Tasteless (12 page)

“Please, Rye,” he pleaded.  “You’re going to get hurt in there.”

“They can’t tear this place down if I’m in it,” she turned to yell through the glass panes.  “And if they feel like going ahead, then fucking go ahead.”

“Rye, you’re being crazy,” Sam said, pressing his palms to the window.  “Please, either come out or let me in.  Let’s talk about this.”

But Rye ignored him.  Instead, she retreated behind the kitchen counter, sitting beneath it so she would be out of view from everyone.  She brought her knees up to her chest and leaned her face against them.  Rye closed her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, hoping that she could later wake from this nightmare.

~

Deal with it.  Handle it.  You’re at fault for not telling her earlier.  Don’t bother to contact until resolved.

Sam would have been infuriated with Warner’s text if it weren’t for how tired he was.  He had been sitting outside the diner for almost eleven hours.  The sun was beginning to set and Rye continued to refuse his calls.  He peered into the windows again, hoping he could catch any sign of movement and a chance to speak to her.  Michael had left nearly ten hours ago, soon after he found his keys.  He drove off with little to say to Sam, but made sure to show just how much disdain he felt as he left.

Once it was 6pm, Sam began to feel the hints of hunger.  His body had calmed enough to allow him normal functions once again.  He wondered if Rye was also hungry.  He wondered what on earth she could be doing in the small space behind the kitchen counter for half the day.

He decided to walk over to Rye’s house, hoping to find something of comfort that he could bring her and perhaps use to coax her out.  She had left the front door open, presumably in her shock upon seeing the backhoe.  Sam had felt similarly as his cab drove up to the diner that morning.  He could only imagine how much worse it was for Rye, as someone who had grown up with the restaurant and had no idea that it was set to be destroyed.

Sam walked inside, gathering whatever he could from the refrigerator into a picnic basket that had been left behind on their Independence Day barbecue.  When he returned, he looked through the back window of the diner hoping to catch a glimpse of Rye in the kitchen, but he couldn’t see anything.  If he hadn’t vigilantly waited outside the building all day, he would swear she wasn’t in there at all.

His patience had worn thin and he didn’t feel like waiting around anymore.  He wrapped his arm up in his sweatshirt and smashed in the window next to the back door without another thought.  He reached in, pulling the chairs away from one side before walking around to the other side and breaking those windows as well.  This time, he unlocked the door from the inside and kicked it in.

He walked over to the kitchen counter, looking down at the spot that he had seen Rye settle.  To his shock, he wasn’t there.  He was perplexed, wondering what could have possibly happened before seeing her curled up on the seat of the large corner booth.  She was awake, but she didn’t bother to move.

“I’m surprised you didn’t do that earlier,” Rye said, her voice flat.  “Since you clearly don’t care about destroying this place.”

“You know that’s not true,” Sam said.  “This was entirely Warner’s decision.”

“Entirely? Are you sure?” she asked.  “Because I think you’ve got plenty of reason to be as invested in tearing the place down as he might have.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed.  “I’m sure there’s some reason.”

“There isn’t,” he said, stepping slowly towards her.  “So stop saying that.”

She responded with silence, staying eerily still as she remained lying on the wooden bench.  She had taken off her sweatshirt and rolled it into a pillow of sorts under her head.  As he got closer, he realized that Rye was looking at something under the table.  Curious, he sat on the floor below her, looking up at the table as well.

As he leaned on his elbows and tipped his head back, he saw the names carved into the wood.  It was those of the six Somerville children, along with two others that simply read “Grandma” and “Grandpa.”  Sam reached up to touch the engraving of Rye’s name.  It was a deep cut into the wood, but it felt smooth, weathered by age.  He looked over at Rye who stared back at him, stoic.

“My grandparents were the ones who actually raised me,” she whispered.  Sam sat up straight, happy to just hear her talk about anything else.  “Before the show, our family wasn’t doing so well either.  We had the restaurant, but we were struggling, which was why we lived all together to begin with.  And why my parents had to work long shifts at the department store and the hardware store to get a little extra cash.  They were young when they had us and hadn’t expected a multiple birth and
definitely
hadn’t expected a second one.  So they weren’t around much and all I really remember of my early life is of my grandparents being there for me.”

“What were you guys all doing under his table?” Sam asked.

“We used to build forts,” Rye continued.  “We did it even when all of us started growing and it was getting hard to fit everyone under here.”

“That sounds like fun,” Sam smiled.  Though her eyes were wet, Rye cracked a smile in return.

“It was,” she said.  “But it was all a really long time ago.  I don’t know why I can’t seem to let it go.”

“You’re not supposed to, I don’t think,” Sam said.  “I think regardless of what’s happening, those good memories are supposed to stay with you forever.”

“So what happens now?” she asked.  “When they take the building down and there’s no longer a diner, where will the memories be?”

“Still with you.  Like your grandparents are.  Like my sister is,” he said.  “The whole point of memories is that they’re with you for as long as you’re here.  And they’ll be carried on by whomever you hand them to before you go.”

“Why does it feel like I’m the only one in my family who wants these memories? It makes me feel like nothing before the cameras ever happened.  Like maybe I’ve been making it all up this whole time.”

“I can’t answer that,” Sam replied.  He brushed her hair behind her ear as he looked down at her.  “But I can tell you what I know about you.  And it’s that you’re caring enough and loving enough to make up for the rest of your family.”

“If my grandpa were alive today, I’m pretty sure that all this bullshit would have been the thing that killed him,” Rye frowned.

“Maybe,” Sam laughed.  “But I’m pretty sure he’d be upset if all this was enough to kill
you
.”  He leaned back against the metal leg of the table, reaching up to touch the carved names again.  “It seems like he loved you enough that he’d ask you to find the quickest route possible to happiness and stick to it.”

“I don’t know what that is anymore,” Rye said.  “I used to think it was just keeping the legacy of this restaurant for him, but everyone’s right.  We wouldn’t have been able to keep going the way we’ve been going.  But I wanted to keep things as it was because there’s nothing wrong with it.  Everything about this diner, his menu – everything was perfect.  But then everything around it changed and I don’t know… I’m not sure what he would’ve done today.”

“What would make you happy right now?” Sam asked.  Rye pursed her lips, thinking about it before she pushed herself to a sitting position.

“I’m really tired of fighting,” she said.  “I’m sure my dad has good reason for needing to start this place over, so I guess I just have to get over the attachment I have left to this place.  People leave their childhood all the time.  People move elsewhere and sometimes they never come back.  They let go and move on because that’s the normal thing to do.  I just don’t know why I never had an easy time with normal.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, pulling himself to his feet.  “Neither have I.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Rye laughed, looking down at her folded hands.  “Everyone likes you and things come easy to you.”

“Just because things come easy to me doesn’t mean that I don’t have to work to keep them,” Sam replied.  “As demonstrated by the fact that I had my own restaurant taken out from under me.

“Will you stay with me?” Rye asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Of course,” Sam said.  “Let’s head back to the house.”

“No.  I mean here.”

“You want to stay at the restaurant?”

“Just for tonight,” she replied.  “I just want a little more time with it.”

~

Rye inhaled deeply as Sam walked in with two sheets of his freshly baked chocolate cookies.  She felt warmed by the sudden scent of vanilla and butter wafting into the dining room as she sat wrapped in her sweatshirt.  He had baked them back in the house after discovering that all the gas and electricity had already been shut off in the restaurant, which made sense considering they had planned to tear it down that morning.

“These are literally straight from the oven,” Sam said, plopping the cookie sheets down and tossing the towel he had used to hold them.  “They actually almost completely cooled on my run over.”

“They still smell good,” she reassured him.  She watched as he plated the cookies up before grabbing a thermos he had brought back in his backpack.  Rye couldn’t see what he was pouring, but she could smell that it was coffee, even all the way across the room.  Though she was still a little angry at him for keeping such a big secret from her for so long, she couldn’t help but feel touched by his sudden desire to care for her.  He probably felt pretty guilty if he thought running back and forth between the house and the restaurant was a better idea than forcibly dragging Rye out, which he most likely would have done if it had been three weeks ago.

She let herself wonder what people would say if she told them about this side of Sam Laurent, but she hadn’t yet gotten trust that this wasn’t still a part of an act.  Not having as much social interaction as the average person, Rye had always worried that she was at a disadvantage in that department but she reassured herself that any human being could see that Sam was being genuine.

Rye had reasoned with herself as she sat there all day, waiting for her father to call or text back.  She just wanted to know what was going through his mind, if he felt the deep mourning that she felt upon hearing the news.  The rest of her family wouldn’t care.  They had been suggesting renovations on the place for years before they lost interest altogether.  But her father had to have at least
some
of the feelings she found herself weighted down by.

“May I sit with you?” Sam asked, putting down a plate of a dozen cookies and a mug of coffee.  “You don’t totally look like you want company right now.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you to stay if I didn’t,” she said, moving over so he could slide in beside her.  Sam put down his mug as well, sitting down and settling in before turning to hug her.  She hugged him back, smiling at the strangeness of it.  She had hated him so desperately not that far back and hadn’t even known him earlier that year, and yet there was something more comforting about his presence than anything else in her life.

Rye was relieved that he didn’t let go right away like she was sure he would.  She could feel his fingers run down from her shoulders to her back before pulling her in tighter by the waist.  His lips grazed her temple and his stubble tickled her cheek.  She closed her eyes, tightening an arm around his neck as she inhaled deeply and tucked her head under his chin, her other hand over his chest.  She could feel his muscles contracting and relaxing to accommodate her and his heart beating against her fingertips as she rested there.

She felt too comfortable to let herself wonder if there was something just a little too intimate about their embrace, even though she knew there was.  But she didn’t care to consider if it was inappropriate at that moment, not when she felt better than she had in a very long time.  But when her own heartbeat began to pick up speed, her eyes fluttered open and Rye pulled away, pushing back against him as she looked into his eyes.  He blinked back, as if startled by the sudden movement, before reaching for a cookie and taking a bite as if nothing strange had happen.

“They’re still really good,” he said, his mouth half full.

“Tooting your own horn as usual,” she smiled, happy to just forget that second of awkwardness.

“You’ll be tooting my horn too once you try some,” he replied, before furrowing his brows.  “That sounded wrong.”

“It’s okay, so you’ve been off your game,” she teased.  “Even Sam Laurent can’t be Sam Laurent all the time.”

“I’ve never been more Sam Laurent in my life,” he insisted, stuffing a second cookie in his mouth before washing it down with his coffee.

She laughed, feeling a strong desire to rest her hand on his leg and lean into him again.  She bit her lip, trying to placate herself. 
You’re just confused,
she thought. 
This is Sam.  Asshole Sam.  Just because he’s being nice now doesn’t mean a thing.
  Her smiled crimped as she looked away.

“Just so you know, I
can
eat a dozen of these,” Sam said.  “So you better have some now before I get started on that second sheet.”

“Fine,” she said, reaching for one.  But before she could get her hands on one, he had shoved his half-eaten cookie in her face.  “No, ew!” she laughed, pushing it away.  She drew her hand back to find her fingers covered in melted chocolate.