“We’re going golfing tomorrow, by the way,” Will tells me. His gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror and he flicks his sandy hair out of his eyes. “Are you hanging with us tomorrow night after your shift?”
“I’ll let you know,” I answer, then reach for the car door. “Thanks for the ride. Again.”
Will just laughs as I shut the door behind me. I receive no goodbye from Holden, so I don’t say anything to him either. In all the years I’ve been friends with the two of them, I’ve had a lot more disagreements with Holden than I have with Will. It’s never anything serious and it’s usually not a big deal. We end up acting as though nothing has happened the very next day, so although he’s pissed at me right now, I know by the time we’re sitting in Dairy Queen again on Sunday we’ll be back to normal.
I listen to the sound of Will’s engine fade away into silence as I run across the lawn. I rarely use the footpath, and as soon as I step through the front door that’s left unlocked for me, there’s a strong aroma of spices in the air that wafts over me. There’s laughter too, bouncing around the house from wall to wall, emanating from the living room. I kick off my shoes and make my way down the hall, pausing as I pass the small hall table. Grace’s frame has been moved forward, positioned exactly in the center, the frame freshly cleaned. I run the tips of my fingers along the edge of the table, careful not to touch the frame. I knocked it over by accident a few years ago and Mom shrieked so loud I thought she was in pain. I don’t touch it anymore.
The laughter dwindles as and I peer around the door, taking a single step into the room. My dad is on one couch, dressed in his nicest jeans and a decent shirt, a can of beer in one hand. Mom is down on the floor, sitting by the low coffee table, wine glass in her hand, the drained bottle of Chardonnay almost buried beneath the takeout containers and plates with leftover Indian food that takes up most of the table. Mom’s dressed up too with jewelry to match her blouse, her hair styled in a nice blow-dry for once, her cheeks pink with too much blush.
“Kenzie!” she says, grinning wide as she holds up her wine glass to greet me. “You’re home early.”
I look back down at her suspiciously, trying to gauge whether or not she’s still sober. “It’s almost midnight, Mom . . . ” I state. My expression is blank and I know I must appear sullen, but I just can’t hide my annoyance. Accusingly, I shift my narrowed eyes to Dad instead.
For once, he doesn’t look worn out and exhausted. He is slumped back against the couch, relaxed and carefree. A bead of sweat runs down his temple. Normally, whenever Mom pours herself a glass of wine, he will frown and then swiftly leave the room, claiming he needs to shower, or he has a call to make, or a new job has just come in. Sometimes I think he likes being called out on emergency jobs just so that he doesn’t have to stick around here watching Mom drink away her sorrows. He doesn’t approve of it—definitely not—but I have noticed over the past year or so, as Mom has begun to work her way through more bottles each week, that it is easier for him to just ignore the problem. He can understand why she does it, so I don’t think he wants to confront her about it. However, I am not pleased with him having a drink with her.
“Midnight?” Mom echoes. “Wow, we’ve definitely lost track of time!”
“We sure have!” Dad agrees with a laugh.
There’s some cheap made-for-TV movie on in the background, though I doubt they’ve actually been watching it. It seems the pair of them have been having too much fun ordering takeout and drinking. For anyone else, this is a pretty average Friday night: a few beers and a couple glasses of wine to unwind and relax after a busy week. But in this house, the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table is a cause for concern.
“Dad,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. He can probably hear the frustration in my voice, because I’m not even trying to hide it. I narrow my eyes at him. “Can I talk to you for a sec? In the kitchen?”
The smile on his face immediately disappears and he stares at me. Mom doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve even said anything, because she has grabbed the TV remote and is now flicking through different channels. Dad glances over to her, and then pushes himself up to his feet, taking his beer with him. I am angry at him right now, but I’m trying to stay calm as he follows me to the kitchen. The lights are off, and I don’t bother to turn them on.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him, my arms still folded across my chest. I stare up at him as I wait for an answer. Recently, it feels as though every time I come home I find Mom either drinking or drunk. I don’t know why I am still surprised every time. I should be used to it by now, but with each day that passes, the more concerned I become.
“We’re just having a drink, MacKenzie,” Dad says, heaving a sigh. He doesn’t like to talk about Mom. We don’t talk about anything in this house, and I hate that I’m the only one who seems to realize what’s going on. And I’m the damn kid!
“Yeah, you’re just having a drink,” I mutter. Doesn’t he get it? Doesn’t he see it? “But Mom’s not. You know it’s more than that. You’re just encouraging her.”
“MacKenzie . . . ” Dad leans back against the counter and rubs at his temple, his beer still in his hand. “Not tonight. Please.”
Not now, not ever, I think. “I’m going to bed,” I state blankly, shaking my head at him. I don’t have the energy to stand here and argue with him over this right now. I’m tired, and I will probably lose this battle the same way I always do. Slowly, I back out of the kitchen, fixing Dad with one final glare. It must be hard for him too. He doesn’t get much of a break from all of this. But joining in is hardly the answer. There’s nothing I can say now to change anything, so I bottle up my true thoughts and instead tell him, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Kenzie,” he calls after me.
A minute later, just as I’m climbing the stairs to my room, I hear him and Mom laugh amongst themselves once more, and I decide that I’m not going to be mad at Dad tonight, because although Mom’s been drinking, at least she seems happy.
9
For the first half of my shift, Lynsey lets me work the laser tag. The Summit is always at its busiest on a Saturday. The mornings are full of families as the young kids waste a hell of a lot of free change in the arcade, before battling it out over a game of intense bowling with the bumpers up and then finally finishing off their day in the restaurant. Then, as the afternoon fades into the evening, the kids are replaced by young couples on dates and older teens around my age. Luckily, I get to leave before they arrive. My shift finishes in fifteen minutes, and I know for sure that I’ll be clocking out on the dot. I don’t mind staying back and working longer if necessary, but on a weekend shift? Absolutely no way in hell. I’m out of here.
The second half of my shift has me back at the bowling lanes, behind the counter, spraying a row of bowling shoes yet again. It has made the past four hours go by excruciatingly slowly.
At the opposite end of the counter, Adam is working the register and assigning lanes. The bowling alley is so busy right now that customers have a ten-minute wait for a lane, so there’s a small crowd of people lingering around the counter, just waiting. Adam is fun to work with in the sense that he blatantly doesn’t care. He dropped out of college and has been here for a few weeks, though I don’t think he’ll be around much longer. He refuses to wear his name tag because apparently his name is no one’s business.
“God,” he mutters as he slams the register shut. There’s a break in the flow of people which he takes advantage of by abandoning his post behind the register and walking over to me instead, sporting a deep frown. I know he’s annoyed, but Lynsey wouldn’t be impressed if she saw his lack of enthusiastic customer service. “Those guys on lane twenty are taking forever!”
I stop spraying the shoes along the counter in front of me and glance up at the lanes. It looks hectic from over here, all twenty-four lanes occupied as the bowling balls crack against the floor and pins shatter every single second. It’s so loud. Over o
n lane twenty a couple are helping their two young kids push their bowling balls. I chuckle at his exasperation. “Their kids are, like, five. What do you expect?”
“I don’t know—faster bowling, maybe?” Adam shakes his head, his eyes narrowed while he scratches at his buzzcut. “All these people are gonna go crazy if these lanes don’t start freeing up soon.”
“That’s a Saturday shift for you.” I smile teasingly at him as I throw the empty can of odor remover down into the trash can by my feet, then swoop up three pairs of shoes and turn away from him. Thankfully, Adam returns to the register, so I head into the back room.
I love the back room. I think everyone loves the back room, no matter where they work. It’s a nice place to waste five minutes of my shift without anyone noticing. I wait for the door to fall shut before I pull out the small stool from beneath a desk and sit down, sliding my phone out from my pocket. I have a text from Mom asking me if I want dinner after my shift, and if so, what do I want? It’s a nice question to have her ask, because if she’s in the mood to cook, then she hasn’t been drinking. In my group chat with Will and Holden, there’s nothing interesting besides the two of them discussing with each other hours and hours ago what time they wanted to meet up at to go golfing. Will has an annual membership and I don’t know why, because he only uses it a couple times a year. I’ll catch up with them after I clock out and see what’s up, but I don’t feel like spending the evening listening to them argue over who is better at golf.
The door to the back room swings open and I quickly scramble to my feet, almost dropping my phone as I stash it back into my pocket. I grab the first thing that comes to hand, which is simply an empty cardboard box, and I hold it up, pretending to look as though I’m actually doing something productive with it. I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s only Adam who sticks his head around the door and not our boss.
“You’re not sly,” he tells me with a hint of smugness to his voice at having caught me slacking off. But it’s okay, because I catch him out way more often than he does me. “I don’t care, though. I just came to tell you that I need you back out front. You gotta hook people up with some shoes.” He shrugs and then leaves again, so I immediately toss the empty cardboard box back onto the floor and follow after him.
I push the door open and the very last person I expect to see the moment I step behind the counter is Jaden. What is he doing here? “Jaden?” I say. “Are you . . . here to bowl?”
He’s on the opposite side of the counter, blue eyes bright and smoldering as always. “I thought I’d take my grandparents out to do something fun for a change,” he tells me, his voice soft and deep. Slowly, he nods over his shoulder in the direction of the older couple sitting down on the padded benches behind him.
I’ve never met Jaden’s grandparents before. They still seem pretty young, perhaps in their mid-sixties. His granddad still has full, white, silky hair atop his head and a friendly smile as he watches me. Jaden’s grandma is much smaller and she’s awfully skinny too, but her cheeks are warm with pink blush, her eyes shining behind her glasses, graying hair perfectly permed. I offer them a tight smile back, lifting my hand to give them a small wave.
“That’s nice of you,” I say, shifting my attention back to Jaden. Why are his eyes so damn blue? They are pulling me straight in. “Where’s Dani?”
“She didn’t want to come,” he answers, shrugging beneath the black leather jacket he’s wearing. Underneath, he’s wearing a black T-shirt with black jeans and black sneakers. Jaden always wears black and he has done for as long as I can remember. It’s always been too drastic against his paler complexion and blond hair, but somehow it suits him. Or maybe I am just used to it. “Bowling is lame, according to her. Why . . . why don’t you join us instead?”
I blink at Jaden as he subtly leans forward over the counter toward me, though he seems anxious. His offer has come out of nowhere and I’m taken aback by it. A week ago we weren’t even talking, and now he is asking me to join him for a game of bowling? I’m just thankful that he is asking me in the first place, because it means he may be willing to give me a second chance. If he was furious at me, if he didn’t want to waste his time with me, then he wouldn’t have climbed into my car on Thursday night. He wouldn’t have to come to Cane’s with us last night. He wouldn’t be asking me to hang out with him now, but although I wish I could, I can’t.
“I’m working,” I point out with an awkward laugh, tapping at my name tag.
Jaden pulls back the leather sleeve of his jacket to reveal the silver watch on his wrist. He only glances down at it for a split second before he tilts his face back up to look at me. “But only for another seven minutes,” he says. “You do finish at six, right? That’s what you said last night.”
I stare back across the counter at him and the hopeful little smile that slowly creeps onto his lips. I hope he’s not going to pretend that it’s merely a coincidence that he arrived just as I’m about to clock out, because it’s pretty clear that he’s planned this. “Yeah, I finish at six.”
“Great!” he says, stepping back. He moves back down the counter toward Adam, who’s drumming his fingertips impatiently against the register, his eyes on the clock on the wall by his side. He still has six more hours to go, so he looks over at Jaden with the same old disgruntled expression, and I can just tell he’s holding back a groan when Jaden asks, “Can we add Kenzie to our game?” He pulls out his wallet and sets down a ten-dollar bill on the counter, exchanging a sideways glance with me. He’s still smiling, though his expression seems more pleading than playful now. “Just one game, Kenzie. That’s all. It’ll be fun.”
“One game,” I agree, and when I smile, I am not forcing it. Although being around him is still scary, it’s not as bad as I had imagined it to be. In fact, it isn’t bad at all. The only thing that makes it uncomfortable is my own damn guilt.
Just as Jaden’s adding my name to the list of players, Amanda comes strolling over to the counter, ducking underneath the latch. She’s here to take over from me now that my shift has come to an end, and she assures me I can leave five minutes early. I thank her, and then tell Jaden I’ll be back after I’ve clocked out for the day, feeling excitement fluttering in my stomach.
“Don’t take off,” he jokes, wiggling the pen at me, and although he lets out a laugh, I sense a hint of solemnness to his words. My chest pangs with guilt once more as I turn away from him, questioning whether Jaden believes I would actually make a run for it. I’m not surprised he might think that. All I’ve done since last August is run from him.
I smile at his grandparents again as I pass them. They’re sitting so patiently with those same warm smiles on their faces that for a second it breaks my heart. I’m not sure if they’re Brad’s parents or Kate’s parents, but either way they’ve lost a child, and yet—just like Jaden—they seem so happy, so normal. In my house, it has been anything but normal, and we have had four entire years to recover.
The staff room is empty besides some new guy at the table against the wall, staring at the ceiling in silence and eating a sandwich. Normally I would introduce myself to a new employee, but my head’s all over the place at the thought of bowling with Jaden and his grandparents that I simply ignore the poor kid. Instead, I grab my hoodie from my locker to disguise the awful red polo, and then, with two minutes to go until my shift officially ends, I waste the time by putting on some fresh makeup—trying to achieve the fine line between not wanting to look like I’ve made too much of an effort, but also like I haven’t just worked an eight-hour shift. Finally, at 6PM on the dot, I clock out and brace myself to go back out there with Jaden.
I spot Jaden sitting down next to his grandparents, still waiting for a lane to open up. Now that Saturday evening is underway, The Summit is getting seriously busy.
“I’m back,” I say, approaching Jaden from behind.
He twists around to look at me, and immediately the most perfect grin lights up his face. “Phew,” he teases
, getting to his feet. He extends his arm behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back, and he nods down at his grandparents who are already staring back up at me with their friendly faces. “This is Kenzie,” Jaden tells them, his warm hand still pressed against me. “The friend from school who’s joining us.”
“The friend from school,” his grandfather echoes, his throaty voice laced with sarcasm as he quickly winks at Jaden.
All Jaden and I can do is share a laugh at the misconception. I’m lucky to have even been called his friend from school, because honestly, we’re not really friends anymore. And we’re definitely not anything more than that either.
“I’m Nancy,” his grandmother says.
“And you can call me Terry,” his grandfather adds, pushing himself up from the bench. “Now, Kenzie, how long until we get a lane? I’ll be as stiff as a board if we don’t start bowling soon!”
I scour the bowling alley, running my eyes over the lanes to try and gauge if anyone is finishing up, but my search is quickly interrupted when Adam calls, “MacKenzie!” from behind the counter. “You guys are lane twelve,” he informs us. “It’s all set up.”
“Great!” Terry says, clapping his hands together, the bright blue of his veins emboldened beneath his skin. “Let’s go bowl.” He reaches for Nancy’s arm and pulls her up to her feet, hooking his arm around hers and directing her over to the counter to collect their bowling shoes. This couple is adorable.
Jaden rolls his eyes after them and then stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket as we follow behind them a little more slowly, side by side. “Thanks for not shutting me down,” he murmurs as his arm brushes against mine for a fraction of a second. I move over slightly out of habit, increasing the distance between us, even though I like feeling his skin against mine. He’s already looking at me, the expression in his eyes thankful, yet teasing all the same. “That’s three times in three days. Progress, right?”
Dare to Fall Page 8
