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cheerful Every summer since he was six, Ryan went to Connecticut to stay with his Aunt Eleanore. She was his mother's late-father's sister and had reached out to Ryan's father soon after Ryan's mother had vanished off the face of the earth. Ryan hadn't known much about Eleanore beyond the fact that she was a retired ballet dancer and insanely wealthy, but that and her offer to watch Ryan 'whenever' was enough to satisfy Ryan's father. Not to mention, it was cheaper then summer camp and would 'keep Ryan out of trouble,' or so his father liked to say as he pushed Ryan on to a plane every June, like clock work.
At first, Ryan resented the fact that he had to fly all the way across the country just because his Dad was too lazy to deal with him. He could still remember his first summer, when he'd been a pouty and grumpy six year old, clinging to his tiny backpack as his Aunt's butler, Greg, brought him into the house. Eleanore greeted him at the door, and, confronted with her sweet smile, enthusiastic hug and boisterous, excited voice, Ryan's irritation melted into instant adoration.
Eleanore's house was clearly a mansion, but Eleanore never liked that word, so it was known simply as the 'house.' Eleanore and Ryan would pick different rooms to explore depending on their mood and the day of the week. Ryan was never bored, what with the ever changing interior décor and the constant influx of creative and important people coming through Eleanore's front door.
Ryan's favorite part of the house, though, was the library. Eleanore had a fantastic library, shelves from floor to ceiling packed with books on every subject imaginable.
“Come now, what should we read next?” Eleanore would prompt and Ryan would pick a book from whatever genre he felt best fit his current mood. Ryan would show the cover to Eleanore and she always, no matter what, would grin and say, “That one's my favorite.”
Summers at Eleanore's gradually became Ryan's favorite part of the year. They were undoubtably his best friend Spencer's least favorite.
“You're just GONE for the whole summer,” Spencer whined one time when the boys were nine.
“Maybe you can come with me,” Ryan suggested.
He called Eleanore the next day and she seemed positively delighted about the possibility of Ryan bringing along a friend. They arrived on schedule at the end of June, after school was finished. Spencer was in the house for four minutes when Eleanore insisted the boys have some tea.
“I love your Aunt,” Spencer muttered between bites of sugar cookie. Ryan just laughed.
Eleanore's back yard was an elaborate tapestry of lush grass and carefully pruned hedges. It was the perfect place for two boys to play hide and seek. Ryan ran frantically through a series of hydrangeas. He could just make out the sound of Spencer's counting over his own labored breathing.
“...twenty-eight...twenty-nine...thirty!
Ryan dove into the closest hedge, ignoring how the tiny branches scratched at his arms as he fought through. He popped out the other side of the hedge and, spotting a small tool shed, made a run for it. He tore open the door of the shed and dove in.
He heard the door close and felt himself bump into something warm and soft and very much alive. It was dark inside the shed, only the tiniest bit of natural light coming through the cobweb fogged windows. Ryan fumbled around on the wall for a switch. Finding it, the tiny shed was bathed in soft light from a bulb that clearly should have been replaced months ago.
A boy who looked only a little older then Ryan, with tousled brown hair and dirt smudged on his tan cheeks, was standing in the center of the shed. He was holding a bag of grass seed and although Ryan had seen gardeners and other servants around Eleanore's house before, he was sure he'd never seen the boy.
“Um,” Ryan stammered. “Sorry. Just. Hide and go seek, you know?”
The boy didn't say anything, but he smiled softly. He ducked his head, then, and walked slowly around Ryan towards the door.
“Oh, wait!” Ryan twisted his hands together, pleading. “My friend is still looking for me. Could you, uh, just be quiet when you go?”
The boy smiled again and raised a finger to his lips in agreement. He left, then, and Ryan stood staring at the door for a few moments after that, until Spencer finally found him.
Ryan never saw the boy again, and he looked. Every summer.
The summer Ryan was sixteen, he wasn't sure he wanted to go to Eleanore's. All his friends were staying in Vegas, going to concerts, and the girl with the lip ring and the big blue eyes who'd smiled at Ryan in math class all semester was working at the community pool.
“You always love going to Eleanore's,” Spencer argued.
“Yeah, but--”
Spencer snorted. “No, forget it. We stay here and you'll do something stupid like pierce your eyebrow and make out with slutty chlorine-smell girl. We're going.”
Years later, Ryan would be grateful Spencer put his foot down. Especially when it turned out lip ring girl was rather fond of cocaine. At the time though, Ryan just followed Spencer to Connecticut with a silent scowl on his face.
His irritation faded almost instantly, however, and a week into their stay at Eleanore's, Ryan was content. He was in the middle of a new book Eleanore was excited to discuss with him and Eleanore, for the first time, was leaving the boys alone in the house for three days.
“I have this silly little luncheon in New York,” Eleanore drawled at breakfast, rolling her eyes.
“Isn't the Governor attending?” Ryan asked and Spencer chuckled into his eggs.
Eleanore smiled. “The more you learn about politics, dear, the more you realize it's all distasteful, boring crap.”
Spencer had never heard anyone over the age of sixty curse before, and promptly choked on his toast. Wordlessly, Greg stepped forward and thumped, hard, on Spencer's back until the boy resumed normal breathing.
“Thank you, Greg,” Eleanore twittered happily. “See, I TOLD you those first aid classes were a good idea.”
“Indeed, Ma'am,” Greg said in his usual polite monotone.
“Anyway,” Eleanore decreed. “The two of you are to make sure the place doesn't burn to the ground. All right?”
Ryan exchanged looks with Greg, Ryan had no doubt who would really be in charge. After ten summers at Eleanore's, Ryan began to realize that behind the scenes, Greg was the one keeping everything well maintained and working smoothly. “Sure, Aunt Eleanore,” Ryan said dutifully.
Eleanore left for her luncheon early that Friday. The boys hadn't been up when she left, but when they came down to breakfast, it was to a platter of pancakes and a note from Eleanore. She had been using the same stationary for centuries, it seemed, and her handwriting would put Jane Austen to shame.
My little gentlemen,
Look after the place, won't you? Don't hesitate to call if there are any problems. I'll be staying at my penthouse in Manhattan. Greg has the number. If you need anything from the store, have Greg pick it up for you. I love you both, but you only have learner's permits, which makes driving my Rolls Royce, out of the question. Try to have fun without me, although I know it'll be hard.
Eleanore
P.S.: The pool is sadly out of commission for a few days. I've hired a local boy to fix the problem. Clogged something or other, how am I supposed to know? Anyway, he'll be helping Greg out with a few odds and ends. Be nice to him. Ta, lovies!
On the second day, Spencer asked, “You think the pool is fixed yet?”
Ryan put down the remote to the TV and glanced from Spencer to the show he had barely been paying attention to, and back again. He shrugged and said, “Let's go see.”
The pool was out back, past the hedges and the vegetable garden. Ryan glanced towards the garden shed as they walked by but quickly shook his head clear of stupid, childish meetings and continued on.
The pool was quite big, in the shape of an hour glass, with detailed tiles all along the sides and the bottom. There was a diving board on one end and as Ryan and Spencer rounded the final corner to approach the pool, they saw a boy lying on his stomach on the board. His head was curved over the edge of the board and he appeared to simply be staring down into the still clear water of the pool.
“Uh, hi?” Ryan called out, exchanging puzzled looks with Spencer.
The boy's head snapped up, revealing dark eyes and a wide smile. “Hi!”
“That's for diving, not resting, you know,” Spencer said in a low drawl.
The boy's grin grew impossibly wider. “What's your name?”
Spencer frowned. “Spencer. Smith.”
“You're absolutely right, Spencer Smith.” At that, the boy rose shakily to his feet and promptly dove off the board and into the water. In his clothes.
“Call Greg,” Spencer said. Both he and Ryan followed the boy with their eyes as he swam under the water towards them. “There's a lunatic loose on the grounds.”
The boy burst through the water and heaved himself up against the side of the pool, shaking his head free of water. “I'm Brendon,” he said happily. “Eleanore hired me.”
Brendon was attending some elite music academy a few miles away during the school year. He stayed in student housing during the year, but during the summer, he had to find odd end jobs to pay for a tiny room a local family rented out to him.
He didn't mention home much and Ryan didn't ask him about it. Or rather, Ryan stopped asking because Brendon tended to get sad-faced and quiet whenever he did and that only lead to Spencer not-so-subtly kicking Ryan in the shins.
Eleanore came back and was delighted the house was still standing. She didn't seem to care that suddenly Brendon tended to loiter around the house long after his chores were done. Most nights she insisted he stay for dinner, and, more often then not, that meant afterward there would be a movie marathon and Brendon would end up staying over, having fallen asleep halfway through the second film.
“It's okay, right?” Spencer asked one day after Brendon left to, miracle of miracles, actually spend a night at his own place.
“What's okay?”
Spencer stared down at his feet and shrugged. “Hanging out with Brendon all the time.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Sure it is.”
“You're sure?” Spencer was pushing his palms against his thighs as if to dry them. He looked nervous.
“Yeah, it's fine.” Ryan smirked. “Seriously, Spence. If I didn't like Brendon, I'd have told you by now.”
Spencer grinned. “You are kind of a bitch.”
“Fuck off.”
Ryan's suspicions about Spencer and Brendon sparked around then, but nothing was confirmed until the day he and Spencer were due to return to Vegas. Ryan had left his packing to last minute, per usual, and Spencer, who had finished his packing the night before, was in the living room playing video games with Brendon. Ryan peered down at his suitcase and spent all of a minute considering actually packing with care before he resigned himself to wrinkled clothes and simply stuffed everything in haphazardly.
When Ryan returned to the living room, he paused at the doorway. The video game was paused and Brendon and Spencer were turned towards one another, heads bowed, whispering fiercely back and forth. Brendon looked upset, and Spencer had his earnest face on. Ryan was debating whether he should speak up or flee when Spencer swooped in and started to kiss Brendon. Ryan decided fleeing was definitely the best option then, and waited in his room until Spencer came and found him some time later.
“Ready?” He asked, his face flushed and his eyes careful not to meet Ryan's.
Ryan chortled. “Are you?”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let's go.”
“Darling!”
Ryan laughed and pressed his cell phone closer to his ear. “Hey, Aunt Eleanore.”
“You have prom soon, don't you?”
He did. What he didn't have was a date. “Yeah, I do.”
“I'm sending you a present, then. For prom. Spencer, too.” There was the sound of rustling and if Ryan closed his eyes he could picture the room Eleanore kept for gift wrapping, brightly colored tissue wisping around Eleanore in a delicate storm.
“You don't have to do that,” Ryan argued feebly. It was mostly for show. No one said no to Eleanore.
“Nonsense. You're my little gentlemen, after all. Now. When is the big day?”
After rattling off all the necessary information to Eleanore, Ryan kept careful watch over the mail. His father tended to gather it up haphazardly and fling it about. Ryan didn't want his gift from Eleanore to be confiscated or lost.
Days passed and by the time the day of the actual prom rolled around, Ryan was sure Eleanore's gift had gotten lost somewhere in the hell pit that was the US Postal Service.
“Come to my house, and we'll leave from there,” Spencer instructed.
“Dateless, driven by your dad,” Ryan grumbled.
“Whatever. I have pot. We can sneak out early, smoke up, and I'll let you write emo poetry about the whole thing at my house later.”
“Shut up.” Ryan heard his doorbell ringing in the distance, somewhere beyond his bedroom. “I gotta go. See you later.” Ryan tossed his cell phone down and leapt to his feet.
For two summers Ryan and Spencer had shared their time at Eleanore's with Brendon. It was strange, jarring, therefore, for Ryan to suddenly find Brendon invading his Vegas bubble. But there he was, standing on Ryan's front porch, dressed in a suit, holding a flat white box, a beaten old backpack sitting at his feet.
“Brendon?” Ryan couldn't help the shock that leaked into his voice.
“Hey,” Brendon said with an excited bounce. “Um. This is for you.” He shoved the white box into Ryan's arms. “It's from Eleanore.”
Ryan was still surprised, so it took a few tries for him to open the box. He brushed aside the familiar pale blue tissue paper, revealing an old but classically elegant tuxedo. It was a deep black with maroon pinstripes and there was even a hat.
“This is my present?” Ryan asked even though he already knew.
Brendon nodded dutifully and recited, “It belonged to your grandfather apparently. Eleanore said it's still in impeccable shape.”
Ryan lovingly smoothed the tissue paper back down over the tux. He looked up at Brendon quizzically. “I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?”
Brendon smiled. “I'm Spencer's present.”
The summer before college, Ryan could have done anything. He'd had plenty of offers for summer programs at colleges and parties. But he only wanted to do one thing: go to Eleanore's with Spencer.
Eleanore threw all three boys a graduation dinner the first night Ryan and Spencer were at the house. She made all their favorite things and there was a cake easily the size of all of their heads put together
“College is such a joy,” Eleanore gushed as she served cake. Eleanore had a tendency to flip out her hands when she spoke. She was flinging bits of frosting every time she did so, but the boys and Greg all ignored it, wiping brightly colored frosting from their bodies without even a word. “You'll read so many books and meet so many people.”
“I'm excited,” Brendon said. Except he had a mouth full of cake, so nobody really heard him. The smile on his face made it clear what he MEANT, though.
Eleanore brought a dainty hand to her chest and, to the boys’ horrors, she appeared to be tearing up. “Now. You must all promise to write to me.”
“Of course, Eleanore,” Ryan said. “I promise.”
“Us too,” Spencer said, gesturing to himself and Brendon.
“Good. Good.” Eleanore put down the serving knife and sighed wistfully. “Now, I'm afraid I'm off to bed. You boys enjoy your evening. If you do go out on the roof to smoke again, do mind the edge.”
“Yes, Aunt Eleanore.”
Eleanore made for the door way but before she disappeared totally from view, she blew them all a kiss and said, “good night, my little gentlemen.”
Spencer's bedroom at Eleanore's was above the library. The library had windows that jutted out of the house; the result being that just beyond the window in Spencer's room was a bit of roof. Not very much roof, but enough for three small eighteen-year olds to lie, pass a joint back and forth, and stare up at the stars. It helped that Brendon was never lying down for very long before draping himself over Spencer.
“I think that's the big dipper,” Ryan declared, pointing up towards the sky.
“You can only see that in winter, twit,” Spencer droned.
“Whatever. Maybe it's...what the fuck is that chick chained to the throne?”
“Your dream girl?”
Ryan thwapped Spencer on the arm; Brendon just giggled. “You know what I mean.”
“Shit.” Spencer let out a long sigh. “I can't believe we're done with high school.”
“Thank god,” Ryan grumbled.
“I liked my school,” Brendon said defensively.
“Yours was different,” Spencer said.
“We went to Catholic school,” Ryan said.
Brendon grunted. “Fine, you win.”
They passed the joint around one more time before Spencer carefully put the tiny nub of what was left out in a nearly empty bottle of water.
“Shit. College.” Ryan groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“It'll be great,” Brendon hummed.
“I know.” Ryan sighed. “It's like, half joy half like...nerves, you know.”
“It'll be great,” Brendon repeated. “You should come visit us during break. We can totally do it up New York style. It'll be awesome.”
Ryan froze and, beside him, he heard Spencer take a sharp inward breath. Ryan swallowed around the lump in his throat once, twice, before saying, “We?”
Brendon scuttled back, away from Spencer and dangerously close to the edge of the roof. He was staring at Spencer. “You said you'd tell him,” Brendon said darkly.
“I was. Going to.” Spencer groaned and buried his face in his hands, aware of how stupid he sounded.
Brendon groaned and glanced from Ryan to Spencer. “Okay. You're going to do it. Now. I'm going to leave you two alone.” He slid carefully across the roof and back inside the house.
Ryan and Spencer sat in silence for a few moments after Brendon left. Ryan was angry and he was damned if he was going to be the first one to speak.
“Look. Ryan--”
“I thought you were going to UCLA.”
Spencer sighed. “I was.” Ryan snorted and Spencer frowned. “I seriously was! I didn't think I'd fucking get in to Columbia. I applied on, like, a whim. And then Brendon got in to the music program at NYU and...”
“Right, no, I understand.” Ryan scrambled to his feet, ignoring the panicked look in Spencer's eye that Ryan was about to take a header off the roof. “He wins. I get it. Nice to know where I fall.”
Spencer growled. “Fuck you, you know that's not how it is.”
“Isn't it?” Ryan lurched toward the window and tugged at it. He cursed when the thing didn't budge. He pounded on the glass with his palm. “Brendon!”
“You're my friend, Ryan,” Spencer growled. Ryan refused to turn around and face Spencer; he kept his eyes locked firmly on the immovable window. “You're my best friend, you know it isn't like that.” Ryan heard Spencer take a shaky breath before saying, “It's just. It's Columbia, you know? And, Brendon...”
Ryan finally did turn, to find Spencer staring off, beyond the edge of the roof. Ryan's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he slowly slid back into a seating position beside Spencer. “You love him,” Ryan said.
Spencer swallowed thickly before croaking out a soft, “Yeah.”
For some reason Ryan thought back to the boy he'd met in the shed all those years ago. Ryan pushed the thought out of his mind as quickly as it entered and said, “Alright.” Spencer looked up at Ryan, who rolled his eyes. “I forgive you.”
“Wow,” Spencer grumbled, but he was smiling. “How big of you.”
“I try.”
Behind them, there was a small whoosh sound and Brendon hung out the open window. “You two done now?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We're done.”
Brendon put on his sincere face and batted his eyelashes at Ryan. “I promise to take good care of your boy, Ryan Ross.”
“Oh my god,” Spencer groaned in pain.
“You do that,” Ryan said. “Also, go to the kitchen. I want cookies.”
Ryan was at a party when he got the call. It was the end of the semester and Ryan's hellish junior year was behind him. He was looking forward to a summer of ignoring his senior thesis proposal when his cell rang. The display announced that it was Spencer, and Ryan didn't hesitate to answer.
Ryan liked to think that after fifteen or so odd years of friendship, he knew every possibly tone Spencer's voice could take. This one was new, though. Strained with grief that forced him to sever Ryan's name in two.
“What happened?” Ryan asked knowingly.
Spencer's exhale crackled through the phone, and then, “Eleanore died yesterday.”
Ryan had a battered old shoebox that held every letter Eleanore had ever written to him. There hadn't been much time between when Ryan got the call from Spencer and when he boarded a plane to Connecticut. There had been enough, though, for Ryan to collect a suit, and the old shoebox, which Ryan stuffed in his large messenger bag.
On the plane, Ryan took out letter after letter, smoothing them out against the plastic of his tray table so he could read them. Eleanore's handwriting flowed across every page. She'd been using the same personalized stationary for decades. A pale cream color, the sheets of paper were unlined, but somehow Eleanore's writing never wavered in direction. There was a small crest at the top made up of a deep red rose and Eleanore's own initials. The paper crinkled under Ryan's tender touch, and Ryan was careful to set them aside so they wouldn't be hurt accidentally when Ryan's body began to shake with restrained sobs.
The plane landed, and Ryan let a majority of the passengers walk in front of him before allowing himself to trudge ever so slowly off the plane. As he walked up the ramp and out into the open waiting area, he half expected to see Greg waiting for him.
Instead, Ryan was relieved to find Spencer, suit clad and red eyed. Ryan was unsurprised by the sheer amount of gratitude he felt that Spencer was here, now, when Ryan needed him the most.
“Ryan.” Spencer smiled and didn't hesitate to hold out his arms.
Ryan hugged Spencer tightly. “Jesus. I'm so fucking glad you're here.”
“I loved her too,” Spencer said simply and Ryan sniffed and nodded. “Come on. Let's get to the house.”
“Shit,” Ryan muttered. He hadn't even begun to think about the house. Ryan hadn't come to see Eleanore since that summer before college. School had kept him busy, and Ryan had always had some internship or job lined up during holidays that kept him away.
“Your relatives have started to invade,” Spencer reported as they wandered towards luggage claim. “Greg managed to save the usual rooms for us, though.”
“That's...good.” Ryan frowned. He wasn't sure what relatives would be at the house but odds were they wouldn't like Ryan, and he wouldn't like them. The only human being in the world genetically bonded to Ryan who also loved him is--was--Eleanore.
Ryan watched as Spencer bent over and retrieved Ryan's paisley suitcase without needing to be told it was actually Ryan's. “You have a beard,” Ryan said. He'd always sucked at 'thank you's.'
“Observant,” Spencer said with a snort and waved to Ryan that he should follow before starting towards the parking area.
“It's different.”
Spencer shrugged. He glanced sideways at Ryan and smiled. “Brendon likes it.”
Ryan allowed himself a laugh, knowing it'd most likely be the only one he'd get all weekend.
The house was positively crawling with people when Spencer and Ryan arrived. Mourners and well-wishers and friends and family, all dressed in black and clustered together on the front lawn or inside the house, talking about Eleanore. Ryan had never seen the house so full, nor so many people looking so upset. He knew Eleanore was an important woman with many friends; he’d just underestimated how many.
Spencer led Ryan through the throngs of people, up the stairs, and into the library. Greg was there, his usual straight and stoic stance slumped ever so slightly. Brendon was there as well. He leapt to his feet the moment Spencer and Ryan entered the room.
“Ryan,” Brendon breathed before launching himself at the other man.
Ryan had forgotten just how stifling Brendon's hugs could be. He rolled his eyes affectionately and said, “Hey, Brendon.”
“I’m so sorry about Eleanore,” Brendon babbled when he finally released Ryan. “She was awesome. Seriously awesome. She gave me a job, and if she hadn't then I never would have met you or Spencer or...” Brendon trailed off, noticing the melancholy frown etched across Ryan's face. “Oh shit. I'm so not helping.”
“Not so much,” Ryan admitted.
“I suck,” Brendon said simply.
“It's alright,” Spencer said, instantly wrapping an arm around Brendon's shoulders and tugging him in close.
Greg spoke up then, “I suggest you all take dinner in your rooms. Better to avoid family and talk until tomorrow, I think.”
Ryan smiled gratefully at Greg. “Yes, thanks. I think that's a good idea.”
“When are we supposed to be at the church tomorrow?” Brendon asked.
Ryan and Spencer shared grins.
It was a rather preposterous funeral. Ryan enjoyed it immensely. It took place in a large clearing in a section of Eleanore's back garden. There was a choir that sang Eleanore's favorite show tunes, a reading from one of Eleanore's favorite books, and then a procession of flamenco dancers that led Eleanore's casket up and away to where it would be taken to the cemetery and the family's personal mausoleum.
Ryan had chosen the inscription for the gold plaque himself, per Eleanore's requests.
January 14th 1930 – June 20th 2009
“goodbye blue monday”
Things didn't begin to spiral out of control until after the funeral. Ryan had been told earlier that day by Eleanore's lawyer, an old man in a red bow tie named Earl, that he was to report to Eleanore's study at two for the reading of the will. Ryan had been avoiding the icy stares of certain family members ever since. In particular, there was a woman Ryan liked to refer to simply as 'Snipe' that stared down her long nose at Ryan.
Eleanore had only one child in her lifetime, and he had made the grave mistake of marrying Snipe before dying an unfortunate death. Snipe had remarried, but for some reason arrived at this funereal expecting to walk away with everything that wasn't bolted down. Ryan wanted desperately to chuck a vase at Snipe and break that long, and most likely fake, nose. That would cause a scene, however, and Ryan was torn on whether Eleanore would disapprove, or approve mightily.
When Ryan arrived for the reading of the will, Snipe and her gaggle of equally spoiled looking children were already present and seated. A few other distant relatives of Ryan's were also gathered, as well as, Ryan noted with interest, Greg.
“I believe we can begin,” Earl said. “Now, Eleanore's left a letter that she wished to have read, in the event of her death. In this letter she summarizes the will in her own words, but should any of you wish to read the actual legal document I have that as well.”
Earl unfolded the letter, and Ryan felt his eyes prick with fresh tears when he recognized Eleanore's old stationary. Earl cleared his throat and began to read.
Family and Friends,
If you are hearing this letter, it appears that I'm dead. How horrifying. I only hope I didn't go out in any ugly or tawdry way. That would be most unbecoming. Anyway, I'm sorry to have left you. There are two of you, in particular, that I would like to address specifically. First: Greg, my loyal butler. Really the word butler is rather misapplied, as Greg has been a friend, assistant, and life-saver for more years that he was ever a simple butler. I thank you, Greg, for your years of service and leave to you the sum of one million dollars as well as my Rolls Royce. Lord knows you've driven it more then I did; it's more yours then it ever was mine.
Lastly: my little gentleman, Ryan. You gave me such joy in my life. I looked forward to the summers you spent with me so much; I cannot begin to tell you. You remind me of myself when I was your age, bright and beautiful, if a bit snippy and particular about who touches your books and how your clothes lie. You're the closest I ever had to a grandson, Ryan. So to you I leave, very simply, everything: my house that was your house for those glorious summers and everything in it. I know you'll take care of it and love it, as I did. You've grown into a good man, my not so little gentleman.
I love you all, and I loved my life. In the end, I suppose, that's all that matters.
Eleanore
Ryan fled the room when the shouting started.
“I can't believe Eleanore left you the house.”
They were back on the roof again, more for old time's sake then anything else. They no longer fit on it so well; Spencer in particular had his feet dangling over the edge. Absent was the usual toke; instead they were taking turns swigging from a bottle of champagne.
“I can't believe it either,” Ryan muttered before taking a quick sip from the elaborately decorated bottle and passing it to Spencer. “You notice just how fast the rest of the so-called family left after that little bomb shell?”
“I'm surprised they didn't set a new land speed record,” Spencer grumbled. “Fuck them, though. I mean, where were any of them while Eleanore was alive?”
Ryan nodded. “Too true.”
Brendon peered down past their toes to the edge of the roof. “Should we really be drinking up here?”
“We smoked up here and survived.”
“We were tinier then,” Brendon pointed out, glaring specifically at Spencer.
Ryan flapped a hand at Brendon. “I had Greg put a trampoline down there before he left.”
Brendon giggled. “Dude.”
“Oh shit,” Ryan said, suddenly bolting up right.
“What?”
“Greg.” Ryan frowned. “He's gone. I'm going to need a new Greg.”
“Where does one find a new Greg?” Brendon mused, picking at invisible bits of lint on Spencer's suit jacket.
“Are there rich people classifieds?” Spencer inquired and Brendon instantly started up giggling again. He got worse when he was drunk. “Wanted: prim little Irish girl to fit every stereotype imaginable, and in her free time, wash my underthings.”
Ryan lay back down and laughed along with Spencer and Brendon. After the giggles died down, Ryan stared up at the sky for a moment longer. It was unusually cold for June; it felt more like September. “Eleanore's birthday's in September,” he muttered. Spencer and Brendon were silent. “She'd have been eighty.” Ryan turned his head and was met with dual expressions of sadness from both Spencer and Brendon.
Ryan stood with a flourish, ignoring the concerned shouting from Brendon as he stumbled closer to the edge. “I'm going to throw a party!”
“What?” Spencer blinked up at Ryan. “You're going to die if you don't sit down. Sit down.”
“No.” Ryan put his hands on his tiny hips and dug his heels into the roof. “I'm going to throw a party. On Eleanore's birthday.”
“Oh,” Brendon's whispered, his shoulders slumping. “She'd have liked that, Ryan.”
“I'll fix up the house!”
“How?” Spencer raised his eyebrows and Ryan knew he was imagining Ryan holding a hammer and jabbing himself with it somehow and the subsequent trips to the emergency room.
“I'm rich now, I'll hire someone,” Ryan said simply. “We'll mend that stupid fence Eleanore always complained about, and fix up the ball room she stopped using, and I'll hire myself a new Greg, and we'll throw a party for Eleanore's birthday.”
Spencer still looked a little weary, but he was smiling and so was Brendon from his place draped across Spencer's chest. “Okay, Ryan. We'll throw a party. Now, sit down.”
Ryan smiled and let himself fall forward, into the warm embrace his friends. Spencer was forced to release his hold on the bottle of champagne in order to help Brendon catch Ryan.
The bottle rolled off the roof, fell down two stories, bounced once, twice, on a tiny blue trampoline, before settling in the dirt below a rose bush.
part 2
