Between Then and Now

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ryan

I close the bathroom door behind me. What did I just say back there? I replay the exact words in my mind, each one echoing with a mix of regret and bewilderment. I hope it didn’t come across as too affectionate for Bonbon. I was just trying to practice my confidence, that’s all. She probably felt weirded out. Why did I even suggest that?

I groan as I splash some water on my face, the cool sensation barely cutting through the flurry of thoughts. I sigh heavily, leaning against the sink. The best way to handle this is probably to completely ignore it, pretend like nothing happened. If she brings it up, I’ll just take it lightly. Because it is light. It was only practice, after all.

After convincing myself that everything is fine, I step out to see Bon stressing out. “Ry, the front desk is out of dog food to spare,” she says, looking horrified. “They said they only have enough for their dogs until the next shipment, which is four days from now. I’ll have to head into town, but the cars are all booked. They only have motorcycles.”

I never thought I’d be so glad to hear Bon’s babbling before. It only means that things are back to normal, and I need to be careful not to steer it away from that again.

“I’ll take you,” I say without thinking. “If you wait for a car, the stores might close soon.”

“You’ll take me…” Bon replies, “on a motorcycle?”

“I can drive a motorcycle, Bon,” I say flatly.

“No, you can’t,” she says, shaking her head.

“Yes, I can. Now, let’s go. Puppy has to eat soon.” I walk past her and out of the room .

Bon hesitates for a moment before following me. “Ryan, if you crash and we die… I will kill you,” she says, her voice half-serious, half-joking.

I chuckle, “I don’t plan on being double dead. Don’t stress, Bon. I actually really know how to ride. I have a motorcycle back home. You know, the big kind. I rode with Josh when we were teenagers.”

“That’s yours? I guess I assumed it was Richard’s,” Bon says, sounding genuinely surprised. “You just seemed too soft for that.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Too soft? I’m not sure if I should be offended or flattered.”

Bon laughs, the sound easing the last of the tension between us. “Maybe a bit of both.”

We head to the front desk to borrow the keys and go straight to the parking lot. I find the motorcycle and hand Bon a helmet. “Safety first,” I say, strapping on my own helmet. “Come on.” I pat the seat behind me.

“Do I have to hug you?” she asks.

“Unless you want to fall off,” I say, playing it off.

“Ass.” She playfully punches my arm. Bon puts on the helmet and climbs onto the bike behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist. I feel a shiver from it but it’s probably only the cool wind blowing through the night. “I swear, Ryan, if you make me regret this…”

“I won’t. Trust me,” I say, starting the engine. The motorcycle roars to life, and Bon squeals. “Dammit, Bon, nothing’s happening yet.” She slaps my arm, and I laugh as we speed off toward the town proper.

The wind whips past us as we drive, the dark night sky adding to the allure of the ride. Despite the urgency of our situation, there's something freeing about this ride. When I make a sharp turn, Bon screams, and her grip on me tightens, I can't help but laugh.

“That’s not funny!” she says in a muffled voice.

“Sorry, it’s not my fault. The roads are curved.”

When we reach the town, Bon jumps off the bike. “Thank you for keeping me alive. I’m not fine, but at least I’m not dead,” she says as we walk toward the pet store.

“I told you to trust me,” I reply.

“When did you learn to ride a motorcycle? And more importantly, why?” she asks.

As we walk over the cobblestones, I glance around at the quaint, slightly faded shops, some already closed for the day. From a distance, we can make out the lights and signage of the pet store, which means it’s thankfully still open.

“Well, when you’re an introvert, you tend to look for activities that don’t involve much interaction with other people,” I say casually. “Motorcycling is perfect for that. It’s just me and the open road, no small talk or awkward social situations.”

Bon halts and looks at me with a puzzled expression. “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? The ones with a whole secret life.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call riding on weekends a secret life,” I shrug.

We reach the pet store, and I hold the door open for Bon. She steps inside, immediately drawn to the colorful displays of pet supplies, with a few squeaky remarks of ‘oh my gosh, look!’ and ‘awwwww’ at every turn. We make our way through the aisles, picking up food, treats, and a few toys for Puppy.

Once our arms are filled with supplies, we walk back to the town proper .

“While we’re here, is there anything else you need?” I ask Bon.

“Yeah, let me just catch up on my messages and socials,” she says, taking a seat on one of the benches and starting to scroll on her phone. I grab some soda and sit beside her.

“Is that Instagram?” I ask, peering over her phone. She’s posting a photo she took of the scenery yesterday.

“Yeah. Don’t you want to check yours too?” she asks.

“Nah, I don’t really have social media.” She looks at me with disbelief. “I mean, I have Facebook that I never really use much, but I don’t have anything else besides that.”

Bon shakes her head. “You’re so unreal.” She chuckles. “You should make one, though. Follow Alexa and slide into her DMs. Might be an easier tactic.” She smiles to herself.

“I understood about sixty percent of what you said,” I reply.

Bon sighs dramatically. “Ryan. You’re twenty-five. Even fifty-year-olds know what I mean.” She holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

“You keep referencing fifty-year-olds,” I say, “do you secretly have a fifty-year-old boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he lives on the other side of the country, and he has this daughter who’s my age and–” Bon rattles.

“Okay, stop,” I say before she once again makes up an imaginary relationship. She laughs as she holds her hand out again for my phone.

I hand it to her without hesitation. I don’t know what she’s about to do, but my phone doesn’t really have much to offer, so I let her have it. My phone exists for instant messaging, emails, and maybe some Spotify. Other than that, it’s pretty boring .

She gives my phone back to me, signaling me to enter the password so she can open it.

“It’s just four zeroes,” I say.

“Of course it is,” Bon says, rolling her eyes. “It’s time for your social media redemption, Miller.” She starts downloading Instagram onto my phone.

“Are you making me an Instagram account?” I ask.

“Yes, I am.” I watch her with a mix of amusement and curiosity as she swiftly navigates through the setup process. Her fingers move quickly over the screen, entering my basic information and setting up a profile picture. “I’m not even surprised you don’t have photos of yourself. Just smile, Ry,” she says, pointing the camera at me. I don’t smile, but she takes my photo anyway.

“There,” she says, handing the phone back to me. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Ryan Miller.”

I look at the screen, seeing my newly created profile. “Now what?”

“Now you start following people. Here, I’ll start you off,” she says, taking the phone back and searching for a few accounts. “Follow me, obviously. And Alexa. And a few other people we know.”

I watch as she adds a few more profiles, her concentration unwavering. “This feels weird,” I admit.

Bon laughs. “It’s just a tool, Ryan. You don’t have to be obsessed with it. But it can help you stay connected and, you know, maybe get to know people a bit better.”

“Alright,” I say, taking the phone back and looking at the accounts she has followed for me. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Good,” Bon says with a satisfied smile. “Now, go ahead and post something. It doesn’t have to be fancy. ”

At that moment, an ice cream cart passes in front of us, and Bon squeals, “ Sorbetes !” She looks just like she did when we were kids, always excited for ice cream. She buys one for herself and one for me and starts eating with a huge smile. I don’t know why, but I take a photo of her looking so happy.

Bon notices the camera and laughs, a sprinkle of ice cream on her nose. “Really, Miller? You’re gonna start your Instagram journey with a photo of me? I know I’m cute, but, come on, isn’t that weird?”

“Nah, not weird,” I reply, grinning. “You look happy. It’s a good memory.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, but her smile stays. I decide to post the photo to my Instagram account with the caption: “ Exploring new places with old friends.”

“Come here,” I say. I stand up, grab my ice cream cone from her outstretched hand, and run my thumb across her nose to get the lingering ice cream off. I wipe it on her shirt with a grin.

“Oh, so you posted a photo of me with ice cream on my nose?” She scowls at me but continues to eat anyway.

“Told you, it isn’t weird,” I say.

She makes a mocking face and says, “Sure. Let’s go before I regret giving you a platform to embarrass me.” She stands up and heads to the motorcycle.

Before we hop on, I can’t resist bringing it up. “Bon, about earlier, I didn’t mean to sound so…”

She cuts me off. “Don’t sweat it. You were practicing. You were supposed to sound affectionate. That’s the whole reason.” She waves her hand dismissively. “If we’re gonna get awkward over something so trivial, then we might as well charge tickets to this trainwreck,” she adds with a grin .

I laugh and say, “Yeah, you’re right… so, we can still practice?”

“Definitely, Miller.” She snaps on her helmet with a wink. I follow suit, and as the engine roars to life, the tension from earlier slips away.

Just like that, we’re back in sync—like nothing ever happened.