Fic: Looking at You, I'm Home [2/4]
Continued from
Ryan can't think or breathe. He keeps hearing Jon Walker's--Jonathan-fucking-Walker because Margaret was always a wretched speller--soft voice in his ear, unsure and unsteady and so apologetically hopeful that it makes his stomach pitch. He didn't know, and he wants to know Christopher.
It's a mistake to tell Christopher to get dressed at two-ten when he told Jon they'd be there at two. He shouldn't tell Christopher to get dressed at all. He wants Jon to get the wrong idea; he wants Jon to leave. They should sit in and maybe order pizza, but he tells Christopher that they'd going to Jerry's Diner for lunch, and Christopher's face lights up. He doesn't seem to hear Ryan when he says that after Jerry's, they're going to have a long, long talk about giving out phone numbers on the internet.
Ryan ignores his phone when it rings, almost vibrating off the dresser. He tries to wear what he normally would, on any given day. He puts the blazer on at the last minute, even though it's grey and the only other grey in his outfit is the pinstriping of his pants. He likes the blazer, though. He feels a little more grown up, a little more sure of himself as they get into the car.
"Are you going to get the palace sundae? I think I want flapjacks." Charlie snaps his bracelets a little. He's wearing the wooden beads that Brendon gave him a few days ago. He hasn't taken them off since Brendon gave them to him, not even when he gets a bath at night. "Can I get flapjacks with chocolate chips instead of with syrup? I don't like them when they're sticky."
"Sure, buddy," Ryan says, and he winces when Christopher levels him with a glare.
"I'm not a little kid. Geez, Ryan," Christopher says. He's huffy as he sinks into his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Ryan pulls into a parking space and kills the engine. His hands are shaking a little. It's almost two-thirty. "You didn't tell me you found your dad," he says, and he tries not to sound angry.
He knows that he managed to fuck that up from the way Christopher freezes and slides down even lower, so low that Ryan can't see him in the rear view mirror. "I didn't want you to be mad," he says in a tiny voice.
"I'm not mad that you found him," Ryan says, gripping the wheel tight. "I'm mad that you gave him my phone number without asking, and that you didn't tell me." He closes his eyes, biting his lip before he can say 'You know he could take you away from me.' He can't throw that on Christopher. It's mean and not fair, and Christopher's eight. Ryan can't be that cruel.
"He called you?" Christopher says, voice still very, very small.
"Yes, he did," Ryan says, and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "And he thought you told me."
"I'm sorry." He's pretty sure that Christopher's wedged himself down in the footwell, small as possible.
Ryan reaches back and strokes Christopher's hair. He checks his cellphone. Two-thirty-five. "I don't even know how you managed--"
Christopher takes a shuddery breath. He's trying not to cry, and Ryan is probably going to take the kid in to meet his real dad with red eyes and a runny nose. Ryan is the worst guardian ever.
"On the picture, of Mom and her school friends--she wrote their names on the back, and one was Tomrad but the other was Jwalk, and I thought... it's kinda like how Brendon calls you 'Ryro' sometimes, so I thought that he could maybe be--"
"Okay, okay," Ryan whispers, and he strokes Christopher's hair that he can reach. "It's okay."
"You're not mad anymore?" Christopher asks, voice still horrible and small.
He can feel a headache starting behind his eyes, and he hasn't even met Jon Walker yet. "We can talk about this when we get home, okay?" Ryan takes a deep breath, and it's shuddery when he exhales. "I asked Jon to meet us here."
Apparently that's more important to Christopher than the fact that Ryan hasn't said that, no, he's not mad. He goes stiff and crawls out of his hiding space, crawling up into the front seat next to Ryan, where he can open the doors. "My dad's here?"
"Yeah. He called me. He wants to meet you." Ryan wishes, suddenly and desperately, that he'd brought Spencer along. He wants someone else to deal with Christopher's stupidly hopeful face. He can't look at it.
"My dad's here?" Christopher says again, and then he opens the passenger door. Ryan almost falls out of the car to get his hand. Christopher's shaking a little too, just a little, but he's grinning, wide and bright, when they get inside.
Ryan looks around. He hopes that Jon's left, and it's stupid to hope that. You don't call a complete stranger with hushed hope in your voice to just randomly leave. It's not like Jon can just walk back, either. But he could be gone.
Except that he sees that boy from the picture, older with his hair cut shorter. He still has the soft, dark eyes, and Ryan knows the minute that he realizes who Ryan is.
He looks at Ryan, then at Christopher, and his dark eyes go even softer. Ryan tries to still the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heart in his goddamn throat before they start to walk to the booth
***
Ryan doesn't eat the palace sundae, but he does invite Jon back to their condo for dinner the next night, when he's finished his photographs for the day. (Jon explained his job a little to Ryan, but Ryan couldn't concentrate on it. He was too side-tracked by the way Christopher hung on Jon's every word, staring at him like he hung the sun and the moon and probably Orion, too.) He doesn't want to. It's irrational and stupid, but he doesn't want Jon Walker in their lives.
It's probably a little selfish, too, just a little. He likes getting Christopher off to school in the morning and driving to campus. He teaches his three classes, has his office hours, and sometimes he eats with Brendon. That Monday, though, he cancels office hours and goes down to Spencer's club.
Spencer's expecting him, because that's the kind of person Spencer is. He makes them fried zucchini because that's all they have prepped right now, and Ryan picks the breading off and leaves the actual vegetables on the plate.
Spencer doesn't seem to mind, rolling up the zucchini slices and dipping them in marinara sauce. They don't talk while they eat, not until Ryan dusts his fingers over the edge of the plate and then leans back on his bar stool.
"This is a bad idea," Ryan says.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He pushes the plate away, half the naked zucchini just sitting in a pile of its own grease. "This could be really, really bad, Ry."
Ryan nods. "Christopher looked at him like he looks at Brendon, Spence." He pulls his knees up, rocking back on the barstool so he can curl up as tight as possible. "What if Jon wants to take him back to Chicago with him?"
"Then you fight that shit in court," Spencer says, wiping the bar in front of Ryan. "He had no contact with Christopher for eight years, and you did. That has to count for something." He doesn't look at Ryan when he says it, and they both know that it doesn't matter because Jon didn't know.
He doesn't say anything for a minute, wrapping his arms as tightly as he can around his knees. "What if he wants to go with Jon?" he whispers.
Ryan's not stupid. If Jon had been condescending or mean, Christopher probably wouldn't have been so excited when Ryan invited him over. Jon wasn't, though. He was funny and kind, and he looked like he was listening to Christopher when he spoke.
Spencer leans his elbows on the wet bartop. "Look, Ry," he says, and he rubs his fingertips against his forehead. "It's Monday. If I switch this with my Thursday, Haley and I could com--"
"Shit, you're the best," Ryan says. He stumbles off the stool a little when he gets down, so he can push into Spencer's space, put his forehead to Spencer's shoulders. "I invited him over at seven, so we could get homework and shit done. I was going to order pizza."
"No, you're going to have spaghetti," Spencer says. He rubs Ryan's back. "He needs to see that you guys don't live on take-out. He could bring that up in court, and it just looks shitty, Ry."
Ryan feels sweaty and pale, even though he knows he's not. "Spaghetti?"
Spencer laughs and pulls his cellphone out. "Haley's got no classes this afternoon," he says. "You owe us both, Ross."
Ryan's pretty sure he's just been signed on to watch Spencer's dogs when he and Haley go to visit her parents. He doesn't even care; he can live with the indignity of Milo and Boba pulling him down the street as long as he can hear Christopher laughing at him.
***
Haley keeps him out of the kitchen, and she and Spencer are actually dressed nicely for this. He makes Christopher get a tub after his homework and put on his nice khaki pants and a polo shirt.
He tries not to be affronted when Haley picks out his outfit, green blazer with his second-favorite pink shirt and the poodle tie. "We want you to look a little normal," she says, kissing his cheek before she goes to check on the bread.
Christopher sets the table with too many forks, and he puts placecards by each of the chairs. Ryan wants to move everyone around, put himself between Christopher and Jon, but he doesn't. He tries to find the right music instead, flipping through his CDs and vinyl before he gives up. Spencer puts Paul Simon on, and they leave it at that.
Jon's five minutes early, but Ryan's ready for him, dinner on the table and water glasses full. He's not sure if they're supposed to sit and talk and then eat, or eat and then sit and talk. He likes eating first. He's pretty sure that Christopher won't eat after Jon's been there a while, to wound up to settle down at the table.
Of course, Ryan will probably end up just picking at his dinner, but these things happen.
Jon's not nearly as dressed up at they are, just nice jeans and button-down with flip-flops. Haley raises her eyebrows at Ryan when she sees him, smiling a little smugly. He frowns because he doesn't understand what she's trying to say. He can read the expressions she's learned from Spencer, but this is not one of them.
"Hi, Jon," Ryan says, and he steps back, away from the door. "This is Spencer, my best friend, and his girlfriend, Haley. I hope this is okay?"
Jon blinks at them and then frowns a little. "Yeah, that's okay," he says slowly, but he smiles wide when Christopher steps in front of Ryan. "Hey, Chris," he says.
Ryan closes his eyes and wants to snap Christopher. He can remember Margaret's long rant about how common and normal Chris was, worse than Maggie.
He never mentioned that "Maggie" had been perfectly fine for her until her mom passed. It seemed like the sort of thing to start a fight, and he never, ever wanted that with her. She pulled hair and scratched, even as an adult.
"Hi, Jon," Christopher says, and he grabs Jon's hand and tugs him into the condo. "We're gonna eat real soon, but first I want you to see my room! And you should see my guitar and my video games. They're really, really cool."
Jon blinks at them before he lets Christopher pull him through the living room. If he's not interested in all the things that he "needs" to be shown, he never lets on, and Ryan looks at Spencer hopefully. Spencer frowns a little, rubbing his hand against his jaw, so it rasps against his beard.
"He's definitely not here to get to know you," Spencer says finally. He seems a little worried.
Ryan wonders if he should have asked Jon about inviting Spencer and Haley. It didn't occur to him, and he should have let Jon know the change of plans. He doesn't know why he's so damned bad at this.
Haley rolls her eyes and pokes Spencer's side. "Don't worry, Ryan. This will turn out okay." She doesn't promise, but she's still smiling when Spencer puts his arm around her waist.
Ryan nods to them and drifts towards Christopher's bedroom, trying to hear what they're talking about without actually eavesdropping. He straightens the pictures he has sitting on top of the stereo, the picture of Christopher graduating kindergarten and a picture of Margaret holding Christopher as a baby, her eyes tired but smile hopeful. There are a few of Ryan and Christopher, ones from soccer games.
He wonders if Jon would want to hear about any of that. He's pretty sure he would; he's pretty sure that Jon would have always been in Christopher's life if he had been allowed. Ryan wants to think that it's good, that Jon will be involved now that he knows.
The room feels like it's pitching though, when he can hear Christopher saying, "That's my guitar. I have lessons twice a week."
"That's awesome," Jon says. Ryan can hear them unzipping the case. "I used to play bass for a band, when I was in high school. We played at Warped Tour."
"Really?" Christopher says, and his voice squeaks just a little. Ryan picture the blinding grin he has on his face now, huge with wondering eyes. "Ryan and Spencer and Brendon were in a band, too, but they went to college. They play sometimes still, but, like, they're grown ups. Brendon's been teaching me their old songs."
"Really?" Jon almost sounds interested, and Christopher strums a little. "What are you going to play?"
Ryan winces and pulls away. Christopher is weird about practicing in front of Ryan, closes his door and keeps playing for hours. Ryan's only ever been allowed to sit in on one lesson at Brendon's, over the summer when he didn't have class, and Christopher kept fucking up his fingering.
He goes back into the kitchen, and he takes the wine they bought for dinner out of the fridge without saying anything to Spencer or Haley, but Spencer comes up behind him. Ryan lets the wine breathe for a moment, before he pours himself half a glass.
"He's playing guitar for Jon?" Haley says. She wrinkles her nose. She's not allowed to sit in on guitar practice either. Only Brendon and Shane are--Brendon, Shane, and Jon, apparently.
Spencer sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Do you think it's a good idea to leave him alone with Christopher anyway?" Ryan's shakes his head. He doesn't have a good sense of women--he's only had one girlfriend that didn't cheat on him in the end--but he gets guys. He can tell good ones from bad ones, guys that are worth it.
Jon Walker isn't a bad guy. Ryan's really, really sure of it. He remembers Jon pulling out his pictures of his animals, the way his eyes lit up when Christopher mentioned that he and Ryan take foster dogs in the summer, just so they have a home for a little while.
Ryan had been thinking about getting a dog for them for Christmas, one they could keep. Jon has a dog, too, though, and two cats and he apparently loves the shit out of them. He has more pictures in his wallet of the grey kitten than Ryan has of Christopher in his.
"We should eat dinner," Haley says then. She pats Ryan's arm as she passes. "You and Spencer sit down. I'll get the boys."
He lets Spencer drag him towards the table, and he sits at the head of the table. Spencer sits down on his left, and Ryan is a little cheered that Spencer can glare at Jon throughout their meal.
***
Dinner is not a disaster. Haley's food is good, and Christopher finishes almost half of it, in between staring at Jon adoringly. Spencer asks most of the questions, in between bites.
"You went to Columbia in Chicago?" he asks.
Jon nods, twirling his pasta. "Yeah, I graduated a few years ago."
"And you're a..."
"I do photography for magazines." Jon gives Ryan a sidelong glance, and Ryan doesn't know what it means. "Some other stuff. I'm here to do a brochure."
"So you travel a lot?"
"Most of the time, yeah. I'll spend a week at home and then I'm on the road for three." Jon shrugs. "I like wandering a lot."
Spencer nods, and he gives Ryan a smug little look, like he knows now that Jon won't try anything with custody. "Must be hard on your girlfriend."
"I'm single. Just me and my pets at home, and sometimes my best friend when he locks himself out and his roommate doesn't come home before dark." Jon gives Ryan another look, and Ryan feels his face grow hot. Jon knows exactly what this is.
Spencer, to his credit, doesn't smile or look phased at all as he keeps pressing. "What's your family like?"
"My parents are still together, and I have two older brothers and their kids." Jon takes another piece of garlic toast and bites it. "What's your family like, Spencer?"
"They're fine." Spencer narrows his eyes and rests his hands on the table. "You're in Vegas for four days?"
Jon shrugs but nods. "Unless something comes up. If it does, I'll fly back from here and then go to Connecticut."
Spencer leans back in his chair and nods. Ryan knows there are more questions he has to ask, more things that he needs to know, but Spencer's opened the door and let him see inside a little. He doesn't have to spend an hour skipping around the question of why would you come. Almost everything else has been asked.
Except, of course, are you taking him with you.
Dinner goes too fast after Spencer stops asking questions, Christopher talking a little to fill the quiet but not much. He's a quiet child; it's one of the things Ryan likes about him, how he can entertain himself for hours on end when Ryan's trying to write a final or grade term papers. Ryan wonders if Jon would appreciate a quiet child as much as Ryan does.
He's pretty sure that Jon doesn't like the terse silence, though. He fidgets with his silverware and keeps cutting his spaghetti into smaller and smaller pieces without taking a bite. He kicks a little, under the table, and his foot nudges Ryan's leg.
When Ryan looks up, Jon's ears go pink. "Sorry," he says, quiet, with his lisp just a little more pronounce. It's... it's interesting.
Ryan shakes himself, though, because he's not allowed to find Jon interesting. Jon could take Christopher. He knows that it's what Jon will want; he doesn't think that anyone could not want him. Ryan wasn't even sure he wanted children, but Christopher looks at him with spaghetti sauce smeared on his mouth, just a little messy, and Ryan knows that he wants this kid. Jon can find another if he wants one.
Ryan isn't expecting Haley to snap her fingers, though, when she gets up. "Shoot," she says, like she talks like she's really from the 1930s. "I forgot to bring a desert."
"Oh, darn." Spencer's face is carefully blank when he says it. Ryan narrows his eyes. Haley can sometimes slip "Oh, gosh" into conversation, but Spencer has been swearing since the third grade. "We should run out and get some, I guess."
"That is a wonderful idea," Haley says before she smiles at Christopher. "Do you want to come with us and make sure we get a really good ice cream for Jon?" she asks.
Oh, Ryan thinks, when Jon shoots him a pointed look. He scowls at Spencer and Haley. It's like that.
***
Spencer and Haley don't clean off the table before they leave with Christopher. Ryan hates dishes, especially after spaghetti, when everything is orange and slimy in the water. He doesn't care though. Clearing the table gives him a reason not to stop and meet Jon's eyes.
He doesn't expect Jon to start helping, piling plates on top of each other. "Are you keeping this?" Jon asks when he motions to the pasta and the sauce.
There's enough for Christopher to eat for dinner tomorrow. "Yeah," Ryan says as he turns on the water, letting it run over the plates. He has a dishwasher but can't load it without melting something, no matter how careful he is. "There's, uh, containers in the cupboard on the right of the sink."
Jon hums a little while he scoops noodles into a Gladware and spoons sauce over it. Ryan waits until he's done with that to turn on the disposal, just to stall a little bit more. It makes an awful and loud grinding noise, like it's angry at him suddenly for not giving it all the spaghetti. He turns the water up a little higher, but the sound doesn't stop.
"Oh, shit," Jon says, and he leans over Ryan's shoulder to turn the disposal off. He's close, and he smells a little like juniper and something like evergreen. It's a good, clean smell, even if Jon's jeans are frayed at the cuffs and his flipflops are scuffed.
Jon is pressed close, close enough that Ryan has to stoop a little, pressed down by Jon's body weight. Ryan wants to tell him to back up, to move, but he can't. Jon's arm and shoulder are warm, especially when his wrist brushes against Ryan's neck.
He doesn't seem to notice, reaching past Ryan and into the disposal. He pulls out a mangled metal measuring spoon, and Ryan feels like banging his head off the wall. Showing Jon that he can't work a kitchen appliance is really the way he wants to going about convincing him that this is where Christopher belongs.
They stand close for another minute before Jon sighs and eases back. Ryan misses the soft juniper scent as soon as it's gone, but he won't think about it any more than he already has. Jon isn't someone he can afford to be intrigued by.
"Look," Jon says, and he leans against the kitchen counter. "I know that this is really bizarre and awkward for you. I mean, it's no picnic for me, either, but I appreciate you giving me a chance to get to know him a little more."
Ryan nods. He's cold suddenly. He wants his scarves and maybe the old fingerless gloves that he hasn't worn since grad school. "He really wanted the opportunity to talk to you."
Jon nods, and he touches Ryan's shoulder. "But you gave him the chance. If Chris--Christopher," he smiles a little, boyish like if he's cute enough Ryan won't notice the slip, "were in my care, I don't think I'd to let him do this. It's too weird."
Ryan stiffens. "I talked to him about the inter--"
"I meant like... It's pretty crazy that he found me. He could have been disappointed, and I don't know if I could have let a kid set himself up for that, you know?" Jon scratches his head and laughs a little. "God, it's weird to see him."
He nods because he doesn't know what else to say. "He looks like you," he whispers.
"Yeah, a little. He looks like her more." Jon's eyes flash sad for a moment, then angry and he sighs, rubbing his face. "I wish she would have told me."
He shouldn't care, that Jon looks withdrawn and unhappy for a moment. He can't help himself though, and murmurs, "She didn't think you were ready," like it actually matters now.
Jon sighs. "I would have helped her," he says, and his hands are balled into fists. "I wouldn't have--"
"They did okay," Ryan says. Margaret always managed. She had her mom's estate at first, and she managed to land on her feet when that ran out, friends to help her with childcare. "She managed to find a way."
"Still," Jon says, and he shakes his head. He laughs then, scratching his head. "My mom is going to kill me when I tell her that I've had a fucking son for eight years."
Ryan nods. He feels stiff. "Christopher doesn't have any--Margaret's parents died before he was born, and I'm the closest thing to a brother she had." He doesn't know why he's telling Jon this. He should be talking about Brendon or Shane or Spencer, making his family seem bigger.
Jon nods and scratches his beard. "I guess we need to talk a little, uh, about what we're gonna do when I leave." He sighs a little. "Look, I know that you and Christopher have gone through a lot of shit with each other, since Maggie died, and I respect that. I do, but I want--"
"Please don't take him," Ryan says, voice small and shaky, and it just tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, falling between them and he swears he can hear the words actually hit the floor.
"What?" Jon asks, and he's suddenly as pale as Ryan feels, voice shaking. "Ryan, no, I can't--"
Ryan shakes his head hard, as if he can do it hard enough to not hear. "I know he's your son, but--"
This time Jon steps close and puts his wet hands on Ryan's shoulders. "Ryan, I can't take him. My life--I'm never home. I feel shitty for leaving my pets alone as much as I do. Even if I--I don't not want to get to know my son, but he's been here his whole life. I can't take him away from that. I just want to be in his life." He looks at Ryan and sighs again. "Is that okay with you?"
Ryan feels weak then. "Yeah," he says, voice rough. His eyes burn a little, but he blinks the sensation away. "Yeah, he'd really like that."
"I want to get to know you, too," Jon says, and he's looking up at Ryan with something strange in his eyes, his ears turning pink again. "Since you're family now, too."
"Okay," Ryan says. He clears his throat so his voice is a little stronger. "Okay, I'd like that."
It's only when Jon grins up at him that Ryan realizes that he actually means that.
Jon has dinner again with Ryan and Chris, on the night before he leaves. They get pizza, and it's just the two of them. There are no best friends there to stare him down, and he really, really likes it. He likes the way Chris has no problem sinking onto the couch between him and Ryan and puts his feet on the coffee table.
He tries not to think about how much he liked the way Ryan looked when he answered the door, in a pair of sweats and an old v-neck shirt that clung to his chest when he moved.
They watch Labyrinth and Chris gets Ryan to sing along with Bowie. His voice is a little flat and soft, but Jon smiles the more he hears it, especially when Ryan and Chris sing "You remind me of the babe" together.
Chris assures Jon that it's even better when Brendon sings along because Brendon makes faces. Jon's not sure if some guitar teacher--that can do no wrong to an eight-year old--makes up for the way Ryan and Chris grin at each other.
Jon brings his camera with him that night. He gets a few pictures of Ryan, but most of them are of Chris. He wants to have something to show his mom, when he tells her.
He hates to leave them, when it's past midnight and Chris is still awake and asking if Jon wants to watch Moulin Rouge with them. He runs a hand over Chris' hair and shakes his head, even though he has rolls of film that aren't used yet.
His plane leaves a little after six in the morning, and he smiles when he gets a text from Ryan, when he's waiting to board. Christopher thinks u should send him somethin frm frzn north.
tell him im sending snowmen he texts back, before he turns off his phone.
***
Telling his parents about Chris goes over about as well as he thought. He develops the pictures after Connecticut and goes to their mandatory Tuesday dinner. His mom presses her knuckles to her lips when she flips through the stack of photos.
"How old is he?" his dad asks.
"He's eight. His birthday is in January." Jon sighs and sits back in his chair. "He seems like a really cool kid."
His mom stops to look at one of the pictures, where Christopher is laughing and pointing at the screen. "He looks a little like Mike, I think," she says before she sighs. "Jon, are you sure?"
"Yeah, I am. You guys have to see him," he says, before he can stop himself. He promised Ryan that he wasn't going to ask for Chris, but he wants to show Christopher Chicago suddenly. He wants to let him see the city and maybe walk around Hyde Park. He wants to show him the school where he met Maggie. He wants Chris to get to know his friends the way he knows Ryan's--maybe not as well or as deeply, but enough that he doesn't treat them like stuffy grownups.
"Are we going to meet him?" his dad asks. He takes the pictures from Jon's mom. He looks at them more slowly than she did, like he's going to be able to pull everything Jon meant from the photographs out. "Did you and..."
"Ryan," Jon says.
"Did you both work something out? Like holidays or maybe his summer break?" His dad looks so reasonable when he suggests it, like this is something that normal people would have considered. Maybe it is. He and Ryan got sidetracked after they exchanged email addresses, the real ones that they actually used, talking about music. The dishes were barely half-washed when Spencer and his girlfriend came back.
"Not yet," he says. He doesn't know if Ryan would go for it. "I just met him. And it's not like he lives in Wilmette. Vegas is like on the other side of the country."
His mom nods and pats his hand. "We're glad you're trying to be involved in his life. It's very mature of you."
He winces, because he knows his parents. Anytime they call one of them "mature," they have something that they want to say, something that who ever is at the other end of the comment won't like. There's no way to avoid it, either. If he ignores it, his father will raise his eyebrows and call him "Jonathan," and no one wants that.
"Oh?" Jon says. He sighs and slides down in his chair.
"It's just... Jon, this might not be your son, and there's a very good chance that this is going to end badly. You're so far away from him, Jon. And he's already so grown up. We're worried that you're going to end up hurt over this," his mother says. She reaches over to run a hand along his jaw. "Ryan could decide you're a bad influence or sue you for support--"
"We're just worried that you're not thinking about all the possible ramifications," his father asks, and Jon feels like he's ten again, when he told them that he was absolutely ready for a pet. This talk feels a lot like the one he got after Spot the fish ended up belly-up in the tank because Mike and Bill told him his fish needed to be clean.
"It's going to work out," he says, desperately and fervently. Because it is. Things like this have to happen for a reason; he has a chance at being a dad and he's going to take it.
His parents look at each other, and then his father hands back the pictures of Chris. "Okay," he says. "We're here for anything."
Jon smiles at his parents but doesn't feel the tension ease out of his back until his mom leans over to kiss his forehead. She whispers, "We do want to meet him, Jon," and he grins at her.
***
He calls on Monday and Wednesday nights, after nine in Chicago, and Chris tells him about his school projects, the really awesome skateboard he wants to get for his birthday or maybe Christmas. (He tells Jon about it every phone call, so he thinks that it might be a hint of some kind, something that he's supposed to know for when the days come up.)
They talk about Maggie sometimes, what Jon remembers. Chris only asks, "Did you love her?" one time. (Jon stumbles for an answer, stuttering until he settles on, "She was a really good friend. I missed her when she left." It isn't yes, but it's not a lie.)
Sometimes Jon will talk to Ryan, about Chris' grades or how he's doing in soccer. (Ryan's comments are usually closer to, "He got the ball down by the net. I think it went in," before he trails off.) There are nights, though, when Chris can talk to Jon for two hours about absolutely nothing, and then Chris hands the phone off to Ryan and Ryan's been writing.
Jon loves talking to Ryan after he's been writing, when his thoughts are sort of disjointed and he's more than content to let Jon dictate how the conversation goes. Those nights, Jon will pull out a CD and ask if Ryan has it. If Ryan does, they'll both put it on and listen together, breathing into the phone.
It's weird, and Jon knows it. He's gotten baked and listened to records with Tom, stretched out on the couch and feeling the bass shake the floor against his back. He's usually completely sober when he talks to Chris, having a beer at most, and he doesn't think Ryan's trashed on the other end.
Sometimes, though, when Jon's on the road and he doesn't have his CDs with him, he'll tell Ryan to put something on so he can listen to it through th e phone. It's distorted and tinny, but Ryan usually breathes the words and Jon smiles without meaning to.
***
He gets emails, too, from Ryan. They're usually just pictures of Chris, like him getting off the school bus in cut off jeans and an old band t-shirt that is way too big for him. Most of his shirts are; Jon can't decide if he can ask Ryan where they come from. Chris is thin, but he thinks Ryan might be skinnier.
There are pictures of Chris playing Sorry! with a dark haired guy, and pictures of Chris rolling around with two boxer dogs. Sometimes there are pictures of Chris and Ryan that Ryan's taken, holding the camera in front of a mirror or up in the air, so it has a MySpace feel.
He forwards the emails to his mom and dad, to his brothers, and he ignores the replies of when do we get to meet him.
Jon emails back with pictures of his Dylan sitting on Marley's back, the airstrip when he's going out for another job. He takes pictures of every airport Starbucks he sees, and they all look the same.
Ryan emails back with shaky pictures of the Strip and his car. He takes a few pictures of a few different Starbucks, one with a drive-up menu, and he emails the question you have a favorite drink?
Christmas blend. I love Christmas Jon emails back, with a picture of the Toledo, Ohio Starbucks, a barn with Abbey Road painted on the side, and a Walmart that's missing most of the letters on its sign. whats yours
Ryan sends a picture of Christopher wearing sunglasses and sitting on a wall, his guitar in his lap and the dark-haired guy next to him again. There's something different in that picture, like the focus isn't Chris trying to get his fingering; it's on the guy's smile, gentle and almost loving. Jon's stomach turns over.
don't really have one There are other pictures, a pink typewriter and another one of the strip, an Elvis wandering outside a wedding chapel. Are you gonna be in Chicago for Xmas?
The email comes just before Thanksgiving, and Jon's spending it in New Mexico, in a Holiday Inn with a pizza half-eaten on the bed next to him. probably he writes. He takes a picture of the pizza and one of himself in the mirror. He doesn't feel bad for attaching them when he adds what are you and chris doing?
He doesn't ask who the dark-haired guy is.
***
Jon gets back to Chicago before Ryan emails back, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Tom picks him up at the airport, his hair flat on one side of his face and his shirt is mis-buttoned.
"You look like hell," Jon tells Tom after they get his bags thrown into the back of the car.
"We're trying to get another song mixed," Tom says. He sounds tired, but he's grinning. "Max and Sean came up with something, and it sounds fucking awesome."
Jon grins back at Tom. He didn't know the band was still trying to be active. It's hard to get something going when your lead singer has a steady 6:30-3:30 job and still picks up shifts at his old bakery. "You have anything set yet?"
"Nah, maybe tomorrow. How long are you in for?" Tom taps his cigarette against the steering wheel. "Maybe we can get it ready before you head out."
Jon closes his eyes and thinks. "I think next week, I have to do something in Indiana. I'm driving for that, though. It's some little thing in Indianapolis."
"Cool." Tom fiddles with the radio station a little before he looks at Jon. "So, what's up with your kid?"
"Chris is good." Jon grins. Chris calls him, too, usually from Ryan's cellphone. He called yesterday and the day before to talk about Thanksgiving and how much he hates cranberry sauce and also how awesome he thought it was that Ryan was going to let him come shopping with him and Brendon and Shane for Black Friday.
Tom nods. "Are you going out there any time soon?"
Jon shrugs. He tries to keep his schedule clear in December, only take local jobs or go places that he can drive to. He doesn't like spending Christmas away from his family if he can avoid it. "I'm not sure," he says.
"Okay," Tom says. He looks ahead again.
Tom's seen all of Jon's pictures of Chris and all of the ones that Ryan's sent, so Jon doesn't feel weird getting his laptop into the front of car, booting it up. He saves everything Ryan sends onto one of his jump drives, so he can get the picture of Chris and the guitar, the other guy's smile up before they're half way home.
He waits until they miss a light to show Tom the laptop. "Who do you think that guy is?" he asks. He feels vaguely weird for wanting to ask Ryan about him, but it's impossible to feel creepy next to Tom.
Tom hums a little, squinting at the picture. "You sure he took it?"
"He sent it," Jon says.
"Well, he could be a boyfriend, I guess. Maybe Ryan has a thing for him." Tom gives him a half-smile. "But you knew that."
Jon sighs. "It's stupid." He barely knows Ryan, outside of Ryan being a writer and having good taste in music. Most of his photography is framed oddly, like he's trying to mimic what Jon's doing but he doesn't get the meaning behind how Jon sets things up.
"Yeah, well. It happens." The car behind them honks loud. The light's changed, and Jon puts his laptop away as Tom speeds through the intersection on yellow.
***
Jon gets another email from Ryan in the morning. There's a picture of turkey lunch meat and a can of unopened cranberry sauce and another of Chris outside what looks like a Best Buy with the dark-haired guy and some other guy in a hat. Probably hanging out here.
He calls Ryan before he has a chance to account for the time difference, and it's not surprising when Ryan sounds half-dead when he says, "Hello?"
Jon winces a little. "Sorry, it's me."
"Oh, no, no. It's cool." Ryan yawns loud. "I'm supposed to be reading over someone's thesis for a coffee meeting." He shuffles in bed a little, before he says, "What's up?"
"What do you guys do on Christmas, like with gifts and everything." He clicks over to his bank account to see how much money he has saved up. He knows it's going to be ridiculous, this close to the actual holiday, but he tabs over to the picture of sliced turkey by Oscar Mayer and he can't feel bad about it.
"Uh, well. Last year we went to Spencer's, and we had dinner there. The year before that, he just wanted to stay in," Ryan says. He sounds hesitant now, fully awake. "Why?"
"I was thinking," Jon says, and he bites his lip. "I was thinking that maybe you guys could come here. I have an extra room, and my parents want to meet Christopher."
Ryan is quiet for a moment, and Jon tries not to think about the possible-boyfriend in those pictures. It's possible that Ryan's not even alone right now, the guy in the bed next to him.
It makes him smile a little that Ryan's probably worried about Jon turning into a creepy stalker over Chris, wanting to know everything about his life. He has that. Chris lets him know everything he's thinking when they talk. It's Ryan that Jon doesn't quite get. He wants to, though.
"Jon, that's--I know you want to get to know Christopher--"
"It'll be on me, Ryan. Come on. I have a spare room and a fold-out. I want him to see the city, and Christmas is as good a time as any for him to come and see it. Just for a week or a couple of days." Jon won't look at ticket prices just yet, not until he's gotten Ryan to cave.
"I can't let you pay for both of us," Ryan says after another long pause. His voice is quiet. "It's way too much."
"You're more expensive than he is. I don't want to put you out. I know kids are expensive." Jon closes his eyes. "And you're the one who's gonna be at an airport at Christmas."
"Jon," Ryan says, and Jon can hear the hesitation in his voice, the first cracks.
"It's like back-pay on child support." Jon keeps his voice light and teasing, and that's when Ryan sighs and he knows that he's won.
"Okay. Just for a week," Ryan says, but Jon's pretty sure that Ryan's smiling. Jon's face hurts from how hard he's grinning back. It's okay because Ryan can't see it.
***
Ryan and Chris fly in on the 20th, landing at three in the afternoon. Jon waits for them without a dorky sign because Chris asked him not to (Ryan did, too, but Jon would have done it if Chris asked.), and they're wearing jackets and long-sleeved shirts. Chris already has his jacket wrapped tight around him, and they're still inside.
"You are both going to freeze," Jon says, laughing as he musses Chris' hair with one hand. "Let's go get your bags and then we are getting you both coats."
Ryan sputters a little, but he looks pretty damned cold too, even with his scarf looped tightly around his neck. "You shouldn't spoil us," he says, but he's smiling as he says it. "Winter coats and a trip to an exotic locale."
Jon knocks his shoulder against Ryan's arm. Christopher's taken his other hand, and he doesn't seem like he's going to be letting it go any time soon. Jon doesn't mind. "Hey, I only have you guys for a week. I want to see if it takes me that long to blow through my bank account."
Ryan rolls his eyes, but his smile gets just a little bit wider, more real and relaxed. "We'll probably get sick, and you'll have to read to us and give us soup."
Christopher starts tugging on Jon's hand, whining that they're taking too long, and Jon lets himself be pulled forward. "I think I can handle that, Ross," he says, grabbing Ryan's wrist just so they won't lose him in the crowd.
Or at least that's what Jon would say if someone asked him.
***
It's late by the time they get home, and Ryan crashes in the guest room with Chris before Jon can offer up his own bed to one of them. He doesn't understand it; it's earlier in Vegas than it is in Chicago, and yet he's the only one awake.
He's also the first one up, the next morning when it's snowing heavily and his neighborhood feels quieter than it really is. Jon just rolls his eyes a little before he sets about his normal morning routine, letting Marley run on his lead while he gets coffee started. He gets toaster waffles out, since he doesn't really have any cereal and he's pretty sure the eggs are suspect. There's good juice though.
Jon starts a grocery list; he didn't want to shop before they got here because he didn't know what they'd like. He puts marshmallows and hot chocolate on after eggs and hopes that's okay, because he sort of thinks he wants to build a snowman with Chris and then have hot chocolate. It just feels like something right.
Ryan stumbles out into the kitchen just after the coffee's finished brewing, squinty-eyed and his arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing thin sweats and a blue v-neck with bare feet and he looks freezing. Jon makes himself busy with the coffee maker, checking the timer again before he turns off the drip, just so he won't stare.
"Coffee?" Ryan murmurs, shuffling over to the pot.
Jon hands him over a cup. "There's cream in the fridge, I think. And sugar." He points to the sugar bowl before he refills his own mug. "It snowed last night."
"Christopher will be happy," Ryan says, mixing sugar into his cup. He doesn't go for the creamer before he takes his first sip and then his eyes drift closed, smile soft. "This is really good."
"I used to work for Starbucks, and they spoiled me on all grocery store brands." They stand side by side, leaned up against Jon's dishwasher. "There are some things you just can't go back to."
Ryan smiles and sips his coffee again. "Christopher should be up soon. He'll want to play in the snow."
"I figured," Jon says with a sigh. "We need to hit the store too, for hot chocolate and maybe some food. You know, the important stuff."
"I can't think of anything more important than hot chocolate on shitty days like this." Ryan moves over to the window to look outside. All told, it's not a great snowfall. It's enough to maybe make a tiny, tiny snowman, but he thinks that Chris won't mind too much. It's not like he'll have much of a chance to when he gets home.
"What else are we doing today?" Ryan asks. He has his arms pulled tight to his body while he nurses his coffee, like it's the only thing that might keep him warm. "You didn't bring us all the way out here for hot chocolate and really good coffee."
"No," Jon says, and he touches Ryan's arm without thinking. Ryan doesn't pull away. "My mom wants me to bring him over for dinner, so she can meet him with my dad before we have the big family Christmas thing. I was wondering if it would be okay to take him over?"
Ryan nods a little. "I brought my laptop. I figured that you'd have some family stuff planned for him. Which is good. He should have that, more of it, I mean. Than he does it Vegas." He sounds almost sad for a moment, and Jon bumps their arms together.
"You and Spencer seem to be pretty good for him." Jon flashes Ryan a big grin. "And his guitar teacher."
"Brendon, yeah," Ryan says, and his smile changes, fond suddenly instead of a little distant. "They're both nuts."
"Hate to tell you this, Ross, but all Walkers are sort of nuts, and from what I've seen of your family, it's not much better there."
Ryan's face is blank when he says, "Are you trying to say I'm insane?"
Jon blinks and tries to think of something to make it better, like there's a nice way to put that Ryan's more than a little crazy, but there's a glimmer in Ryan's eyes suddenly. He relaxes just a little before he says, "That's why you're a writer. You pick up on all the context clues."
The way Ryan wrinkles his nose and laughs, a little too loud for cold winter morning, makes Jon feel warmer than the coffee did.
***
It's quiet in the car, when it's just him and Chris making the fifteen minute drive to his parent's house. He's got a Christmas CD playing low in the car, and he keeps glancing over at the way Chris has his hands folded in his lap. Jon thinks it's something he's picked up from Ryan.
"It's just your mom and dad?" Chris asks, carefully. He's chewing on his bottom lip. Ryan's got him dressed in a nice green sweater and brown pants, nice and inoffensive. "You have brothers, too, right?"
"I do," Jon says. "Bill and Mike, both way cooler than me. They're older, though, and they won't be there tonight. You and Ryan will meet them at Christmas, along with your cousins."
Chris nods. "That's cool." His face is pale in the dying winter light. "So, like, do they know... Do they know that I live in Vegas, with Ryan?"
"I told them that, yeah." Jon's heart beats a little wildly. "Since they wanted to meet you as soon as I told them about you."
"Okay." He fiddles with the collar of his sweater, like it's too tight or too itchy, bouncing in his seat. Jon knows that he has more to say, more things on his mind than just who is going to be at the dinner.
He isn't expecting, "Will I have to call you 'Dad,' in front of them?" Jon almost slams on the breaks, but he remembers himself before his foot has time to move.
"What?" he asks. He hadn't thought about that; he hadn't even considered it. "Oh, Chris, no. Jon is fine."
Chris nods. His voice is small when he says, "Then what am I going to call them?"
Jon winces a little. "Chris, god. I didn't think. You can call them Mike and Kathy, if you want. That's their names, okay?"
"But, if I want, can I--" Chris bites his lip a little. "If I call you 'Dad,' Ryan will be sad, but I don't have a grandma or a grandpa." He blinks a lot, and shit, Jon's going to have a crying kid in his car and he doesn't know what to do.
He's used to Chris being talkative or happy, telling Jon everything or laughing when he tells a joke. He doesn't know how to handle tears. Jon's always been shit at tears, no matter who was the one crying. "Hey, dude, it's okay. If you want to call them that, it's okay. You don't have to be upset. Ryan will--"
"I'm not upset," Chris shouts, and he glares over at Jon, jaw stuck out proud. He looks like Maggie in that moment, like she always did when she was calling him an insensitive prick.
Jon winces a little. "Sure, sure," he says, using the soft voice that always makes Clover crawl out from under the dryer, so he can get it turned on. "I'm sorry, okay? You're not upset. It's okay."
Chris doesn't look too comforted, but he drops his head against the seat. He reaches over and turns off the Christmas music, flipping it to an oldies' station. Jon tries to ignore the sullen silence, keeping his eyes on the road.
It only takes a minute before Chris sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, protective. "Do you think they'll like me?" he asks, in that same whisper-soft voice.
Jon reaches over and musses Chris' hair. "They are going to love you," he says, and his smile doesn't feel forced this time.
Continues here
Ryan can't think or breathe. He keeps hearing Jon Walker's--Jonathan-fucking-Walker because Margaret was always a wretched speller--soft voice in his ear, unsure and unsteady and so apologetically hopeful that it makes his stomach pitch. He didn't know, and he wants to know Christopher.
It's a mistake to tell Christopher to get dressed at two-ten when he told Jon they'd be there at two. He shouldn't tell Christopher to get dressed at all. He wants Jon to get the wrong idea; he wants Jon to leave. They should sit in and maybe order pizza, but he tells Christopher that they'd going to Jerry's Diner for lunch, and Christopher's face lights up. He doesn't seem to hear Ryan when he says that after Jerry's, they're going to have a long, long talk about giving out phone numbers on the internet.
Ryan ignores his phone when it rings, almost vibrating off the dresser. He tries to wear what he normally would, on any given day. He puts the blazer on at the last minute, even though it's grey and the only other grey in his outfit is the pinstriping of his pants. He likes the blazer, though. He feels a little more grown up, a little more sure of himself as they get into the car.
"Are you going to get the palace sundae? I think I want flapjacks." Charlie snaps his bracelets a little. He's wearing the wooden beads that Brendon gave him a few days ago. He hasn't taken them off since Brendon gave them to him, not even when he gets a bath at night. "Can I get flapjacks with chocolate chips instead of with syrup? I don't like them when they're sticky."
"Sure, buddy," Ryan says, and he winces when Christopher levels him with a glare.
"I'm not a little kid. Geez, Ryan," Christopher says. He's huffy as he sinks into his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Ryan pulls into a parking space and kills the engine. His hands are shaking a little. It's almost two-thirty. "You didn't tell me you found your dad," he says, and he tries not to sound angry.
He knows that he managed to fuck that up from the way Christopher freezes and slides down even lower, so low that Ryan can't see him in the rear view mirror. "I didn't want you to be mad," he says in a tiny voice.
"I'm not mad that you found him," Ryan says, gripping the wheel tight. "I'm mad that you gave him my phone number without asking, and that you didn't tell me." He closes his eyes, biting his lip before he can say 'You know he could take you away from me.' He can't throw that on Christopher. It's mean and not fair, and Christopher's eight. Ryan can't be that cruel.
"He called you?" Christopher says, voice still very, very small.
"Yes, he did," Ryan says, and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "And he thought you told me."
"I'm sorry." He's pretty sure that Christopher's wedged himself down in the footwell, small as possible.
Ryan reaches back and strokes Christopher's hair. He checks his cellphone. Two-thirty-five. "I don't even know how you managed--"
Christopher takes a shuddery breath. He's trying not to cry, and Ryan is probably going to take the kid in to meet his real dad with red eyes and a runny nose. Ryan is the worst guardian ever.
"On the picture, of Mom and her school friends--she wrote their names on the back, and one was Tomrad but the other was Jwalk, and I thought... it's kinda like how Brendon calls you 'Ryro' sometimes, so I thought that he could maybe be--"
"Okay, okay," Ryan whispers, and he strokes Christopher's hair that he can reach. "It's okay."
"You're not mad anymore?" Christopher asks, voice still horrible and small.
He can feel a headache starting behind his eyes, and he hasn't even met Jon Walker yet. "We can talk about this when we get home, okay?" Ryan takes a deep breath, and it's shuddery when he exhales. "I asked Jon to meet us here."
Apparently that's more important to Christopher than the fact that Ryan hasn't said that, no, he's not mad. He goes stiff and crawls out of his hiding space, crawling up into the front seat next to Ryan, where he can open the doors. "My dad's here?"
"Yeah. He called me. He wants to meet you." Ryan wishes, suddenly and desperately, that he'd brought Spencer along. He wants someone else to deal with Christopher's stupidly hopeful face. He can't look at it.
"My dad's here?" Christopher says again, and then he opens the passenger door. Ryan almost falls out of the car to get his hand. Christopher's shaking a little too, just a little, but he's grinning, wide and bright, when they get inside.
Ryan looks around. He hopes that Jon's left, and it's stupid to hope that. You don't call a complete stranger with hushed hope in your voice to just randomly leave. It's not like Jon can just walk back, either. But he could be gone.
Except that he sees that boy from the picture, older with his hair cut shorter. He still has the soft, dark eyes, and Ryan knows the minute that he realizes who Ryan is.
He looks at Ryan, then at Christopher, and his dark eyes go even softer. Ryan tries to still the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heart in his goddamn throat before they start to walk to the booth
***
Ryan doesn't eat the palace sundae, but he does invite Jon back to their condo for dinner the next night, when he's finished his photographs for the day. (Jon explained his job a little to Ryan, but Ryan couldn't concentrate on it. He was too side-tracked by the way Christopher hung on Jon's every word, staring at him like he hung the sun and the moon and probably Orion, too.) He doesn't want to. It's irrational and stupid, but he doesn't want Jon Walker in their lives.
It's probably a little selfish, too, just a little. He likes getting Christopher off to school in the morning and driving to campus. He teaches his three classes, has his office hours, and sometimes he eats with Brendon. That Monday, though, he cancels office hours and goes down to Spencer's club.
Spencer's expecting him, because that's the kind of person Spencer is. He makes them fried zucchini because that's all they have prepped right now, and Ryan picks the breading off and leaves the actual vegetables on the plate.
Spencer doesn't seem to mind, rolling up the zucchini slices and dipping them in marinara sauce. They don't talk while they eat, not until Ryan dusts his fingers over the edge of the plate and then leans back on his bar stool.
"This is a bad idea," Ryan says.
"Yeah," Spencer says. He pushes the plate away, half the naked zucchini just sitting in a pile of its own grease. "This could be really, really bad, Ry."
Ryan nods. "Christopher looked at him like he looks at Brendon, Spence." He pulls his knees up, rocking back on the barstool so he can curl up as tight as possible. "What if Jon wants to take him back to Chicago with him?"
"Then you fight that shit in court," Spencer says, wiping the bar in front of Ryan. "He had no contact with Christopher for eight years, and you did. That has to count for something." He doesn't look at Ryan when he says it, and they both know that it doesn't matter because Jon didn't know.
He doesn't say anything for a minute, wrapping his arms as tightly as he can around his knees. "What if he wants to go with Jon?" he whispers.
Ryan's not stupid. If Jon had been condescending or mean, Christopher probably wouldn't have been so excited when Ryan invited him over. Jon wasn't, though. He was funny and kind, and he looked like he was listening to Christopher when he spoke.
Spencer leans his elbows on the wet bartop. "Look, Ry," he says, and he rubs his fingertips against his forehead. "It's Monday. If I switch this with my Thursday, Haley and I could com--"
"Shit, you're the best," Ryan says. He stumbles off the stool a little when he gets down, so he can push into Spencer's space, put his forehead to Spencer's shoulders. "I invited him over at seven, so we could get homework and shit done. I was going to order pizza."
"No, you're going to have spaghetti," Spencer says. He rubs Ryan's back. "He needs to see that you guys don't live on take-out. He could bring that up in court, and it just looks shitty, Ry."
Ryan feels sweaty and pale, even though he knows he's not. "Spaghetti?"
Spencer laughs and pulls his cellphone out. "Haley's got no classes this afternoon," he says. "You owe us both, Ross."
Ryan's pretty sure he's just been signed on to watch Spencer's dogs when he and Haley go to visit her parents. He doesn't even care; he can live with the indignity of Milo and Boba pulling him down the street as long as he can hear Christopher laughing at him.
***
Haley keeps him out of the kitchen, and she and Spencer are actually dressed nicely for this. He makes Christopher get a tub after his homework and put on his nice khaki pants and a polo shirt.
He tries not to be affronted when Haley picks out his outfit, green blazer with his second-favorite pink shirt and the poodle tie. "We want you to look a little normal," she says, kissing his cheek before she goes to check on the bread.
Christopher sets the table with too many forks, and he puts placecards by each of the chairs. Ryan wants to move everyone around, put himself between Christopher and Jon, but he doesn't. He tries to find the right music instead, flipping through his CDs and vinyl before he gives up. Spencer puts Paul Simon on, and they leave it at that.
Jon's five minutes early, but Ryan's ready for him, dinner on the table and water glasses full. He's not sure if they're supposed to sit and talk and then eat, or eat and then sit and talk. He likes eating first. He's pretty sure that Christopher won't eat after Jon's been there a while, to wound up to settle down at the table.
Of course, Ryan will probably end up just picking at his dinner, but these things happen.
Jon's not nearly as dressed up at they are, just nice jeans and button-down with flip-flops. Haley raises her eyebrows at Ryan when she sees him, smiling a little smugly. He frowns because he doesn't understand what she's trying to say. He can read the expressions she's learned from Spencer, but this is not one of them.
"Hi, Jon," Ryan says, and he steps back, away from the door. "This is Spencer, my best friend, and his girlfriend, Haley. I hope this is okay?"
Jon blinks at them and then frowns a little. "Yeah, that's okay," he says slowly, but he smiles wide when Christopher steps in front of Ryan. "Hey, Chris," he says.
Ryan closes his eyes and wants to snap Christopher. He can remember Margaret's long rant about how common and normal Chris was, worse than Maggie.
He never mentioned that "Maggie" had been perfectly fine for her until her mom passed. It seemed like the sort of thing to start a fight, and he never, ever wanted that with her. She pulled hair and scratched, even as an adult.
"Hi, Jon," Christopher says, and he grabs Jon's hand and tugs him into the condo. "We're gonna eat real soon, but first I want you to see my room! And you should see my guitar and my video games. They're really, really cool."
Jon blinks at them before he lets Christopher pull him through the living room. If he's not interested in all the things that he "needs" to be shown, he never lets on, and Ryan looks at Spencer hopefully. Spencer frowns a little, rubbing his hand against his jaw, so it rasps against his beard.
"He's definitely not here to get to know you," Spencer says finally. He seems a little worried.
Ryan wonders if he should have asked Jon about inviting Spencer and Haley. It didn't occur to him, and he should have let Jon know the change of plans. He doesn't know why he's so damned bad at this.
Haley rolls her eyes and pokes Spencer's side. "Don't worry, Ryan. This will turn out okay." She doesn't promise, but she's still smiling when Spencer puts his arm around her waist.
Ryan nods to them and drifts towards Christopher's bedroom, trying to hear what they're talking about without actually eavesdropping. He straightens the pictures he has sitting on top of the stereo, the picture of Christopher graduating kindergarten and a picture of Margaret holding Christopher as a baby, her eyes tired but smile hopeful. There are a few of Ryan and Christopher, ones from soccer games.
He wonders if Jon would want to hear about any of that. He's pretty sure he would; he's pretty sure that Jon would have always been in Christopher's life if he had been allowed. Ryan wants to think that it's good, that Jon will be involved now that he knows.
The room feels like it's pitching though, when he can hear Christopher saying, "That's my guitar. I have lessons twice a week."
"That's awesome," Jon says. Ryan can hear them unzipping the case. "I used to play bass for a band, when I was in high school. We played at Warped Tour."
"Really?" Christopher says, and his voice squeaks just a little. Ryan picture the blinding grin he has on his face now, huge with wondering eyes. "Ryan and Spencer and Brendon were in a band, too, but they went to college. They play sometimes still, but, like, they're grown ups. Brendon's been teaching me their old songs."
"Really?" Jon almost sounds interested, and Christopher strums a little. "What are you going to play?"
Ryan winces and pulls away. Christopher is weird about practicing in front of Ryan, closes his door and keeps playing for hours. Ryan's only ever been allowed to sit in on one lesson at Brendon's, over the summer when he didn't have class, and Christopher kept fucking up his fingering.
He goes back into the kitchen, and he takes the wine they bought for dinner out of the fridge without saying anything to Spencer or Haley, but Spencer comes up behind him. Ryan lets the wine breathe for a moment, before he pours himself half a glass.
"He's playing guitar for Jon?" Haley says. She wrinkles her nose. She's not allowed to sit in on guitar practice either. Only Brendon and Shane are--Brendon, Shane, and Jon, apparently.
Spencer sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Do you think it's a good idea to leave him alone with Christopher anyway?" Ryan's shakes his head. He doesn't have a good sense of women--he's only had one girlfriend that didn't cheat on him in the end--but he gets guys. He can tell good ones from bad ones, guys that are worth it.
Jon Walker isn't a bad guy. Ryan's really, really sure of it. He remembers Jon pulling out his pictures of his animals, the way his eyes lit up when Christopher mentioned that he and Ryan take foster dogs in the summer, just so they have a home for a little while.
Ryan had been thinking about getting a dog for them for Christmas, one they could keep. Jon has a dog, too, though, and two cats and he apparently loves the shit out of them. He has more pictures in his wallet of the grey kitten than Ryan has of Christopher in his.
"We should eat dinner," Haley says then. She pats Ryan's arm as she passes. "You and Spencer sit down. I'll get the boys."
He lets Spencer drag him towards the table, and he sits at the head of the table. Spencer sits down on his left, and Ryan is a little cheered that Spencer can glare at Jon throughout their meal.
***
Dinner is not a disaster. Haley's food is good, and Christopher finishes almost half of it, in between staring at Jon adoringly. Spencer asks most of the questions, in between bites.
"You went to Columbia in Chicago?" he asks.
Jon nods, twirling his pasta. "Yeah, I graduated a few years ago."
"And you're a..."
"I do photography for magazines." Jon gives Ryan a sidelong glance, and Ryan doesn't know what it means. "Some other stuff. I'm here to do a brochure."
"So you travel a lot?"
"Most of the time, yeah. I'll spend a week at home and then I'm on the road for three." Jon shrugs. "I like wandering a lot."
Spencer nods, and he gives Ryan a smug little look, like he knows now that Jon won't try anything with custody. "Must be hard on your girlfriend."
"I'm single. Just me and my pets at home, and sometimes my best friend when he locks himself out and his roommate doesn't come home before dark." Jon gives Ryan another look, and Ryan feels his face grow hot. Jon knows exactly what this is.
Spencer, to his credit, doesn't smile or look phased at all as he keeps pressing. "What's your family like?"
"My parents are still together, and I have two older brothers and their kids." Jon takes another piece of garlic toast and bites it. "What's your family like, Spencer?"
"They're fine." Spencer narrows his eyes and rests his hands on the table. "You're in Vegas for four days?"
Jon shrugs but nods. "Unless something comes up. If it does, I'll fly back from here and then go to Connecticut."
Spencer leans back in his chair and nods. Ryan knows there are more questions he has to ask, more things that he needs to know, but Spencer's opened the door and let him see inside a little. He doesn't have to spend an hour skipping around the question of why would you come. Almost everything else has been asked.
Except, of course, are you taking him with you.
Dinner goes too fast after Spencer stops asking questions, Christopher talking a little to fill the quiet but not much. He's a quiet child; it's one of the things Ryan likes about him, how he can entertain himself for hours on end when Ryan's trying to write a final or grade term papers. Ryan wonders if Jon would appreciate a quiet child as much as Ryan does.
He's pretty sure that Jon doesn't like the terse silence, though. He fidgets with his silverware and keeps cutting his spaghetti into smaller and smaller pieces without taking a bite. He kicks a little, under the table, and his foot nudges Ryan's leg.
When Ryan looks up, Jon's ears go pink. "Sorry," he says, quiet, with his lisp just a little more pronounce. It's... it's interesting.
Ryan shakes himself, though, because he's not allowed to find Jon interesting. Jon could take Christopher. He knows that it's what Jon will want; he doesn't think that anyone could not want him. Ryan wasn't even sure he wanted children, but Christopher looks at him with spaghetti sauce smeared on his mouth, just a little messy, and Ryan knows that he wants this kid. Jon can find another if he wants one.
Ryan isn't expecting Haley to snap her fingers, though, when she gets up. "Shoot," she says, like she talks like she's really from the 1930s. "I forgot to bring a desert."
"Oh, darn." Spencer's face is carefully blank when he says it. Ryan narrows his eyes. Haley can sometimes slip "Oh, gosh" into conversation, but Spencer has been swearing since the third grade. "We should run out and get some, I guess."
"That is a wonderful idea," Haley says before she smiles at Christopher. "Do you want to come with us and make sure we get a really good ice cream for Jon?" she asks.
Oh, Ryan thinks, when Jon shoots him a pointed look. He scowls at Spencer and Haley. It's like that.
***
Spencer and Haley don't clean off the table before they leave with Christopher. Ryan hates dishes, especially after spaghetti, when everything is orange and slimy in the water. He doesn't care though. Clearing the table gives him a reason not to stop and meet Jon's eyes.
He doesn't expect Jon to start helping, piling plates on top of each other. "Are you keeping this?" Jon asks when he motions to the pasta and the sauce.
There's enough for Christopher to eat for dinner tomorrow. "Yeah," Ryan says as he turns on the water, letting it run over the plates. He has a dishwasher but can't load it without melting something, no matter how careful he is. "There's, uh, containers in the cupboard on the right of the sink."
Jon hums a little while he scoops noodles into a Gladware and spoons sauce over it. Ryan waits until he's done with that to turn on the disposal, just to stall a little bit more. It makes an awful and loud grinding noise, like it's angry at him suddenly for not giving it all the spaghetti. He turns the water up a little higher, but the sound doesn't stop.
"Oh, shit," Jon says, and he leans over Ryan's shoulder to turn the disposal off. He's close, and he smells a little like juniper and something like evergreen. It's a good, clean smell, even if Jon's jeans are frayed at the cuffs and his flipflops are scuffed.
Jon is pressed close, close enough that Ryan has to stoop a little, pressed down by Jon's body weight. Ryan wants to tell him to back up, to move, but he can't. Jon's arm and shoulder are warm, especially when his wrist brushes against Ryan's neck.
He doesn't seem to notice, reaching past Ryan and into the disposal. He pulls out a mangled metal measuring spoon, and Ryan feels like banging his head off the wall. Showing Jon that he can't work a kitchen appliance is really the way he wants to going about convincing him that this is where Christopher belongs.
They stand close for another minute before Jon sighs and eases back. Ryan misses the soft juniper scent as soon as it's gone, but he won't think about it any more than he already has. Jon isn't someone he can afford to be intrigued by.
"Look," Jon says, and he leans against the kitchen counter. "I know that this is really bizarre and awkward for you. I mean, it's no picnic for me, either, but I appreciate you giving me a chance to get to know him a little more."
Ryan nods. He's cold suddenly. He wants his scarves and maybe the old fingerless gloves that he hasn't worn since grad school. "He really wanted the opportunity to talk to you."
Jon nods, and he touches Ryan's shoulder. "But you gave him the chance. If Chris--Christopher," he smiles a little, boyish like if he's cute enough Ryan won't notice the slip, "were in my care, I don't think I'd to let him do this. It's too weird."
Ryan stiffens. "I talked to him about the inter--"
"I meant like... It's pretty crazy that he found me. He could have been disappointed, and I don't know if I could have let a kid set himself up for that, you know?" Jon scratches his head and laughs a little. "God, it's weird to see him."
He nods because he doesn't know what else to say. "He looks like you," he whispers.
"Yeah, a little. He looks like her more." Jon's eyes flash sad for a moment, then angry and he sighs, rubbing his face. "I wish she would have told me."
He shouldn't care, that Jon looks withdrawn and unhappy for a moment. He can't help himself though, and murmurs, "She didn't think you were ready," like it actually matters now.
Jon sighs. "I would have helped her," he says, and his hands are balled into fists. "I wouldn't have--"
"They did okay," Ryan says. Margaret always managed. She had her mom's estate at first, and she managed to land on her feet when that ran out, friends to help her with childcare. "She managed to find a way."
"Still," Jon says, and he shakes his head. He laughs then, scratching his head. "My mom is going to kill me when I tell her that I've had a fucking son for eight years."
Ryan nods. He feels stiff. "Christopher doesn't have any--Margaret's parents died before he was born, and I'm the closest thing to a brother she had." He doesn't know why he's telling Jon this. He should be talking about Brendon or Shane or Spencer, making his family seem bigger.
Jon nods and scratches his beard. "I guess we need to talk a little, uh, about what we're gonna do when I leave." He sighs a little. "Look, I know that you and Christopher have gone through a lot of shit with each other, since Maggie died, and I respect that. I do, but I want--"
"Please don't take him," Ryan says, voice small and shaky, and it just tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, falling between them and he swears he can hear the words actually hit the floor.
"What?" Jon asks, and he's suddenly as pale as Ryan feels, voice shaking. "Ryan, no, I can't--"
Ryan shakes his head hard, as if he can do it hard enough to not hear. "I know he's your son, but--"
This time Jon steps close and puts his wet hands on Ryan's shoulders. "Ryan, I can't take him. My life--I'm never home. I feel shitty for leaving my pets alone as much as I do. Even if I--I don't not want to get to know my son, but he's been here his whole life. I can't take him away from that. I just want to be in his life." He looks at Ryan and sighs again. "Is that okay with you?"
Ryan feels weak then. "Yeah," he says, voice rough. His eyes burn a little, but he blinks the sensation away. "Yeah, he'd really like that."
"I want to get to know you, too," Jon says, and he's looking up at Ryan with something strange in his eyes, his ears turning pink again. "Since you're family now, too."
"Okay," Ryan says. He clears his throat so his voice is a little stronger. "Okay, I'd like that."
It's only when Jon grins up at him that Ryan realizes that he actually means that.
Jon has dinner again with Ryan and Chris, on the night before he leaves. They get pizza, and it's just the two of them. There are no best friends there to stare him down, and he really, really likes it. He likes the way Chris has no problem sinking onto the couch between him and Ryan and puts his feet on the coffee table.
He tries not to think about how much he liked the way Ryan looked when he answered the door, in a pair of sweats and an old v-neck shirt that clung to his chest when he moved.
They watch Labyrinth and Chris gets Ryan to sing along with Bowie. His voice is a little flat and soft, but Jon smiles the more he hears it, especially when Ryan and Chris sing "You remind me of the babe" together.
Chris assures Jon that it's even better when Brendon sings along because Brendon makes faces. Jon's not sure if some guitar teacher--that can do no wrong to an eight-year old--makes up for the way Ryan and Chris grin at each other.
Jon brings his camera with him that night. He gets a few pictures of Ryan, but most of them are of Chris. He wants to have something to show his mom, when he tells her.
He hates to leave them, when it's past midnight and Chris is still awake and asking if Jon wants to watch Moulin Rouge with them. He runs a hand over Chris' hair and shakes his head, even though he has rolls of film that aren't used yet.
His plane leaves a little after six in the morning, and he smiles when he gets a text from Ryan, when he's waiting to board. Christopher thinks u should send him somethin frm frzn north.
tell him im sending snowmen he texts back, before he turns off his phone.
***
Telling his parents about Chris goes over about as well as he thought. He develops the pictures after Connecticut and goes to their mandatory Tuesday dinner. His mom presses her knuckles to her lips when she flips through the stack of photos.
"How old is he?" his dad asks.
"He's eight. His birthday is in January." Jon sighs and sits back in his chair. "He seems like a really cool kid."
His mom stops to look at one of the pictures, where Christopher is laughing and pointing at the screen. "He looks a little like Mike, I think," she says before she sighs. "Jon, are you sure?"
"Yeah, I am. You guys have to see him," he says, before he can stop himself. He promised Ryan that he wasn't going to ask for Chris, but he wants to show Christopher Chicago suddenly. He wants to let him see the city and maybe walk around Hyde Park. He wants to show him the school where he met Maggie. He wants Chris to get to know his friends the way he knows Ryan's--maybe not as well or as deeply, but enough that he doesn't treat them like stuffy grownups.
"Are we going to meet him?" his dad asks. He takes the pictures from Jon's mom. He looks at them more slowly than she did, like he's going to be able to pull everything Jon meant from the photographs out. "Did you and..."
"Ryan," Jon says.
"Did you both work something out? Like holidays or maybe his summer break?" His dad looks so reasonable when he suggests it, like this is something that normal people would have considered. Maybe it is. He and Ryan got sidetracked after they exchanged email addresses, the real ones that they actually used, talking about music. The dishes were barely half-washed when Spencer and his girlfriend came back.
"Not yet," he says. He doesn't know if Ryan would go for it. "I just met him. And it's not like he lives in Wilmette. Vegas is like on the other side of the country."
His mom nods and pats his hand. "We're glad you're trying to be involved in his life. It's very mature of you."
He winces, because he knows his parents. Anytime they call one of them "mature," they have something that they want to say, something that who ever is at the other end of the comment won't like. There's no way to avoid it, either. If he ignores it, his father will raise his eyebrows and call him "Jonathan," and no one wants that.
"Oh?" Jon says. He sighs and slides down in his chair.
"It's just... Jon, this might not be your son, and there's a very good chance that this is going to end badly. You're so far away from him, Jon. And he's already so grown up. We're worried that you're going to end up hurt over this," his mother says. She reaches over to run a hand along his jaw. "Ryan could decide you're a bad influence or sue you for support--"
"We're just worried that you're not thinking about all the possible ramifications," his father asks, and Jon feels like he's ten again, when he told them that he was absolutely ready for a pet. This talk feels a lot like the one he got after Spot the fish ended up belly-up in the tank because Mike and Bill told him his fish needed to be clean.
"It's going to work out," he says, desperately and fervently. Because it is. Things like this have to happen for a reason; he has a chance at being a dad and he's going to take it.
His parents look at each other, and then his father hands back the pictures of Chris. "Okay," he says. "We're here for anything."
Jon smiles at his parents but doesn't feel the tension ease out of his back until his mom leans over to kiss his forehead. She whispers, "We do want to meet him, Jon," and he grins at her.
***
He calls on Monday and Wednesday nights, after nine in Chicago, and Chris tells him about his school projects, the really awesome skateboard he wants to get for his birthday or maybe Christmas. (He tells Jon about it every phone call, so he thinks that it might be a hint of some kind, something that he's supposed to know for when the days come up.)
They talk about Maggie sometimes, what Jon remembers. Chris only asks, "Did you love her?" one time. (Jon stumbles for an answer, stuttering until he settles on, "She was a really good friend. I missed her when she left." It isn't yes, but it's not a lie.)
Sometimes Jon will talk to Ryan, about Chris' grades or how he's doing in soccer. (Ryan's comments are usually closer to, "He got the ball down by the net. I think it went in," before he trails off.) There are nights, though, when Chris can talk to Jon for two hours about absolutely nothing, and then Chris hands the phone off to Ryan and Ryan's been writing.
Jon loves talking to Ryan after he's been writing, when his thoughts are sort of disjointed and he's more than content to let Jon dictate how the conversation goes. Those nights, Jon will pull out a CD and ask if Ryan has it. If Ryan does, they'll both put it on and listen together, breathing into the phone.
It's weird, and Jon knows it. He's gotten baked and listened to records with Tom, stretched out on the couch and feeling the bass shake the floor against his back. He's usually completely sober when he talks to Chris, having a beer at most, and he doesn't think Ryan's trashed on the other end.
Sometimes, though, when Jon's on the road and he doesn't have his CDs with him, he'll tell Ryan to put something on so he can listen to it through th e phone. It's distorted and tinny, but Ryan usually breathes the words and Jon smiles without meaning to.
***
He gets emails, too, from Ryan. They're usually just pictures of Chris, like him getting off the school bus in cut off jeans and an old band t-shirt that is way too big for him. Most of his shirts are; Jon can't decide if he can ask Ryan where they come from. Chris is thin, but he thinks Ryan might be skinnier.
There are pictures of Chris playing Sorry! with a dark haired guy, and pictures of Chris rolling around with two boxer dogs. Sometimes there are pictures of Chris and Ryan that Ryan's taken, holding the camera in front of a mirror or up in the air, so it has a MySpace feel.
He forwards the emails to his mom and dad, to his brothers, and he ignores the replies of when do we get to meet him.
Jon emails back with pictures of his Dylan sitting on Marley's back, the airstrip when he's going out for another job. He takes pictures of every airport Starbucks he sees, and they all look the same.
Ryan emails back with shaky pictures of the Strip and his car. He takes a few pictures of a few different Starbucks, one with a drive-up menu, and he emails the question you have a favorite drink?
Christmas blend. I love Christmas Jon emails back, with a picture of the Toledo, Ohio Starbucks, a barn with Abbey Road painted on the side, and a Walmart that's missing most of the letters on its sign. whats yours
Ryan sends a picture of Christopher wearing sunglasses and sitting on a wall, his guitar in his lap and the dark-haired guy next to him again. There's something different in that picture, like the focus isn't Chris trying to get his fingering; it's on the guy's smile, gentle and almost loving. Jon's stomach turns over.
don't really have one There are other pictures, a pink typewriter and another one of the strip, an Elvis wandering outside a wedding chapel. Are you gonna be in Chicago for Xmas?
The email comes just before Thanksgiving, and Jon's spending it in New Mexico, in a Holiday Inn with a pizza half-eaten on the bed next to him. probably he writes. He takes a picture of the pizza and one of himself in the mirror. He doesn't feel bad for attaching them when he adds what are you and chris doing?
He doesn't ask who the dark-haired guy is.
***
Jon gets back to Chicago before Ryan emails back, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and Tom picks him up at the airport, his hair flat on one side of his face and his shirt is mis-buttoned.
"You look like hell," Jon tells Tom after they get his bags thrown into the back of the car.
"We're trying to get another song mixed," Tom says. He sounds tired, but he's grinning. "Max and Sean came up with something, and it sounds fucking awesome."
Jon grins back at Tom. He didn't know the band was still trying to be active. It's hard to get something going when your lead singer has a steady 6:30-3:30 job and still picks up shifts at his old bakery. "You have anything set yet?"
"Nah, maybe tomorrow. How long are you in for?" Tom taps his cigarette against the steering wheel. "Maybe we can get it ready before you head out."
Jon closes his eyes and thinks. "I think next week, I have to do something in Indiana. I'm driving for that, though. It's some little thing in Indianapolis."
"Cool." Tom fiddles with the radio station a little before he looks at Jon. "So, what's up with your kid?"
"Chris is good." Jon grins. Chris calls him, too, usually from Ryan's cellphone. He called yesterday and the day before to talk about Thanksgiving and how much he hates cranberry sauce and also how awesome he thought it was that Ryan was going to let him come shopping with him and Brendon and Shane for Black Friday.
Tom nods. "Are you going out there any time soon?"
Jon shrugs. He tries to keep his schedule clear in December, only take local jobs or go places that he can drive to. He doesn't like spending Christmas away from his family if he can avoid it. "I'm not sure," he says.
"Okay," Tom says. He looks ahead again.
Tom's seen all of Jon's pictures of Chris and all of the ones that Ryan's sent, so Jon doesn't feel weird getting his laptop into the front of car, booting it up. He saves everything Ryan sends onto one of his jump drives, so he can get the picture of Chris and the guitar, the other guy's smile up before they're half way home.
He waits until they miss a light to show Tom the laptop. "Who do you think that guy is?" he asks. He feels vaguely weird for wanting to ask Ryan about him, but it's impossible to feel creepy next to Tom.
Tom hums a little, squinting at the picture. "You sure he took it?"
"He sent it," Jon says.
"Well, he could be a boyfriend, I guess. Maybe Ryan has a thing for him." Tom gives him a half-smile. "But you knew that."
Jon sighs. "It's stupid." He barely knows Ryan, outside of Ryan being a writer and having good taste in music. Most of his photography is framed oddly, like he's trying to mimic what Jon's doing but he doesn't get the meaning behind how Jon sets things up.
"Yeah, well. It happens." The car behind them honks loud. The light's changed, and Jon puts his laptop away as Tom speeds through the intersection on yellow.
***
Jon gets another email from Ryan in the morning. There's a picture of turkey lunch meat and a can of unopened cranberry sauce and another of Chris outside what looks like a Best Buy with the dark-haired guy and some other guy in a hat. Probably hanging out here.
He calls Ryan before he has a chance to account for the time difference, and it's not surprising when Ryan sounds half-dead when he says, "Hello?"
Jon winces a little. "Sorry, it's me."
"Oh, no, no. It's cool." Ryan yawns loud. "I'm supposed to be reading over someone's thesis for a coffee meeting." He shuffles in bed a little, before he says, "What's up?"
"What do you guys do on Christmas, like with gifts and everything." He clicks over to his bank account to see how much money he has saved up. He knows it's going to be ridiculous, this close to the actual holiday, but he tabs over to the picture of sliced turkey by Oscar Mayer and he can't feel bad about it.
"Uh, well. Last year we went to Spencer's, and we had dinner there. The year before that, he just wanted to stay in," Ryan says. He sounds hesitant now, fully awake. "Why?"
"I was thinking," Jon says, and he bites his lip. "I was thinking that maybe you guys could come here. I have an extra room, and my parents want to meet Christopher."
Ryan is quiet for a moment, and Jon tries not to think about the possible-boyfriend in those pictures. It's possible that Ryan's not even alone right now, the guy in the bed next to him.
It makes him smile a little that Ryan's probably worried about Jon turning into a creepy stalker over Chris, wanting to know everything about his life. He has that. Chris lets him know everything he's thinking when they talk. It's Ryan that Jon doesn't quite get. He wants to, though.
"Jon, that's--I know you want to get to know Christopher--"
"It'll be on me, Ryan. Come on. I have a spare room and a fold-out. I want him to see the city, and Christmas is as good a time as any for him to come and see it. Just for a week or a couple of days." Jon won't look at ticket prices just yet, not until he's gotten Ryan to cave.
"I can't let you pay for both of us," Ryan says after another long pause. His voice is quiet. "It's way too much."
"You're more expensive than he is. I don't want to put you out. I know kids are expensive." Jon closes his eyes. "And you're the one who's gonna be at an airport at Christmas."
"Jon," Ryan says, and Jon can hear the hesitation in his voice, the first cracks.
"It's like back-pay on child support." Jon keeps his voice light and teasing, and that's when Ryan sighs and he knows that he's won.
"Okay. Just for a week," Ryan says, but Jon's pretty sure that Ryan's smiling. Jon's face hurts from how hard he's grinning back. It's okay because Ryan can't see it.
***
Ryan and Chris fly in on the 20th, landing at three in the afternoon. Jon waits for them without a dorky sign because Chris asked him not to (Ryan did, too, but Jon would have done it if Chris asked.), and they're wearing jackets and long-sleeved shirts. Chris already has his jacket wrapped tight around him, and they're still inside.
"You are both going to freeze," Jon says, laughing as he musses Chris' hair with one hand. "Let's go get your bags and then we are getting you both coats."
Ryan sputters a little, but he looks pretty damned cold too, even with his scarf looped tightly around his neck. "You shouldn't spoil us," he says, but he's smiling as he says it. "Winter coats and a trip to an exotic locale."
Jon knocks his shoulder against Ryan's arm. Christopher's taken his other hand, and he doesn't seem like he's going to be letting it go any time soon. Jon doesn't mind. "Hey, I only have you guys for a week. I want to see if it takes me that long to blow through my bank account."
Ryan rolls his eyes, but his smile gets just a little bit wider, more real and relaxed. "We'll probably get sick, and you'll have to read to us and give us soup."
Christopher starts tugging on Jon's hand, whining that they're taking too long, and Jon lets himself be pulled forward. "I think I can handle that, Ross," he says, grabbing Ryan's wrist just so they won't lose him in the crowd.
Or at least that's what Jon would say if someone asked him.
***
It's late by the time they get home, and Ryan crashes in the guest room with Chris before Jon can offer up his own bed to one of them. He doesn't understand it; it's earlier in Vegas than it is in Chicago, and yet he's the only one awake.
He's also the first one up, the next morning when it's snowing heavily and his neighborhood feels quieter than it really is. Jon just rolls his eyes a little before he sets about his normal morning routine, letting Marley run on his lead while he gets coffee started. He gets toaster waffles out, since he doesn't really have any cereal and he's pretty sure the eggs are suspect. There's good juice though.
Jon starts a grocery list; he didn't want to shop before they got here because he didn't know what they'd like. He puts marshmallows and hot chocolate on after eggs and hopes that's okay, because he sort of thinks he wants to build a snowman with Chris and then have hot chocolate. It just feels like something right.
Ryan stumbles out into the kitchen just after the coffee's finished brewing, squinty-eyed and his arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing thin sweats and a blue v-neck with bare feet and he looks freezing. Jon makes himself busy with the coffee maker, checking the timer again before he turns off the drip, just so he won't stare.
"Coffee?" Ryan murmurs, shuffling over to the pot.
Jon hands him over a cup. "There's cream in the fridge, I think. And sugar." He points to the sugar bowl before he refills his own mug. "It snowed last night."
"Christopher will be happy," Ryan says, mixing sugar into his cup. He doesn't go for the creamer before he takes his first sip and then his eyes drift closed, smile soft. "This is really good."
"I used to work for Starbucks, and they spoiled me on all grocery store brands." They stand side by side, leaned up against Jon's dishwasher. "There are some things you just can't go back to."
Ryan smiles and sips his coffee again. "Christopher should be up soon. He'll want to play in the snow."
"I figured," Jon says with a sigh. "We need to hit the store too, for hot chocolate and maybe some food. You know, the important stuff."
"I can't think of anything more important than hot chocolate on shitty days like this." Ryan moves over to the window to look outside. All told, it's not a great snowfall. It's enough to maybe make a tiny, tiny snowman, but he thinks that Chris won't mind too much. It's not like he'll have much of a chance to when he gets home.
"What else are we doing today?" Ryan asks. He has his arms pulled tight to his body while he nurses his coffee, like it's the only thing that might keep him warm. "You didn't bring us all the way out here for hot chocolate and really good coffee."
"No," Jon says, and he touches Ryan's arm without thinking. Ryan doesn't pull away. "My mom wants me to bring him over for dinner, so she can meet him with my dad before we have the big family Christmas thing. I was wondering if it would be okay to take him over?"
Ryan nods a little. "I brought my laptop. I figured that you'd have some family stuff planned for him. Which is good. He should have that, more of it, I mean. Than he does it Vegas." He sounds almost sad for a moment, and Jon bumps their arms together.
"You and Spencer seem to be pretty good for him." Jon flashes Ryan a big grin. "And his guitar teacher."
"Brendon, yeah," Ryan says, and his smile changes, fond suddenly instead of a little distant. "They're both nuts."
"Hate to tell you this, Ross, but all Walkers are sort of nuts, and from what I've seen of your family, it's not much better there."
Ryan's face is blank when he says, "Are you trying to say I'm insane?"
Jon blinks and tries to think of something to make it better, like there's a nice way to put that Ryan's more than a little crazy, but there's a glimmer in Ryan's eyes suddenly. He relaxes just a little before he says, "That's why you're a writer. You pick up on all the context clues."
The way Ryan wrinkles his nose and laughs, a little too loud for cold winter morning, makes Jon feel warmer than the coffee did.
***
It's quiet in the car, when it's just him and Chris making the fifteen minute drive to his parent's house. He's got a Christmas CD playing low in the car, and he keeps glancing over at the way Chris has his hands folded in his lap. Jon thinks it's something he's picked up from Ryan.
"It's just your mom and dad?" Chris asks, carefully. He's chewing on his bottom lip. Ryan's got him dressed in a nice green sweater and brown pants, nice and inoffensive. "You have brothers, too, right?"
"I do," Jon says. "Bill and Mike, both way cooler than me. They're older, though, and they won't be there tonight. You and Ryan will meet them at Christmas, along with your cousins."
Chris nods. "That's cool." His face is pale in the dying winter light. "So, like, do they know... Do they know that I live in Vegas, with Ryan?"
"I told them that, yeah." Jon's heart beats a little wildly. "Since they wanted to meet you as soon as I told them about you."
"Okay." He fiddles with the collar of his sweater, like it's too tight or too itchy, bouncing in his seat. Jon knows that he has more to say, more things on his mind than just who is going to be at the dinner.
He isn't expecting, "Will I have to call you 'Dad,' in front of them?" Jon almost slams on the breaks, but he remembers himself before his foot has time to move.
"What?" he asks. He hadn't thought about that; he hadn't even considered it. "Oh, Chris, no. Jon is fine."
Chris nods. His voice is small when he says, "Then what am I going to call them?"
Jon winces a little. "Chris, god. I didn't think. You can call them Mike and Kathy, if you want. That's their names, okay?"
"But, if I want, can I--" Chris bites his lip a little. "If I call you 'Dad,' Ryan will be sad, but I don't have a grandma or a grandpa." He blinks a lot, and shit, Jon's going to have a crying kid in his car and he doesn't know what to do.
He's used to Chris being talkative or happy, telling Jon everything or laughing when he tells a joke. He doesn't know how to handle tears. Jon's always been shit at tears, no matter who was the one crying. "Hey, dude, it's okay. If you want to call them that, it's okay. You don't have to be upset. Ryan will--"
"I'm not upset," Chris shouts, and he glares over at Jon, jaw stuck out proud. He looks like Maggie in that moment, like she always did when she was calling him an insensitive prick.
Jon winces a little. "Sure, sure," he says, using the soft voice that always makes Clover crawl out from under the dryer, so he can get it turned on. "I'm sorry, okay? You're not upset. It's okay."
Chris doesn't look too comforted, but he drops his head against the seat. He reaches over and turns off the Christmas music, flipping it to an oldies' station. Jon tries to ignore the sullen silence, keeping his eyes on the road.
It only takes a minute before Chris sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, protective. "Do you think they'll like me?" he asks, in that same whisper-soft voice.
Jon reaches over and musses Chris' hair. "They are going to love you," he says, and his smile doesn't feel forced this time.
Continues here