“I know. And I appreciate that. But I want some alone time with him.”

  “You’re just afraid his parents will like me more.”

  “And that,” Ryan concedes. “Definitely that.”

  * * *

  —

  Oreos, he texts that afternoon, even though he knows Avery’s probably in the middle of his dress rehearsal and won’t have his phone out like in regular rehearsal.

  Frozen pizzas.

  Sparkling water.

  “Ryan?”

  Ryan looks up from his phone, and there’s his mother, stalking him in aisle three.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. She doesn’t have a cart or any groceries.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Mom, I’m working.”

  She looks at the phone in his hand. “Really?”

  He puts his phone in his pocket and starts taking the bottles of Pellegrino out of their boxes, lining them on the shelf so they face perfectly forward.

  She doesn’t take the hint. “This can’t continue,” she says. “You storming in every night, shutting yourself in your room. Your father wants to take the lock off your door, but I told him, no, that’s not the way to handle this.”

  Ryan wants to say, Yeah, why bother changing the lock when he’ll only lie in wait for me to take a bathroom break?

  His mom keeps talking. “I know you’re not a child, but you’re behaving like a child. If you want to be given independence, you have to earn it. And this is not the way to earn it.”

  “Mom,” Ryan says as calmly as he can, “the thing I’m trying to earn right now is a paycheck, and they’re not paying me to talk to you. Can you please go before my manager sees?”

  His mother takes one of the Pellegrino bottles off the shelf and holds it by the neck. “I’ll say I’m a customer, and that you’ve helped me.”

  “Mom, that’s not my point.”

  “Ryan. I’m not leaving without a promise from you that this behavior will stop. We don’t want to ground you again, but we will.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Ryan stops stocking the shelves and looks at her hard. “Are you serious? What I mean is that you are incapable of understanding that the way to help me, the way to be a half-decent parent, isn’t to confine me in the house but to actually let me do the completely nondestructive things I want to do outside of the house. You’re acting like I’m going out and getting arrested. When what I’m really doing is…wait for it…going on dates with a boy I really like.”

  This is the most he’s said to her in what feels like years. He’s put it all out for her. And how does she respond?

  “I’m not sure about this boy you’re going on dates with, if this is the way you act.”

  Ryan shakes his head. “Seriously?”

  “See it through my eyes, Ryan. Before you met this boy, you weren’t disappearing. You weren’t locking your door every night. You weren’t angry all the time.”

  “First off, I was angry all the time. And second, these days I’m only angry around you. Not when I’m with him.”

  “I just don’t know what kind of influence he is. That’s what I’m saying.”

  Ryan wants to kick over the remaining boxes, or run his arm over the shelves to make all the bottles he’s so carefully placed crash to the floor. But he wants to keep his job. He wants to be responsible.

  He isn’t going to say another word to her. Not a single word. But then she says, “What? Tell me.” And he thinks, Fine. Enough.

  “You think Caitlin is a bad influence. You think Alicia is a bad influence. And now you think Avery is a bad influence. Why is it that you think everyone who might possibly love me is a bad influence? What could that possibly mean?”

  “We love you, Ryan.”

  Ryan pauses, then says, “I’m sure you think you do.”

  He doesn’t mean it as a cut-down. He actually thinks he’s been generous, conceding that in their own twisted way his parents think what they feel is love. But his mom looks for a second like she’s lost her breath. The bottle in her hand almost comes loose. Then she recovers and puts it back on the shelf.

  “You are to come home as soon as your shift is over,” she tells him evenly. “You are going to sit down to dinner with your father and me. We are not going to indulge your sulky behavior anymore. And if you cannot bother to listen to us, you will be grounded again. You really don’t have to do this, Ryan. Whatever this is.”

  Ryan realizes there are other people in the aisle, and they are looking at him strangely, critically. They’re wondering who this jerk of an employee is, to make his mom tear up in the middle of the grocery store.

  He doesn’t care enough for it to really be called caring. He turns his back to all of them, returns to the shelves. He works hard until the end of his shift.

  It’s only then he allows himself to realize:

  I can’t go home.

  * * *

  —

  He could go to Caitlin’s. Or Alicia’s. Or even Miles’s, if he had to.

  But the thing is, his parents would find him in those places.

  And if they find him, his keys will end up in their possession, and he’ll never be able to see Avery’s play.

  So he texts Avery and asks, How do you feel about me coming a night early?

  He doesn’t expect an immediate response.

  He starts driving toward Avery anyway.

  * * *

  —

  As he drives, he tries to lose himself in music and the road. He makes promises to himself that he won’t let his parents get to him, and breaks these promises immediately with the same fervor with which he made them. He assures himself that Avery will be welcoming, that this isn’t too much drama to be bringing to his door. Then he succumbs to doubt and makes the music louder.

  He can’t turn off his phone, because he wants to see if Avery responds. So he has to sit there as his phone rings, his mom calling. And as it rings again, and again. He sees she’s left messages, but he doesn’t listen to them. She texts him and he doesn’t check those, either. He’s driving. He can already hear himself telling her, I was driving—you don’t want me texting while I’m driving, do you?

  He doesn’t check when he stops driving, either. He’s about a half-hour short of Avery’s town, and since Avery’s clearly still rehearsing, Ryan goes to a Target, because he’s going to need some clothes for tomorrow, and maybe the next day. Also, a toothbrush.

  It’s only as he’s walking the Target aisles that Ryan truly feels like he’s making some kind of break from home. Knowing he has enough money in his account to pay for these things. Knowing he’s in control of his own time. His actions feel purely his own.

  He finds three shirts he likes, and decides to buy all three. He almost changes into one of them once he’s back in the truck, just for it to feel more like a new start.

  * * *

  —

  When he gets to Marigold, it’s after nine, and there’s still no word from Avery. If Avery hadn’t been telling him how much they’ve been needing rehearsal this week, Ryan might be a little more worried. Instead of driving to Avery’s house, he heads to Avery’s school. Since there aren’t that many cars left in the parking lot, Avery’s is easy to spot.

  Ryan pulls in a few spaces over. He goes to text Avery to say I’m here, but then he hesitates. What if Avery saw his earlier text and didn’t know what to do with it? What if now’s a bad time for Ryan to be here, after all? Ryan’s fears force him to leave some margin for this potential error. Odds are that Avery will look at his phone before he leaves the building. So if he tells Ryan it’s not a good idea, Ryan will be out of the parking lot before Avery can notice him there.

  That’s the plan Ryan hopes he won’t have to use.

  * * *

  —

  It’s nearly ten o’clock when people start exiting the building, heading to their cars.

  Ryan’s phone lights up.

  I’m so sorry—I was in rehearsal, no phones allowed. Are you okay?

  Ryan texts back, I am.

  Were you serious about coming tonight? Is it too late?

  It’s not too late, Ryan replies. Then he decides to risk it and types, I’m outside.

  Oh! I’ll be in the parking lot in three minutes.

  Great, Ryan types. But he’s still worried that it isn’t, in fact, great. An “Oh!” can be an expression of pleasure. But it can also be one of surprise.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan himself goes Oh! when he sees Avery leaving the school with someone who looks like his grandmother. Ryan assumes it must be a teacher helping out with the costumes. Then they get closer and he sees that, no, it’s just a kid dressed like an old lady.

  Ryan steps out of his truck, and when they get to him, Avery says, “Ryan, you remember Pope—they were with me at the dance?”

  “Of course,” Ryan says, even though the costume is making Pope very hard to place. “Nice to see you, Pope.”

  “Ooh, likewise,” Pope says. “Don’t mind my current look. The dress isn’t quite fitting the way I want it to, so I’m going to ask my parent to take in some seams before tomorrow’s performance.”

  “I have to drive Pope home,” Avery explains. “Want to follow behind, and then we can get to my house at the same time?”

  “Sounds good.” Ryan can’t tell if Avery’s happy to see him, and wonders if there are things he isn’t saying because there’s an audience.

  “I’m happy to ride with Ryan,” Pope volunteers. “Get to know him a little better.”

  Avery quickly intervenes. “That’s all right, Mrs. Stranglehold. You can come with me.”

  “A pity,” Pope sighs. But they go with Avery in the end.

  * * *

  —

  It’s as Ryan follows Avery’s taillights that the doubts really begin to chime. Not just worries about whether Avery wants him here. No, the underlying worry, too: What if no one wants him? What if, wherever he goes, he’ll always be an inconvenience?

  * * *

  —

  When Avery drops Pope off, Ryan half expects them to waddle over in their old-lady clogs to tell him his timing is poor, his manners worse, his expectations atrocious. But instead, shoes off, they head straight for the front door. Not even a wave in Ryan’s direction. It’s like he isn’t there.

  * * *

  —

  By the time they get to Avery’s house, Ryan is ready to turn around. Text Avery later to say he understands how foolish he was being.

  As it happens, Avery texts him first.

  Don’t worry. My parents know you’re coming. It’s all good.

  Ryan pulls his truck in behind Avery’s car. Steps out and grabs his Target bag from the passenger seat.

  “Well, this is a nice twist to the evening,” Avery says, smiling. Then he pulls Ryan into a hug.

  Ryan lets go of the bag, uses both hands to hug Avery back. He isn’t intending to get all emotional, but Avery’s welcome sends a signal to his brain, a permission that it manages to understand. Because all of a sudden the emotions he’s been keeping in are coming out, and he’s actually gasping right there in Avery’s arms, tearing up and gasping.

  “It’s okay,” Avery says. “It’s all okay. You’re here now.”

  * * *

  —

  Avery’s parents are waiting when they get inside. They are welcoming to Ryan, but they also seem much more confused than last time.

  They’ve barely said their hellos—they’re still in the front hallway—when Ryan starts to tell them what’s happening. He feels he owes them an explanation. He feels they need to know he doesn’t think he can just sleep over without some explanation. Avery needs to know this, too, that he wouldn’t be crashing the night before Avery’s exams without a reason. And also, in a lot of ways, the explanation is for himself, too. Like when you dump out the contents of your backpack, clear it all out and line everything up on the floor so you can see what you’ve stuffed inside and then decide what can be thrown out, what can be put away, and what should still be carried around.

  He tells Avery’s parents some of the things Avery already knows, like how he was grounded after his last visit on the snow day, like the fact that he wasn’t even allowed to see his aunt, who’s the one person in town who really cares about him. Then he tells them all the things he hasn’t been telling Avery this week, not wanting to throw anything his way that would interfere with studying or rehearsing. The arguments with his parents. His mom’s visit to the grocery store. Her threat.

  “I know I shouldn’t have run off,” he tells them. “I know I should have tried to go there and make it right. But I felt there was no way that was going to happen, that I’d only get trapped there again and I’d miss Avery’s play, which I’ve been looking forward to so, so much. My brain said, ‘Go there, Ryan. Go there.’ ”

  He stops then, because he doesn’t know what comes next.

  Avery hugs him again, tells him, “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” And it makes Ryan happy, because it’s what he needs. And it makes Ryan sad, because it’s not something that would ever be able to happen in front of his own parents.

  “Why don’t we go in the kitchen and sit down?” Avery’s dad says. “It sounds like you didn’t have dinner, Ryan, and I doubt Avery got much sustenance while rehearsing. How about I make you some grilled cheese sandwiches? Are you a Swiss guy, a cheddar guy, or an American guy, Ryan?”

  “Dad!” Avery exclaims in mock outrage. “Such personal questions!”

  “I haven’t even gotten to the bread yet,” Avery’s dad replies. “That’s when I really get to measure a person’s character.”

  “Boys,” Avery’s mom says, intimating that now might not be the time. But Ryan is grateful to feel some of the heaviness around him lift.

  “Cheddar cheese. Rye bread, if you have it. And orange juice, if it gets to that,” he answers.

  Everyone laughs.

  * * *

  —

  As they sit at the table over grilled cheese sandwiches, Avery’s parents don’t ask Ryan too many more questions. Instead they ask Avery about the play, about the final rehearsal, about what time they should get to the show tomorrow. They don’t ask Ryan about school tomorrow. They don’t assume he’s going to leave after he’s done with his grilled cheese. At one point, as the plates are being cleared and a chain of yawns spreads from person to person, Avery’s mom tells Ryan he needs to text his parents and let them know where he is.

  I’m at Avery’s, he texts. I’m fine.

  Then he turns off his phone.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan isn’t surprised when Avery says, “I’ll go get the sheets for the sofa…. I think it’s probably best if we each sleep solo tonight.” He would love nothing more than to hold and be held all night…but he knows that would be pushing it.

  So he waits in the family room as Avery heads to the linen closet. Both of Avery’s parents poke their heads in to wish Ryan a goodnight. They tell him they’ll be leaving around the same time as Avery tomorrow, and Ryan should help himself to whatever’s in the kitchen. They’ll be back by five, and then they’ll all get some dinner before the play.

  “That’s great,” Ryan says. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  —

  Avery has his arms full of pillows, sheets, and towels when he sees his parents leave the doorway of the family room. The three of them meet about halfway down the hallway.

  “The poor kid,” Avery’s dad says.

  Then Avery’s mom looks at Avery with a slight tilt to her head and tells him, “You know this is only a temporary solution, right? We can grant him asylum here for the weekend, but he’ll need to go back home Sunday, after the cast party. He can’t skip school altogether. Maybe there’s someone else there he can stay with?”

  “His aunt,” Avery says. “Maybe.”

  “Okay. If you need our help in having that conversation, let us know. He’s always welcome here, but…”

  “No, I get it,” Avery says. “I really appreciate you doing this.”

  “Make sure you get some sleep,” Avery’s dad says, patting him on the shoulder. “Big day tomorrow.”

  * * *

  —

  Although he’s stayed here before, Ryan can’t help the feeling that he doesn’t really know the house at all…and that the house doesn’t know him, either. He doesn’t feel like a trespasser—he understands now that he’s welcome. But he feels more like a visitor than a boyfriend. He wonders when it is that you cross that line, and stop being a guest in someone else’s life.

  When Avery returns, Ryan laughs because Avery’s face is barely visible over the stack of pillows and sheets and towels he’s holding.

  “Here, let me help you,” Ryan says, but Avery just tilts his arms like the back of a garbage truck and everything falls beside the couch.

  “Ta-da!” Avery sings.

  Ryan smiles…but then he shakes his head and says, “I’m sorry this isn’t much of a date. My timing couldn’t be worse.”

  “What, you don’t consider having grilled cheese with my parents to be a date?”

  “In some cultures, maybe? But not sure about ours.”

  “Hmmm.” Avery makes a show of thinking. “I have an idea. Let me take you somewhere on a date.”

  Before Ryan can ask whether he’ll need to put his shoes back on, Avery is removing the big cushions from the couch and standing them up to make an L on the floor, touching one of the couch’s arms. Then he takes the blanket and drapes it over the U shape the cushions and the couch make. He pulls two pillows from the linen pile and scoots them into the enclosure he’s made.