He knew what Cliffy was going through, but the words to tell him so just wouldn’t come. Instead, he lay here in his best friend’s bed holding him, keeping his small body close, trying to console the boy the best way he knew how.
By simply being here.
He’d liked the old lady too, and smiled at the memory of how she had tried so hard to set him up with the hostess in the restaurant. Kept telling him he needed to get out and live. Her exuberant laughter was always contagious and for the short time he’d known her, she’d been a huge influence on his life. He wondered if Cliffy knew how lucky he had been—how lucky he was to have known his grandmother at all.
But right now, Ricky was sure Cliffy didn’t quite consider himself very lucky. No, it was more likely that he thought the world was out to drown him.
His friend burrowed deeper into the crease where Ricky’s bigger body met the bed, slowly rubbing the silky scrap of cloth against his cheek. It smelled like times gone by and happiness. It smelled like her. Ricky wrapped his arms around the boy a little tighter because his sudden shiver scared him a little; after all, it was not cold in the hotel suite by any means.
After a long while the sobs quieted and the shaking stopped, and Ricky thought maybe Cliffy had gone to sleep. So he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and a small tear slid down his the bridge of his nose as he whispered a quiet, “Goodbye, Grandma Peache.”
Cliffy slowly shifted his head, resting it on the pillow beside Ricky’s. He reached out with an unsteady hand to capture that tear on the tip of his finger, and then watched it disappear as he rubbed it against his thumb. His gaze shifted up to look into the depths of the sky blue eyes thinly veiled between sooty dark lashes and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know why, didn’t really try to think about it to be honest, but his head was spinning and he had to do something. So he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the bigger boy’s soft, moist ones.
Ricky was startled, but didn’t draw back. And it wasn’t so bad, as far as kisses went. It wasn’t sloppy wet, and Cliffy didn’t even try to stick his tongue in his mouth. He wondered if Cliffy even knew how to kiss like that.
It was over almost as soon as it started. Ricky wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
But he did know that Cliffy had pulled away and was looking at him as if he was scared of being hit. And it hurt that he’d think that of him. So he lifted his hand slowly, to make sure it wasn’t interpreted as retaliation, and laid his palm against the boy’s cheek. With his thumb he caressed the bottom lip that only moments earlier had been pressed against his own.
Softly Ricky stated, “You know me and Shelly are going steady, right?”
Cliffy raised his hand and gently placed it over Ricky’s, his fingers wrapping around the more calloused ones, intertwining with them.
“I know,” he answered. And then continued, seemingly out of left field:
“I had to interview Grandma for my history report--get the older generation’s view of the world. One of the last things we talked about before…before she died was the things she’d done in her youth. I asked her if there was any day she would want to do over. If there was some event she would like to change. If she regretted anything she had said or done. And she told me, ‘Cliffy, I’m an old woman. I’ve done a whole lot of things I probably shouldn’t have. But you know what? I’d rather regret doing the things I have done than regret not ever having done them.’”
Ricky nodded but said nothing, knowing exactly what he meant.
As they fell asleep under a shared blanket, bodies still pressed together, Ricky hoped that his best friend didn’t regret giving him that kiss. Because, even though nothing would ever come of it, he didn’t regret it.
And he hoped Cliffy would tell him more stories about this amazing woman.
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