Ryan sits down on my couch as if he does this every day and grins. He looks around himself, taking in the nice black leather couch, the large flat screen TV, the antique desk that's been passed down from generation to generation in this family-- it's at least a hundred years old, and it's still in great condition. He also notes the high glass chandelier above his head, and the staircase with the mahogany banister railings. The walls are a warm yellow with black accents.
To me, this is nothing new. I am completely used to the nicely furnished home I live in. But to Ryan, this place must seem like a wonderland.
"Do you have cable or satellite?" He asks me, pointing at the TV.
"Satellite," I answer him quickly, putting all our ice cream away into the freezer so it won't melt and make a mess of everything.
"Sweet," he says as he clicks buttons on the remote. He's playing around now, pausing, rewinding, and fast-forwarding to the present time TV show. Getting annoyed by this, I rip the remote out of his hands and slam it onto the coffee table.
"It's not a toy," I tell him severely.
"Jeesh. Sorry. I'm not used to this kind of home," he says, shrinking into the back of the couch. He looks uncomfortable, like his skin is crawling and trying to escape this house. I realize that he's intimidated by this large home; he feels out of place here, like he doesn't belong.
That's because he doesn't, my mind whispers. I shake my head. No. That's rude.
Wait! What the heck is wrong with me. I hate Ryan. Don't I? No... I should not be asking myself these questions. I shouldn't have to. It's fact. I've hated Ryan for a year and a half. And I still do... I think.
"I'm sorry," I apologize before I realize I've done it.
His eyes are wide with shock now. "Did you... did you just say sorry to me? Felicia Williams has just said sorry to me, Ryan Flemm? I'm shocked. It's a dang shame that no one was here to witness this. I believe you have just made histo--"
"Don't push it, Ryan. I'm warning you. Shut. Up." I say, glaring at him.