Maybe Someday

Ridge: They don’t look like they’re ready to leave, so I guess we have time now. Brennan and I didn’t luck out in the parent department. They both had issues with addiction. They might still have them, but we wouldn’t know, because we haven’t spoken to either of them in years. My mother spent most of our childhood in bed, doped up on pain pills. Our father spent most of our childhood in bars. When I was five, I was enrolled in a school for the deaf. That’s where I learned sign language. I would come home and teach Brennan, because neither of my parents knew ASL. I taught him because I was five years old and had never had a conversation with anyone before. I was so desperate to communicate I was forcing my two-year-old brother to learn signs like “cookie” and “window” just so I would have someone to talk to.



My heart sinks to my stomach. I look up at him, but he’s still texting.



Ridge: Imagine walking into your first day of school to the realization that there is actually a way to communicate. When I saw kids having conversations with their hands, I was amazed. I lived the first five years of my life never knowing what it was like to communicate. The school began teaching me how to form words using my voice, how to read, how to sign. I spent the next few years practicing everything I learned on Brennan. He became just as fluent in ASL as I was. I wanted him to know it, but I also didn’t want to use him as my way to communicate with my parents. So when I would talk to them, I would always speak my words. I couldn’t hear my own voice, of course, and I know it sounds different when deaf people speak, but I wanted a way to communicate with them since they didn’t know ASL. One day, when I was talking to my father, he told Brennan to tell me to shut up, then had Brennan speak for me. I didn’t understand why, but he was angry. Every time I would try to talk to my father after that, the same thing would happen, and he would tell Brennan to tell me to stop voicing my words. Brennan would translate what my father wanted him to say back to me. I finally realized my father didn’t want me to talk because he didn’t like the way my voice sounded. It embarrassed him that I couldn’t hear. He didn’t like for me to speak when we were in public, because people would know I was deaf, so he would tell me to shut up every time I did it. One day at home, he became so angry that I was still doing it that he started yelling at Brennan. He assumed that since I continued speaking my words, Brennan wasn’t relaying the fact that he didn’t want me to speak. He was really drunk that day and took his anger too far, which wasn’t uncommon. But he hit Brennan so hard upside the head it knocked him out.



Tears begin to well in my eyes, and I have to inhale a calming breath.



Ridge: He was only six years old, Sydney. Six. I never wanted to give my father another reason to hit him, so that was the last day I ever spoke out loud. I guess it just became habit after that.



He lays his phone on the table and folds his arms in front of him. He doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response from me. He may not even want one. He watches me, and I know he sees the tears falling down my cheeks, but he doesn’t react to them. I take a deep breath, then reach over and pick up a napkin and wipe my eyes. I wish he wouldn’t see me responding like this but I can’t hold it back. He smiles softly and begins to reach across the table for my hand, and then Warren and Maggie reappear at the booth.



Ridge pulls his hand back and looks up at them. Maggie’s arms are draped across Warren’s shoulders, and she’s laughing at nothing in particular. Warren keeps trying to grab the back of the booth—it looks as if he’s about to need support, too, but he can’t seem to grasp anything. Ridge and I both stand up and assist them. Ridge pulls Maggie off Warren, and I wrap Warren’s arm around my shoulders. He presses his forehead to mine.



“Syd, I’m so happy you got cheated on. I’m so happy you moved in.”



I laugh and push his face away from mine. Ridge nods his head toward the entrance, and I nod in agreement. Another drink, and we would probably have to carry these two out.



“I like that dress you wear, Syd. That blue one? But please don’t wear it again.” Warren is leaning his head against mine as we make our way toward the stairs. “I don’t like your ass in it, because I think I might love Bridgette, and your dress makes me love your ass.”



Wow. He’s really drunk if he’s admitting that he might love Bridgette.



“I already told you I was burning that dress,” I say, laughing.



“Good,” he says with a sigh.



We reach the exit, and I notice Ridge is carrying Maggie now. Her arms are draped around his neck, and her eyes are closed. Once we reach the car, she opens her eyes as Ridge tries to stand her up. She attempts to take a step but ends up stumbling. Ridge opens the back door, and she practically falls inside. He scoots her to the other side of the seat, and she falls against the door, closing her eyes again. Ridge steps out of the way and motions for Warren to climb in. Warren steps forward and reaches up to Ridge’s face. He pats Ridge’s cheek and says, “I feel bad for you, buddy. I bet it’s really hard not to kiss Sydney, cuz it’s hard for me, and I don’t even like her like you do.”



Warren climbs inside the car and falls against Maggie. I’m thankful that he was too drunk to sign any of that, because I know that Ridge didn’t understand what he said. I can tell by the confused look Ridge is giving me. He laughs and bends down, lifting Warren’s leg, which is still hanging out of the car. He pushes it inside the car and closes the door, and my mind is still stuck on Warren’s words.



Ridge reaches in front of me and pulls on the handle of the front passenger door, then opens it. I step forward, but the second Ridge’s hand rests against my lower back, I pause.



I glance up at him, and he’s looking straight down at me. His hand remains on my lower back as I force myself to slowly close the gap between myself and the car. The second I begin to lower myself into the seat, his hand slips away, and he waits until I’m all the way inside the car, then closes the door.



I lean my head back into the seat and close my eyes, terrified of what that simple gesture just did to me.



I hear him take his position behind the wheel, and the car cranks, but I continue to keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to feel what I feel when I look at him. I don’t like how every minute I spend with him, I feel more and more like a Tori.



My phone receives a text, so I’m forced to open my eyes. Ridge is holding his phone, watching me.



Ridge: She doesn’t do this a lot. Probably not even three times a year. She’s been under a lot of stress lately, and she likes to go out. It helps.



Me: I wasn’t judging her.



Ridge: I know. I just wanted you to know she’s not a raging alcoholic like I am.



He winks at me, and I laugh. I glance into the backseat, where Warren is draped across Maggie. They’re both out cold. I turn back around in my seat and text him again.



Me: Thank you for telling me all that earlier. You didn’t have to, and I know you probably didn’t want to, but thank you.



He gives me a sideways glance, then returns his attention to his phone.



Ridge: I’ve never told anyone that story. Not even Brennan. He was probably too young to even remember it.



He sets his phone down and puts the car in reverse, then begins to back out.



Why is it that the only question I wish I could ask him right now is the most inappropriate one? I want to ask him if he’s ever told Maggie, but his answer shouldn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t matter at all, but it does.



He begins to drive, and he reaches down and turns on the radio, which confuses me. He can’t hear it, so I don’t understand why he would care if it was on or off.



But then I realize he didn’t do it for himself.



He turned it on for me.



Ridge



After stopping at a drive-thru for food, we pull up to the apartment complex. I put the car in park.



Me: Take the food up and unlock the door while I wake them up.



She picks up our two drinks and the bag of food. She heads up to the apartment, and I walk to the back door and open it. I shake Warren awake and help him out of the car. Then I wake Maggie up and help her out. She’s still too out of it to walk, so I pick her up and shut the door behind me. I make sure Warren walks ahead of me up the stairs, because I’m not positive he won’t fall down them.



When we make it inside, Warren stumbles to his bedroom, and I walk Maggie into my room. I lay her on the bed and take off her shoes, then her clothes. I pull the covers over her, then head back into the dining room, where Sydney has laid out our food. It’s almost midnight, and we haven’t eaten since lunch. I take a seat in front of her.



Me: So now that you know one of my deep, dark secrets, I want to know one of yours.



We both have our phones out on the table while we eat. She smiles and begins to text me back.



Sydney: You have more than one deep, dark secret?



Me: We’re talking about you right now. If we’re going to be working together, I need to know what I’m getting myself into. Tell me about your family. Any raging alcoholics?



Sydney: No, just raging assholes. My father is a lawyer, and he hates that I’m not going to law school. My mother stays home. She’s never worked a day in her life. She’s a great mom, but she’s also one of those perfect moms, you know? Think Leave It to Beaver meets Stepford Wives.



Me: Siblings?



Sydney: Nope. Only child.



Me: I wouldn’t have pegged you as an only child. Nor would I have guessed you were a lawyer’s daughter.



Sydney: Why? Because I’m not pretentious and spoiled?



I smile at her and nod.



Sydney: Well, thanks. I try.



Me: I don’t mean for this to come off as insensitive, but if your father is a lawyer and you still have a relationship with your parents, why did you not call them last week? When you had nowhere to go?



Sydney: The primary thing my mother instilled in me was the fact that she didn’t want me to be her. She had no education and has always been completely dependent on my father. She raised me to be very independent and financially responsible, so I’ve always taken pride in not asking for their help. It’s hard sometimes, especially when I really need their help, but I always get by. I also don’t ask for their help because my father would point out in a not-so-nice way that if I were in law school, he’d be paying for it.



Me: Wait. You’re paying for school on your own? But if you changed your major to prelaw, your father would pay for it?



She nods.



Me: That’s not really fair.



Sydney: Like I said, my father is an asshole. But I don’t go around blaming my parents for everything. I have a lot to be thankful for. I’ve grown up in a relatively normal household, both of my parents are alive and well, and they support me to an extent. They’re better than most, just worse than some. I hate it when people spend their entire lives blaming their parents for every bad thing that happens to them.



Me: Yeah. I completely agree, which is why I was emancipated at sixteen. Decided to take my life into my own hands.



Sydney: Really? What about Brennan?