Page 122 of Something Like Winter

As he waited, staring at the house, Tim could imagine walking through the door and discovering his mother’s often-cleaned but rarely used living room. Or maybe he would hear his father in the den, shouting at a football game on TV. Regardless of what he would actually find behind the front door, Tim felt certain he and Ryan came from similar worlds.

After twenty minutes, Ryan came out of the house lugging a stuffed duffle bag and wearing a scowl. Tim hopped out and popped the trunk.

“How’d it go?”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Ryan went to the passenger side and got in, slamming the door after him.

Tim looked at the house, expecting to see his own parents at the window, judgment on their faces, but no one was there. He drove in silence, letting Ryan decide when he was ready to talk. Sometimes Tim had needed physical distance from his parents before he felt free enough to express himself.

“They’re cutting me off,” Ryan said.

“What do you mean?”

“School. They won’t pay my tuition. My dad acts like going to college made me gay or something. He says the environment there ‘supports my bad decisions.’ So now I’m on my own, unless I want to move back in and go to the stupid Nazarene college he went to.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.” Ryan’s laugh was bitter. “I told them I was moving in with my boyfriend. You should have seen the looks on their faces!” Their expressions probably matched Tim’s, but he hid it before Ryan turned to face him. “Is that all right?”

“The boyfriend thing or moving in?”

“Whatever,” Ryan scoffed, his scowl deepening before he turned to the window. “Never mind. I’ll find somewhere else to crash.”

Not the best time to kid around, apparently. “It’s cool,” Tim said, not knowing if it was. “Both things, I mean.”

Ryan didn’t react at first, still watching the scenery whiz by outside. Then he exhaled, shoulders relaxing, and reached for Tim’s hand.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Ryan crept into the bathroom, draped in a pink robe and matching slippers, taking comically large steps like Elmer Fudd sneaking up behind Bugs Bunny.

“Burglar!” he hissed.

Tim peered at him in the steamed-up mirror, shaving razor poised.

“Huh?”

“There’s someone downstairs!” Ryan stage-whispered. “You’re

being robbed!”

In the middle of the morning? This had to be a joke. “Think he’ll

take the couch? We could use a new one.”

“I’m serious!” Ryan’s eyebrows came together, stage one of the

“soon to throw a fit” warning system.

“All right,” Tim said, dropping the razor in the sink and grabbing a

towel to wrap around himself. “I’ll check it out. Is he a big guy?” “Huge!” Ryan held his arms out like a hula-hoop, and Tim nearly

laughed.

“And what exactly is he doing down there?”

“Poking through the refrigerator.” Even Ryan looked uncertain at