Chapter Text
“We got a lovers quarrel going on back here? I could hear you lizards from the parking lot.”
Richie wasn’t sure why he said that. Habit probably. When in doubt, be an asshole.
Sydney and Carmy both turned to him, startled, but it only took a second for Syd’s look of surprise to morph into displeasure. She wasn’t happy to see him. His gut clenched in anticipation anyway.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Richie didn’t look away from Syd’s glower, but he could feel Carmy’s gaze heavy on the side of his face. The tension in the alley was thick, and it wasn’t just because Richie had shown up. Clearly they’d been having an intense conversation. Had Richie actually stumbled into a lover’s quarrel? He glanced at Carmy, whose face was red, his eyes shining in that way that meant he was really upset. Richie looked back at Syd and scanned like he somehow read her relationship status in her angry expression. Chances were she probably hadn’t been with Carmy when she kissed him on the sidewalk two months ago, but that could’ve changed.
“What are you doing here?” Syd demanded.
What was he doing here? That was really the question of the day.
That morning Richie had woken up on the most comfortable mattress he’d ever slept on. He hadn’t even known mattresses could feel like that. His spine was so aligned it was uncomfortable.
The lake house he and Kat were staying at belonged to Kat’s uncle. Richie assumed the uncle had money since he owned a second home, but he hadn’t expected anything so fucking fancy. The house was huge and oppressively gorgeous, all marble and soaring ceilings and carpeting so thick you couldn’t hear footfalls. Richie had tried to hide how impressed he was from Kat so he wouldn’t seem like a yokel, but when he saw the breathtaking view of the lake he couldn’t hold back a loud holy shit.
Kat laughed. “I know. Uncle Mike is rolling in it.” She smiled. “And we get to benefit.”
Richie had smiled back and shoved aside the uneasy feeling that he didn’t belong there. That feeling tended to crop up when he wound up in places that were too nice for the likes of him. He used to let that feeling make him rash and stupid, like being a loud asshole in a nice restaurant was a fuck you to “the man.” Richie wouldn’t let that happen on this trip. He was enlightened now after all.
The first night went well. He and Kat went to the local grocery store to get supplies. Richie impressed her by making a mean pasta. They sat on the patio and drank wine while watching the sun set over Lake Michigan. They showered in separate but equally nice and spacious bathrooms, then had good sex in the implausibly comfortable bed.
It was all so adult. Anyone could ask what he’d done this weekend, and he could answer without shame. I vacationed with my girlfriend in Union Pier. What a respectable reply. There was no need to evade the question to hide a drinking binge or a brush with the law. The girlfriend in question was perfectly age appropriate. She was the kind of woman who made vacation plans and had access to a beach house.
If Mikey could’ve seen it he would’ve mocked Richie relentlessly. Look at you Richie Rich, moving on up in the world.
Richie had woken up thinking about Mikey. He had the sense he’d dreamt about him, though he couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed. Kat was still sound asleep. They’d polished off a bottle of wine last night and reds always made her sleepy. Richie dressed silently and headed down to the beach to try to clear his head.
Mikey and he had only gone to the beach together a handful of times. Mikey wasn’t a nature person. Richie could get into a nature documentary, but Mikey didn’t have the patience. Every time they decided to drive to Lake Michigan they’d leave full of enthusiasm about water and sunshine and hot girls only to be irritated by the sand and the heat and each other within a matter of hours. Mikey had enjoyed how tan he got, and the admiring comments it got from the Beef’s regulars, which pissed Richie off, ‘cause he always got sunburned. Richie had enjoyed the sound of the water. On more than one occasion he’d yelled at Mikey to shut the fuck up so he could enjoy the music of the goddamn tides.
The path to the beach was to the left of the house, through the trees. The mix of beach and forest always struck Richie as incongruous, two such dominating landscapes existing side by side. He liked it.
The late fall sunlight was pale and scattered, making everything look hazy. It wasn’t cold, but it was windy, buffeting Richie as he walked and churning the water into white peaks. There was no one on the beach except a jogger far in the distance. Richie wandered for a while, trying not to think about how clear the sound of the tide was without Mikey to talk over it.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Mikey would say. You got a hot woman waiting in bed for you and you’re thinking about me?
Mikey would have a point.
Richie sat down on the sand, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared out at the horizon. His chest hurt.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Here he was, on vacation with his lovely girlfriend, staying in a literal mansion. They’d made plans to introduce each other to their kids when they got back to Chicago. He’d told Tiff about Kat and she seemed excited to meet her.
His new apartment was great. The air conditioning actually worked and Eva loved her room. His recent performance review at work had gone well. His coworkers liked him, and he liked them. It seemed like he might be getting a raise soon. He might be able to trade in his car for one that didn’t smell like grease.
For the first time since Uncle Jimmy fired him, Richie was checking all the boxes. For the first time since Mikey died his life wasn’t in free fall.
So why did his chest hurt?
Richie kept staring at the horizon as his eyes blurred. Maybe if he ignored the tears they’d go away.
That didn’t work. The tears kept coming, and not just tears. No amount of force could suppress the pressure building behind his heart from erupting into an absolutely humiliating, pitiful sob that broke the calm of the morning. More and more chest heaving sobs followed. The sand underneath him became pockmarked with teardrops. His throat started to hurt. He could barely breathe, but he still kept fucking crying, so long and so hard that his lungs burned and his abs were sore. He hadn’t cried like this since Mikey died, since Tiff dumped him, since he got rejected from state school, since his dad left, since whenever.
A distant, observant part of Richie was shocked by the depth of his own misery. Everything was fine, everything was right, and it didn’t matter. Somehow, despite all that fucking effort, it didn’t fucking matter.
How long had he been this fucking sad? What the fuck was he crying about? The why didn't seem to matter either. Richie stopped thinking, stopped feeling anything but the physical sensation of fucking wailing, his body curving in on itself with the violence and urgency of the act, like it was trying to expel a poison.
He had no idea how much time passed, but by the time the tears slowed and he could breathe again, the sun was higher in the sky, and he felt like a Caprisun that had been sucked dry, blown back up, and stomped on. He was exhausted. He wanted to go home.
Voices drifted toward him on the breeze. Richie looked down the beach to see a large family on a walk, the kids chasing each other in the surf.
He stood, dusted the sand off his jeans, and walked back to the house in a daze. When he got inside he pressed a paper towel dampened with cool water to his eyes to make the redness go away.
His phone rang in his pocket. It was Tiff calling in a flurry of panic to say she and Frank were having car trouble and couldn’t get to Eva on time. Richie told her he’d take care of it, hung up, and called Sugar.
Sugar had been trying really hard to be nice to him lately. Richie could tell she was worried about him. No matter how much he tried to reassure her with positive updates the worry didn’t seem to lessen. Sugar had always seen more and understood more than everyone else. When she answered the phone he could tell she was already concerned.
“Hey Richie,” she said cautiously, “What’s up?”
“Hey, sorry to call so early.”
“It’s no problem, I was already up and moving.”
“Good, good,” Richie said, “So Frank and Tiff are dealing with car trouble, and it’s Eva’s half day at school. I won’t be back for two days, so I told Tiff I’d ask if you could grab Eva and keep her until around eight tonight.”
“Of course,” Sugar said, “I’d love to. But uh, I’d have to take her to work with me. To the Bear.”
Richie shut his eyes. He swallowed twice.
“Yeah, of course, that’s totally fine. I’ll tell Frank to pick her up from there.”
“Great. So how’s it going? Having fun yet?” Sugar asked, trying to make the question sound casual, and failing.
Richie couldn’t lie to her, she could probably tell he was upset from his voice alone. He had to give her something. “It’s nice. But all this water and wilderness makes me existential.”
“Existential how?” she asked warily.
“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” Richie hedged.
“Thinking about what?” Sugar asked.
“I don’t know, a lot of stuff.” He didn’t want to bring up Mikey and ruin her morning. He’d be vague. “I was walking on the beach this morning before Kat woke up, and I realized, I think I might’ve been having a midlife crisis for a while. Years maybe.”
“Well,” Sugar said slowly, “It’s been a tough few years, so that would make sense.”
“Yeah,” Richie said. He felt his throat going thick, and cleared it. “I think I might’ve fucked it up though.”
“How do you even fuck up a midlife crisis?” Sugar asked.
Richie laughed. Good fucking question. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure I did.”
“How?” she asked.
How?
By finally, finally doing everything right, and being miserable anyway.
“I always thought I was a fuck up. And I was, for a really fucking long time. And now, I’m so used to fucking up, I can’t tell when I’ve actually done something good.” He laughed, and it hurt his sore lungs. “I literally can’t tell right from wrong. How am I ever supposed to get my shit together? How am I supposed to be a good person?”
Sugar was quiet. He’d said too much.
“You are a good person, Richie,” she said softly. She was so sweet.
“You’re sweet, Sug,” Richie said. His throat was thick again.
“I mean it,” Sugar insisted. “You’re a good person. You deserve to be happy.”
He swallowed hard. He needed to get off the phone. “You’re sweet. Listen I gotta go, me and Kat are gonna get in the hot tub. Thank you for picking up Eva.”
“Of course,” Sugar said.
Richie hung up and threw his phone down on the counter. He missed Syd so much he felt sick.
He’d thought he was doing the right thing. He’d been absolutely sure of it. He’d gone over and over it in his mind. There was no way they could work out. She’d leave him eventually. If she didn’t end up wanting Carmy instead she’d want a guy just like him, a guy that could give her a future. It made sense. It had to be true.
Richie’s chest convulsed, like his body was trying to sob but no longer had the energy. This time the tears came silent and steady. He slumped back against the counter, covered his eyes with one hand, and missed Syd so much he couldn’t breathe.
He’d had it. He’d had her. In all his fucking mental calculations he’d ignored the fact that she’d been there, with him, on his couch, in his bed, time after fucking time.
She hadn’t wanted him to leave.
She’d told him she loved him and he’d thrown it back in her face. He’d told her he didn’t believe her. He should’ve said thank you.
The regret that swamped him was unbearable. He should’ve fucking said thank you. Thank you for all of it. She’d saved the Bear, and Carmy, and what little positive legacy Mikey had left in the world. He should’ve thanked her and God and his goddamn lucky stars.
He said he didn’t believe her.
He’d been such a fucking coward.
“Richie? Are you okay?”
Richie’s eyes flew open. Kat was standing a few feet away from him, still in her pajamas, brow creased in concern.
“Oh fuck.” Richie scrubbed at his eyes. “Fuck, yeah, sorry, I..I um…”
A dead best friend is a pretty good excuse when a chick catches you crying, Mikey said.
It was a good excuse. It wouldn’t even be a lie.
Richie stood up straight. He looked Kat in the eye.
“Sorry, but um…I think I need to go home,” he said.
Kat was surprised. “What? Why? Is everything okay?”
“Yes, well—Yes, everything is fine but I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He started to gesture between the two of them, but dropped his hand. He was such a dick. “Sorry. This is such a shitty place to do this but I just sort of realized, and I don’t wanna waste your time or take advantage—”
“Let me guess,” Kat cut him off, voice flat. “The ex you kissed?”
Richie’s cheeks burned. He nodded.
Kat’s face went hard. She pivoted on her heel. “Pack your shit.” She started to walk toward the patio. “And be prepared to pay a ton for an Uber or hitchhike, ‘cause I’m sure as shit not driving you home.”
Kat opened the french doors to the patio and slammed them shut behind her.
Richie went upstairs to pack.
The Uber cost two hundred dollars and Richie didn't care at all.
He took too long to answer Syd’s question, so she repeated it, taking a big step toward him and crossing her arms. “Richie? Why the fuck are you here?”
Richie looked at Syd, at her bright angry eyes and twisted up lips and stiff defensive posture, and ached. He felt helpless. How had he managed to resist this moment for so long?
“I missed you,” he said. How had he managed to bear missing her this much, for this long?
For a second it seemed like Syd was so surprised she forgot to be angry, her face slackening, her arms dropping. But the next second she was as angry as Richie had ever seen her.
“Fuck you!” she yelled, startlingly loud. She charged at Richie, arms outstretched, and shoved him so hard he stumbled back. “Fuck you!”
“Whoa! Syd—”
Syd shoved him again. “Fuck you!”
Richie’s hands automatically flew to Syd’s wrists. “Syd, please—”
“How fucking dare you!” she yelled. “How fucking dare you!”
“I’m sorry, I—“
“How dare you waltz in after all this fucking time on some I missed you bullshit! Fuck you! I don’t need you! Go away!” Syd snatched her wrists away and shoved him again, but Richie was prepared this time and stayed steady.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Fuck your sorry! I don’t need you!” she repeated. “You know what I did last night? Had sex with a total stranger! And it was good! Really good! Best sex I ever had! Didn't need you for that!”
Damn.
“And the Bear? It’s doing great! We just got an excellent review in Chicago Magazine! They complimented our service too! Didn’t need you for that!”
Richie’s face started to get hot.
“I have a whole fucking life without you! I have a thriving business and friends and fucking normal dating life that dont include forty-five year old fuck boys! I don’t need you! Go away!”
After that Syd seemed to run out of breath. She stared at Richie furiously, eyes bright with unshed tears.
They could be tears of frustration. She could mean all that shit. Richie had spent months assuming it was true.
“I missed you so much,” Richie said. He didn’t have anything else to say.
Syd’s face crumpled. The tears fell. Fuck.
The Bear’s alley door opened and shut. Carmy had gone back inside.
“I fucking hate you,” Syd said, voice cracking, “You fucking suck.”
“Please don’t cry,” Richie begged.
“Fuck you! I’ll cry if I want!” Syd snapped.
“Okay,” Richie said, “Sorry.”
“You should be,” Syd said, glaring at him through her tears. She was so beautiful. It killed him.
Richie took a tentative step forward.
“Don’t push me again,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Syd said, “I’ll push you if I want.”
Richie took another slow step forward. “Pretty sure that’s assault.”
Syd had to raise her chin to meet his eyes as he grew closer. “No jury would convict me.”
“I don’t know,” Richie said, “The justice system is pretty racist, and I’m a white guy, so.”
Syd looked appalled. “What the fuck?”
Richie raised his hands. “I’m just saying.”
They were inches apart now. He was hit hard by the energy her body put out, the magnetism that seemed specially attuned to make him weak in the knees. His hands itched to touch her.
“If you think I’m gonna let you kiss me you’re out of your fucking mind,” Syd said.
Richie’s eyes were already on her lips.
“Please,” he said.
Syd swallowed. She swayed toward him slightly.
“No,” she said.
Richie lifted his hands, brushed them gently down the curve of her wrists. She didn’t stop him.
“Please,” he asked again. He was realizing at that moment that he wasn’t too proud to beg.
“No,” Syd said.
Richie’s hands shifted inward toward Syd’s waist, his fingers skimmed along the edge of her chef’s whites.
“Please baby,” he said, voice soft. Syd swallowed hard. He hadn’t called her baby very often outside of bed. Another big mistake of his.
“No means no,” she said, “Didn’t they teach you that in school? Or were they not teaching consent in the dark ages?”
Richie smiled. He’d really fucking missed her.
“Okay, no kissing.” He rested his hands lightly on her waist. She shivered. “How about I finger you my car instead? For old times sake?”
Syd blinked in surprise. Richie thought she might shove him again, but by some miracle she appeared to be considering it.
The alley door slammed back open.
“Daddy!”
Syd absolutely would have let Richie finger her in his car.
This was a horrifying revelation. After all this time, after everything she’d done to claw her way forward, she would’ve let him. It was like all that work, all the dating and partying and bad sex with strangers, didn’t even fucking matter. She was back where she’d started.
While Richie scooped his daughter up in his arms, Syd did what could only be described as fleeing, scurrying back into the Bear and hoping he didn’t notice.
Carmy was standing by the lockers inside, head bowed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up when Syd came in. They stared at each other for a second.
“Are you like, still in love with Richie or something?” Carmy asked.
No one had asked Syd that. Not her dad or her cousin or Samira or Tina. Syd hadn’t asked herself either. Something about the bluntness of the question must’ve scrambled her brain, because Syd heard herself reply.
“Yeah.”
She was. She was still in love with Richie.
Still! After everything!
Fuck.
He said he’d missed her. What did that mean?
Carmy was still staring at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Are you pissed at me?” she asked.
Carmy was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. Then he turned around and walked into the kitchen.
Eva was a very perceptive child. Richie loved that about her, but sometimes it made his life difficult.
“What’s wrong Daddy?” she asked.
Richie didn’t like to lie to Eva, he felt like it insulted her intelligence. “I’m just feeling a bit…stressed.” Stressed was the most child friendly way he could think of to describe the existential panic he was trying very hard to tamp down.
“Why are you stressed?” Eva asked.
“Well, um, I’m having a disagreement with a friend,” Richie said.
Eva absorbed this for a moment. “Is Syd your friend?” she asked. Too damn perceptive.
“She was,” Richie said, “I’m hoping she will be again.”
“Why did you stop being friends?” Eva asked.
Because Richie was an idiot and a coward. Because he loved Syd so much he scared himself.
“I was confused,” Richie said.
“About what?” Eva asked.
Richie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Um…well I thought Syd didn’t actually want to be friends with me, even though she said she did.”
“Hmm.” Eva looked pensive for a moment. “That’s silly.”
Richie laughed. “Really?”
“Yes,” Eva said firmly, “Why would someone lie about wanting to be friends?”
Richie laughed again. “Good point.” Really good fucking point.
They were driving to the park. Richie had gone inside to thank Sugar and let her know he was taking Eva. Sugar had clearly been bursting with questions she couldn’t ask with Eva around.
Everything in the Bear looked the same. The same stickers on the lockers, the same pile of bills on Sugar’s desk, the same dull roar of prep from the kitchen. It didn’t hurt to be there, which surprised him. It didn’t feel anything but familiar, like the street where he grew up.
Syd was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like Richie could say anything to her while holding his bloodhound of a daughter in his arms, but he would’ve liked one last look, a chance to ask to talk later.
When they got to the park Eva quickly found other kids to play with. Richie sat on a bench and alternated between watching Eva and trying to formulate a text to Syd. She kept her phone in her locker till the end of service, which gave him approximately six hours to figure out what he should say in the most important text of his life.
It was too much pressure. He spent five minutes staring at the blinking cursor thinking about the enormity of his mistake.
It felt like he’d been sleepwalking through his life only to wake up and realize he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Eight months. He’d barely spoken to Syd in eight months. For eight months she’d been out there, in the world, being the prettiest thing on two feet. Any man could’ve swooped in during that time and done what Richie had been too chickenshit to do when he had the chance.
The clock was still ticking. Richie hardly ever felt a true sense of urgency outside of Eva needing medical care, but everything in him was shouting he needed to get Syd back now. What if the guy she’d fucked last night was in love with her? What if any of the guys she’d spent the last eight months hooking up with were in love with her, and just waiting for their shot? Richie couldn’t let that happen. He hadn’t lost Syd to Carmy, he sure as shit wasn’t gonna lose her to some random asshole she’d met at a fucking rave.
She wasn’t with Carmy. If she had been, there was no way Carmy would’ve left them alone in that alley. He would’ve put himself between Syd and Richie as quickly as possible. That’s what Richie would’ve done.
He’d been so sure that Syd and Carmy were inevitable, so sure that he couldn’t possibly be what she needed that he proved it was true.
He had to get her back. What the fuck would his life be if he didn’t give get her back?
Richie’s fingers started tapping rapidly at his screen. He sent the message before he could stop himself.
I’m sorry. I can explain.
That was lame. That wouldn’t convince her he was serious.
I’m serious, he sent next. Equally lame.
I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us, but I was wrong, he typed out. The right thing is for us to be together.
Was he coming on too strong? He totally was. He deleted it.
This was going to be the longest six hours of his life.
Sydney had worked through hundreds of bad dinner services. Once she’d had to cover for a sous chef who’d stormed out after finding out her boyfriend was sleeping with their best server. One time she’d taken over for a saucier who had a heart attack in the walk-in. She’d once cooked Japanese-Mexican fusion through an active tornado. There’d been that time she’d stabbed Richie in the ass.
That nights’ dinner service didn’t even approach the top ten craziest of her career in terms of the actual events. In fact, nothing of note happened. It just felt weirder. Every sound and sense amplified—the sizzle of meat, the thunk of chopping garlic, the smell of the stock pot burbling, the slosh of the dishwater, the incessant calls for hands. She could feel Carmy avoiding her eyes and Nat’s concerned gaze. She was hyper aware of her heart thumping in her chest, the sweat beading on her brow, the churning in her stomach, and of her phone sitting turned off in her locker.
The feeling might’ve been anticipation. It might’ve been dread.
When the last plate went out Syd walked away from her station, though that wasn’t kitchen policy, and on a normal day she would’ve chewed out any chef that dared. She went to her locker and got her phone. Her phone was old as hell and always took a while to turn on. It felt like forever.
Waiting for her were three text messages from Richie.
I’m sorry. I can explain.
I’m serious
The third text was sent almost an hour later.
Come over tonight. Let me explain in person. I’ll pick you up.
When Richie didn’t hear from Syd by eleven he began to legit despair.
Sending more texts or calling her would be pointless. Clearly she didn’t want to talk to him. It was too little too late. She might not be with Carmy but that didn’t mean she wanted to be with him. She could have any guy she wanted, why would she settle for Richie, who’d shut her down at every turn, who’d taken months to see his mistake, who didn’t know a good thing when it stabbed him in the ass, who—
Richie’s phone rang. He’d been sitting on his couch with the TV on but was really just waiting for his phone screen to light up. He saw it was Syd calling immediately. For some reason he shot to his feet as he picked the phone up.
“Hello?”
“You moved,” she said. It sounded like an accusation.
“Um, yeah,” Richie said warily, heart racing.
“You moved and you didn’t tell me!” Syd said.
“Um…yeah,” Richie repeated.
“That’s so fucking rude,” Syd spat, “It took me like thirty minutes to get over here! I spent the whole time thinking about what I was going to say, and then some other random white man opened the door! I was very surprised! It made me forget all my talking points!”
A smile burst across Richie’s face. “Your talking points?”
“Yes! The points about which I wanted to talk! Some of us organize our thoughts, foreign as the concept may seem to you!”
“You were coming over to see me?” Richie asked, unable to keep the glee from his voice.
“I was, but I’m for sure not talking another train to wherever the fuck you live now so—“
“I’ll come get you. Go sit at the bench near the playground,” Richie said, rushing to his front door.
Syd was silent.
“Syd? Will you wait for me? I’m literally leaving right now.” He snatched his keys off the hook and jammed his feet in his sneakers. “Syd?”
“Fine,” she said begrudgingly.
“Great, I’ll see you soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
Richie’s new place wasn’t far from his old one, so the journey was quick, especially after breaking several traffic laws. It took a second for him to find Syd since she wasn’t sitting on the bench. For a moment he thought she’d left, and his heart fell to the dirty car mat beneath his feet, but then he saw her. She was standing on the other end of the block, leaning against a streetlight with her arms crossed. He took a moment to feel sane again before driving over to her.
Richie rolled down the window as he pulled up. “Why are you standing over here? There's a bench.”
She glared at him. “There’s bird poop on it.”
“On the entire bench?”
Syd’s glare intensified. She stalked angrily to the curb, yanked open the door, and threw herself inside.
“I’m cold,” she huffed. There was no way she was cold, her coat was entirely too thick for the weather. She just wanted to complain.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Syd harrumphed and slumped in her seat. Richie smiled.
“Why didn’t you text me that you wanted to come over?” he asked.
“Because I wanted to use the commute to think,” she said.
“About your talking points?”
Syd cut her eyes in his direction.
“Shut up and drive,” she snapped. “I’m tired of being out in the wilderness.”
Richie suppressed a laugh. He pulled back onto the road.
Syd didn’t say anything as they began the drive to his place. The sharpest of Richie’s panic began to retreat, overwhelmed by the feeling of her sitting solid and real beside him. For years he’d thought this feeling—the pull of her presence, of her body—was making him stupid, making him delusional, making him believe in a love and a life he couldn’t possibly have. But it wasn’t. The feeling was right.
But there were still so many ways this could go wrong. He needed to stay on his toes.
A few minutes passed and Syd was still silent. Richie kept stealing glances at her from but she kept her gaze forward.
“Feeling warmer?” he asked.
“Who was the person you were seeing?” Syd asked abruptly. “And are you still seeing her?”
Richie was taken aback. “Oh. I—“
“I’m assuming it was a her, unless you decided to get bisexual with it in the last six months,” Syd said.
“Eight months,” Richie said, “And yes it was a her. And no we’re not seeing each other anymore.”
Syd absorbed this without comment. When Richie glanced at her she didn’t look happy. They were almost to his apartment now. He slowed and turned onto his street.
“Um, I can explain about her if you want. Her name was Kat, and when we met I was—“
“When did you break up?”
Richie opened his mouth, then hesitated. Fuck. The answer would sound kind of bad.
“Let me park real quick,” he said, spotting a space that would take some maneuvering, for which he was perversely grateful.
He could feel Syd’s eyes on the side of his head as he paralleled parked, finally looking at him when he couldn’t look at her. He could also feel the suspicion in her gaze.
Finally he turned the car off, though he hadn’t found any better way to phrase the truth.
“Well?” Syd said. She was still looking at him full on, arms crossed, face hard.
Richie winced preemptively. “Listen. So. I broke up with her this morning, but what you need to understand is—“
“This? Morning?”
Syd bolted from the car. Richie followed.
“Syd!”
“So you break it off with someone this morning and immediately come running back to me? Like oh my current sex tap has run dry let’s go back to Syd she always puts out!”
“Jesus Christ Sydney, no!”
Syd was standing on the sidewalk, and took several steps back as Richie approached her.
“Was the plan to dump me again when something better came along?” she said, “I’m just the stop gap between your serious relationships?”
“No! What? Syd come on that’s fucking ridiculous—“
“Oh I’m ridiculous? I’m ridiculous?”
“That’s not what I—“
“How old was this woman?” Syd demanded. “Huh?”
Richie was baffled by the subject change. “What? Why does that matter?”
“Just answer the question,” she said, chin raised.
“She was around my age,” he said, “Maybe a year or two younger. Why—“
“Oh really, your age? Then why did you even break up with her? She sounds perfect! Very mature!”
Richie was in deep shit much more quickly than he’d anticipated. “Listen, okay, you're right, I’m sorry—“
“I’m right? So I am just the stop gap until another eligible forty something comes along?”
Richie huffed frustratedly. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“How?” Syd threw her arms wide. “How would I know that Richie? All I ever heard from you is how immature I am, and how I don’t know what I want, and one day when I’m a big girl I’ll see things your way, because you’re soooo smart and wise and—“
“I was wrong! I said I was wrong! I’m literally trying to apologize right now!”
“Well you’re doing a bad job.”
“Because you won’t let me fucking talk!”
Syd crossed her arms. She raised her chin. “Fine. Talk.”
Richie let out a hard breath. He dragged his hand over his head. “Listen, I woke up this morning at this fucking beach house.”
Syd opened her mouth.
Richie pointed at her. “You said you’d let me talk.”
Syd glared at him and snapped her mouth shut.
Richie took a moment before he started to speak again. He had to get this right.
“So…this morning I was at a beach house. Beach mansion really. The woman I was seeing has rich family who loaned it to us.”
Syd’s expression darkened further, but she kept silent.
“So I woke up and went down to the beach, and for some reason I kept thinking about Mikey.” Richie’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. He coughed and kept going. “And I realized ever since Mikey died I’ve been trying to find my place in this world. Because he was my place, and me and Tiff and Eva as a family was my place, and I’d lost all of that. So I had to find something, and then I found you and….” Richie looked at the ground. “It was like—the house I was staying at this weekend was nice. Really nice. And any time I end up somewhere that nice I’m convinced that at any second I’m gonna get kicked out. That everyone knows I can’t stay there or I’ll ruin everything.”
Richie raised his head. Syd’s angry expression had faded, but he couldn’t read the expression that had replaced it.
“I think it’s hard for you to understand what being with you was like for me,” Richie said, “It’s like I was driving a junker with broken windows and someone was like here, have a Maserati.”
Syd blinked. “I’m…a Maserati?”
“Yes. Well no not like you’re an object or anything—it’s a fucking metaphor. I was immediately like there’s no way I don’t fucking crash this and ruin everything. I thought that I should just be glad for the time I have with her before I crash this. So when you said you loved me I thought….” Richie cleared his throat. “I thought this is a ticking time bomb. One day she’s gonna realize I don’t deserve her and it’s all gonna blow up in my face and kill me, and she’ll be pissed I wasted her time, so it’ll be easier for everyone if I cut my losses now. I thought I was doing the right thing by ending things between us, but this morning I realized that was fucking insane. The right thing is for us to be together, and the second I realized that I broke up with Kat and drove to the Bear to see you.”
Syd blinked again. Richie still couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“You…you really mixed your metaphors there,” she said.
Richie laughed wearily. “Yeah.”
“That was like, at least three metaphors,” she said.
Richie shrugged. “I got big feelings. One metaphor cannot contain them.”
Richie was pretty Syd fought back a smile. She looked over her shoulder, then back at him.
“I’m cold,” she said.
Richie felt a pulse of relief. “Let’s go inside then.”
He watched her face as he opened the door to his new apartment, realizing he was hoping to see signs that she was impressed. It was nicer than his old place wasn’t it? Could she feel that it had central heat? Wasn’t the kitchen nicer? And while she was here did she want to see his post raise pay stubs?
Syd took in the apartment without a word, face neutral as she scanned the space. She kicked off her shoes by the door, toeing them in line next to his. She turned to him as she unzipped her coat.
Richie wasn’t sure what to say now. “Uh, do you have any other questions? I’m an open book.”
She shimmied her coat off her shoulders. “I really don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Oh. Well—“
Syd jumped him, literally threw herself into his arms. He only stumbled for a second.
Kissing Syd again after so long made Richie’s brain turn to smoke. All his plans for reasonable, adult discussion vanished, and all he could feel was hunger, out of control hunger for this absolutely fucking necessary thing he’d been missing out on for months. He’d go to his fucking grave regretting these eight wasted months, months he could’ve been fucking Syd, Jesus Christ was he stupid. This right here it was he was made for, what they were made for, no matter how improbable it may seem, there was no other explanation for how insanely good even just this was, her body against his body, her lips against his lips.
It didn’t even occur to him to try to make it to the bed. He managed to get them to the couch before he collapsed on top of her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex that desperate, that frenzied, there was a chance he never had. He was practically mauling her, her perfect lips and perfect neck, and with a decisive tug of her shirt, her perfect tits. It seemed impossible for her to need this as badly as he did, for anyone to need anything as badly as he needed this right now, but maybe she did, because the way she was touching him—yanking his head closer, tugging on his clothes, biting at his lips— was so aggressive it seemed almost like a punishment for making her wait this long, and he loved it. She kicked him when he didn’t realize she wanted help taking her pants off and he wanted to cackle in triumph.
When he finally pushed inside her she made this noise, a sound that was both overwhelmed and relieved, which Richie knew he was going to remember for the rest of his life. Richie, she kept saying, Richie, and it wasn’t clear that she even wanted anything other than what he was giving her, it seemed like she just wanted to say his name over in over in that tiny broken voice that meant he was doing good, real good, she was getting there so fast and Richie was on top of the fucking world. He had his girl back, she was right here, in his arms, coming apart as she said his name.
A few minutes later, Richie peeled himself off Syd’s soft, warm body and looked into her perfect, glazed over eyes.
“We should get married,” he said.