Oops, I've Fallen

I cover my eyes—a gut reaction I can’t stop—as Ryan pulls me through the door.

“What in the fuck do you two think you’re doing?” he says in a seriously hot dad voice that makes me uncover my eyes just so I can get a look at his face.

Unfortunately, that also means I get a load of the scene he’s pulled me into—our parents, both fully clothed, thank God, lying together on my mom’s bed, giggling, and passing a joint back and forth.

Ryan’s demand for answers, of course, has only made them laugh harder.

“Ry, my boy,” Sal says, looking down the length of his body from his spot on the bed to the two of us. “Want a toke?”

I suck my lips into my mouth as hard as I physically can in the gargantuan effort not to laugh. We’re living inside a fucking circus, it’s true, but the look on Ryan’s face while being propositioned to do drugs by his father is almost too much to take.

Like, I legitimately think his head might explode if I don’t take control.

“Sal,” I venture carefully. “I don’t think Ryan wants any of your weed.” Sal shrugs, and I lick my lips as Stella lifts one petite shoulder in a cutesy shrug and winks at me. “What he wants—what we both want,” I qualify, “is for the two of you to start acting like adults and use your brains a little bit. I’m not going to judge your desire to smoke pot recreationally, but for the love of God, could you not do it inside the house? In bed? There’s, like, five feet of space between these landominiums. One shaky hand and you’re going to burn this whole freaking neighborhood to the ground.”

Stella laughs again and takes a pull off the joint—which to be honest, looks a little too expertly rolled—held tightly between her thumb and index finger. “Come on, Carly,” she says through a sharp inhale, words leaving her lips but smoke entering her lungs at the same time. “We’re just having a little party.”

“Put it out or take it outside,” I reply as sternly as I can manage. “Those are the options.”

“No,” Ryan interjects. “Those aren’t the options. Not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to put that fucking thing out and go to sleep, right where you are so the two of you don’t end up fucking falling again and getting more goddamn injuries. I mean, shit, were you both high like this when you were taking down Stella’s decorations? It would certainly make a lot of fucking sense.”

But Ryan doesn’t give either one of them time to explain. He steps forward and takes the joint out of its place in Stella’s hand and stubs it into an ashtray on her nightstand.

“Goddamn,” Sal grumbles. “Someone’s got a stick up his—”

“No,” Ryan cuts him off. “No sticks, just a really big fucking pain. I’m trying my best to ensure you stay safe and heal, Dad, and you’re fighting me every step of the way. It’s not that hard. Don’t shave your balls, don’t smoke pot in the house, don’t drink whiskey every hour of the day.”

“Ryan,” I interrupt softly, putting a gentle hand to his arm. “It’s okay.” I reach around him, snatch the joint from the ashtray, and then grab Ryan’s hand and pull him toward the door to the bedroom.

Sal and Stella are already giggling again as we step through the jamb, and I offer a weird wave over my shoulder with the pot between my fingers. “No more trouble tonight, you two.”

Their laughter follows us as I pull Ryan down the hall and back out the front door. Once I make sure my mom’s house is locked up tight, I continue leading the two of us down the sidewalk to the driveway and across the lawn to his dad’s house.

He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension of his entire body in the hand clasped with mine.

“Can you open the garage door?” I ask, jerking my head at the keypad attached to the frame. He nods a little woodenly, but he steps forward and puts in the code, starting the door whirring on its track.

When it clears my head, I step inside the garage, past his dad’s little sports car, and walk straight to the trash can, lifting the lid and tossing the now unlit joint inside.

Ryan’s brow is rumpled angrily still, so I reach up to smooth it with a gentle finger. “Come on,” I say, bumping my elbow into his. “Just imagine the garbage-day drama it’ll bring if Betty finds out your dad has a joint in his can. Unbagged.”

A smile peeks through, just teasing the corner of Ryan’s beautifully full mouth, and I move my hand to touch it.

“Why do I let it all bother me so much?” he asks, willing me to come up with an answer that’ll make it all feel better.