s my son, my whole life, but he shouldn’t have to stand in for a man that will never be coming back. Maybe it’s just supposed to be the two of us. Or, should I say, just me – Evan’s growing up fast, and soon he’ll want to get as far away from this house as possible.
I hadn’t ever really thought about those things. Sure, Ryan being here made me hope that there could be a future for us. One day, I’d love to extend my family: but that doesn’t mean anything. I never tried to force him into anything he wasn’t ready for.
Instead, Ryan decided to take his chances. He decided not to see where this thing could’ve taken us. He ended it right away, before there could be a tomorrow for either of us.
I hug myself on the bench, starting to feel the evening chill, when a warm blanket appears over my legs.
“You’ll catch something if you keep spending every night out here,” Evan says, standing in front of me. “The café’ll be open again in a few days, and you don’t want to be ill for that.”
“Thanks, honey.”
He sits down next to me and pushes his legs, swinging us both.
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I don’t like what he did to you.”
“He didn’t do anything, he just left. Like he should’ve.”
“I don’t like that he made you feel so… I’m not used to seeing you like this.”
“It’ll pass. He’s not the first man to break my heart.”
“You’ve never cried over a man before.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. But you cry every night over him, out here, when you think I can’t hear you. And then you keep crying even when you’ve gone to bed. But Icanhear you. And I don’t like it. I feel like going to his and breaking his face, but I’m scared that he’d hit me ten times harder. I want to hug you and tell you it’ll get better, without you pretending that everything’s fine. Because it’s not fine, Mum. Nothing’s fine.”
I nestle into his shoulder and let the tears fall.
“I don’t want to see you cry.”
“It’s not exactly nice for me either, but it’s just for a second, okay? I’ll be fine soon.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I say, making one of those promises that I know I’ll never keep.
I won’t be okay, and it definitely won’t be soon. Or maybe it will, for everyone else. For Evan. I’ll be fine – I’ll hide behind one of my big smiles, and no one will realise that it’s fake. Because the only person who’s able to see through them is the one person who took them away.
