Page 10 of Ring Rust

The idea of staying in their house nauseated him. He didn’t want to be there alone, without Jasper. What was the point? He bought the house because Jasper wanted the privacy. Ryan didn’t care about that. They had eighteen chickens, and Ryan didn’t even know what they ate besides the occasional kitchen scrap. Their cat, Calliope, who was hiding from their raised voices, was too old to move, and she’d always loved Jasper more than him. Their bed was big, and Ryan was so, so sick of sleeping alone.

“I’ll go. I can stay in my apartment in Boston,” Ryan said.

“No. I’m the one choosing to leave, you should stay here.”

“I don’t want to stay here. I don't want to live here alone. I’ll go to Beni’s tonight and go back to Boston tomorrow. It makes more sense than you going to Stevie’s.”

Jasper nodded, maybe more to end the conversation than because he cared either way. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Ry.”

“I just need to, uh. Pack up a bag. I won’t take too long.”

“Take however long you need,” Jasper said. He didn’t look up as he made his way to the kitchen, opening drawers until he found what he was looking for. He stood at the sink, scrubbing his hands to rid himself of every bit of Ryan. The faucet dripped after he turned it off, something Jasper had asked him to fix a dozen times.

Jasper dried his hands on a rag, then used it to wipe up the water around the sink, still avoiding Ryan’s gaze. There was no offer of a towel or tissue. Not even a regretful look.

“You should go pack,” Jasper finally said, staring at the counter.

It wasn't until then, after digesting the last thirty minutes, that Ryan fully accepted it: his marriage was ending, his career was over, and the future he'd always imagined was circling the drain with the scorched bacon grease and mopped up orange juice.

Chapter Four

A lotof people looked at Ryan and saw only what he presented on the surface: a strong, muscular meathead whose intelligence ended at wrestling stats and technique. But the truth was, Ryan was a strong, muscular meathead whose intelligence ended at wrestling stats, technique,anda love of cooking and feeding his loved ones. He’d been at it since he was old enough to hold a knife.

So, for Ryan, pancakes were not a difficult food to prepare. He was a great cook, everyone always told him that, and he’d chosen to believe them because there were never any leftovers and people asked for his recipes all the time. But if any of those people were to peek into Beni’s kitchen at the moment, they’d run for the hills and wipe their tongues of any food Ryan had ever made for them.

Stacks of pancakes lined Beni’s countertops. Mostly crispy and black on the edges, but some of them managed to be goopy and pasty in the center. He’d dirtied just about every plate and used an entire family size bag of pancake mix.It required only water to prepare, but somehow, not even that could save his attempt at breakfast.

Things probably would have been okay if he hadn’t just heard from Stevie, asking questions about things that needed to be fixed at their theme park. Ryan was good at manual labor and she knew that, but he wasn’t invited to help.

In fact, the phone call was top secret and not something Ryan was allowed to mention to Jasper, which was bad enough on its own. That meant Jasper had told her that specifically. But worse, was that during their conversation, she also let slip that Jasper was sick and stuck in bed.

Ryan had assumed Jasper had gotten through his usual end-of-September illness without him. He hadn't had a chance to make the soup he made Jasper every year, but at least chaos of their breakup could take the blame, rather than a lack of effort. Now he knew the truth. Jasper had been at home, sick and soupless, and hadn't said a word.

Ryan couldn’t stand the thought of Jasper alone, sniffling and sneezing with no one around. For the first time in a long time, Ryan was a ten-minute drive away, but completely unwanted.

Anyway, filling a sixth plate with terrible, inedible pancake attempts had been the straw that broke the heartbroken camel’s back, and he'd taken himself to Beni’s living room to lie face down on the rug with a blanket pulled over his head. Then, feeling the need to wallow even more, he pulled out his phone, started a playlist calledSoul Crushing, and cried into the rug.

He missed Jasper so much, every passing minute tightened the vise around his heart until it squeezed out every thought that wasn’t him. He missed Jasper’s playful jabs. He missed Jasper’s endless patience. He missed the individual voices Jasper had given every single chicken. His bed at his sister’s house was empty, driving home the absence of Jasper’s warmth and tight body and lazy morning blowjobs. The floor he was on was cold and hard, reminding him of the three ice cubes Jasper liked inhis cocktails and the unwashed ice cream spoons he always left on the counter.

Fifteen minutes had passed when Ryan heard footsteps stop directly by his head.

“Ry.”

He grunted.

“This is the fourth time in a row you’ve played this song,” Beni said. “You’re scaring Nina.”

“It expresses how I feel. I’m trying to heal.”

“Well, now your niece thinks the world is ending.”

“Did you tell her the truth? That the world will still be here tomorrow, but who even cares because living is just constant pain? That love doesn’t last, life keeps going, and no matter how miserable she is, tomorrow will arrive all the same?” Ryan sniffled beneath his blanket. He heard Beni sigh as she sat.

“Ry,” she said.

“What?”

She pulled the blanket off his head. The static pulled his long hair across his face so he was still hidden. A flash of smugness passed over his veiled features before he remembered his life was over, and being smug was a waste of energy. But so was breathing, and he was still doing that.