The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  I’m laughing, appreciating his confidence and how casual he is with discussing so much. It reminds me a bit of Felicity and how she has never hesitated in pulling me out of my comfort zone and shoving me into action.

  The crowd cheers, bringing us back to the present and out of our seats. The unified cheers have been on pause since the seventh-inning stretch began, and I look up expecting to see the team coming back out onto the field only to discover Levi and I are on the giant screens around the field, red lips outlined around our picture.

  “Is that…?” I swallow my discomfort and with it go the rest of my words.

  Levi nods, taking a step closer to me. He wraps one hand around the back of my neck, and his other hand slides across my jaw. “I think the Sox are telling us something.” He brushes my cheek with his thumb. I release a silent laugh, my heart thrumming. I’m hot and cold and dizzy as though waking from a hangover. Then I realize how close I am to Levi, and I’m positive he hasn’t moved, which means I have. His smile grows wider, and then his eyes close, prompting me to close mine. His lips seal over mine, and everything vanishes as I seemingly float into a state of bliss.

  17

  I sit in front of my computer and stare at the screen, the glowing keys. I’m supposed to be sharing my newly learned knowledge of Major League Baseball. Of how ridiculously overpriced and cold, yet strangely delicious, concession food is. How devoted the fans are and how the players seemed to genuinely take notice.

  Yet all of my thoughts are circulating around one thing and one thing only: kissing Levi. Every adverb and adjective racing through my mind is to describe how his lips felt, how naked mine feel now as I remember the heat and softness of his mouth. How the scent of his cologne and faint taste of his beer mixed with the sweetness of my gum created a flavor that makes me smile so wide my cheeks ache. I want to tell readers about how strong and firm his body felt against mine. How the pad of his thumb was rough but how tenderly he swiped it across my jaw. I want to publicly vow to only ever date a man who cradles my face and neck when he kisses me, because after experiencing it today, I know what I’ve been missing out on.

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and Felicity walks in as I turn. Her eyes are round with impatience. When I returned home, they were gone at Dan’s parents’ for dinner. Anticipation is rolling off of her in waves as she stares at me, silently asking a myriad of questions that years of friendship allow me to translate.

  “Well?” she cries when I take too long to formulate a response.

  I nod, a smile molding my lips. “It was so much fun—he was so much fun.”

  Felicity squeals. “I knew it,” she says. “I could just tell. And then on our way home, there was that huge billboard ad for Levi’s jeans. A billboard. It was a sign.”

  I throw my head back and laugh at her ridiculous reasoning. “I don’t want to dive into anything too quickly. I just got out of a relationship.”

  “It’s been months.”

  “It was years.”

  “There’s no proper etiquette for reentering the dating scene,” Felicity tells me. “I understand you were hurt, and I’m sure trusting people seems impossible right now, but you were smiling like a drunk lunatic for hours after you met Levi, and you were again while talking about him just now. You don’t have to call it dating. Call it a casual relationship with benefits.” She shrugs. “Hell, find a dozen more Levis and have casual relationships with all of them.”

  I scoff. Felicity remains completely stoic though, as though this is a viable option. I laugh as I shake my head. “Could you imagine? I’m so bad with names I’d have to call them all something ridiculous like ‘handsome’ or ‘sweetheart.’” Without provocation, my thoughts drift to Gabe like they used to so often and have slowly stopped. We never used terms of endearment. It’s another thing that I question if it was a subtle warning sign. Are you supposed to give each other ridiculous nicknames like Felicity and I have for each other? And does he use a cutesy name for her?

  “We’ll see how things go,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “My schedule at work is about to get crazy busy for a while. With being short-staffed, I’m now handling the opening of a bar, three weddings, a bar mitzvah, and two kids’ parties.”

  Felicity’s eyes round. “Catherine doesn’t remember the last kids’ party you organized?”

  I look at my best friend with annoyance likely curving my mouth into a frown. “It was before you had kids. How was I supposed to know how destructive little human beings can be?”

  As she laughs, memories of red punch stains and broken china pieces remind me why I now work nearly exclusively with wedding planning. Doing openings and parties feel more like PR work—something I know nothing about and don’t care to.

  My phone chirps a text notification.

  “Is it him?” Felicity asks, reaching for my phone.

  I snatch it before she can grab it, my heart on pause, waiting to see if it’s Levi. “Catherine,” I say with a sigh as I see her name. I scrub my hand across my forehead, annoyed with myself for having hoped it was him. After a single non-date date, I shouldn’t be holding my breath for him to contact me. I need to distract myself, and for the first time, I’m hoping my crazy and eccentric boss has a random goose chase for me to pursue.

  “You need to establish boundaries with that woman. You finally have a day off, and she’s messaging you.”

  “She’s asking if I want any of her old purses.” I hand my phone to Felicity.

  “Oh!” She cradles my phone. “Is she seriously offering them for free? Books, the white one still has tags. That’s a four-hundred-dollar purse!”

  “Don’t you ever worry someone might rob you for carrying such an expensive bag?” My question goes unheard as she continues staring at the handbags.

  I close my laptop and stand. “Maybe I should take up jogging? Or yoga? Aren’t those supposed to help you relax?”

  “These free purses should make you feel relaxed. This is insane. You’re telling her you want them, right? Because if you don’t, I’m going to kill you.” She hands my phone back to me, her gaze slowly lifting from the screen. “I’m serious.”

  “You were just telling me to establish boundaries,” I remind her.

  “I’ve changed my mind. You should invite her over for dinner. I can drop hints about jewelry, handbags, and find out what size shoe she wears.”

  I ignore her, knowing the slight note of sarcasm in her tone is only there out of obligation. “I was thinking I should move to Gram’s house.”

  “How many conversations are we having right now?” she cries. “To start off, you hate running. The last time I saw you run, you were chasing a waiter who was giving away free champagne. And we can’t do yoga because every time the instructor would say downward dog or something else that begs for an inappropriate joke, we would make them—”

  “You’d make them,” I interject.

  She cocks her head, eyeing me with disbelief.

  “You’d start it.” I shrug.

  “And we’d get dirty looks and eventually be asked to leave.”

  “We’re classy, strong, independent women. We could totally do yoga.”

  “It is what women do these days,” she says, contemplating the idea for a moment. “But, more importantly, you are not moving out. I’ll chain you to the bed if I have to.”

  “Why can’t I find someone who knows how to sweet-talk me like you do?”

  She fans herself. “There’s no one like me, boo.”

  “Jokes aside, I have loved being here. I’ve loved spending more time with you and the kiddos and even our shared husband, but I feel like you guys are putting your lives on hold while I wait for mine to resume.”

  Felicity shakes her head swiftly. “Why would you think we’ve put our lives on hold? There have been no negative impacts by you staying here. The kids love it. I love it. Dan is ready to submit your name for sainthood because you’re apparently the baby whisperer and the kids prefer you t
o us.”

  “That’s just the doughnuts and hours of my chasing them around while playing tag, speaking. They still prefer you both.”

  “I’m not convinced, but I appreciate you telling me that all the same.” She grins. “If you don’t have enough privacy or we’re driving you nuts, I understand, but I don’t want you to move out because you think you’re burdening us—because that is definitely not the case.”

  I feel almost guilty that her assurance serves as such a comfort. It’s nice to feel wanted. Needed. “You swear you’d tell me if I was imposing?”

  “I would.”

  “And if Dan is tired of me, you’ll let me know, too, right? I don’t want to cause issues for your relationship.”

  “Stop.” Her eyes have widened with impatience. “I didn’t come in here to discuss yoga or you moving out or even beautiful free purses. I came to discuss how your date went. Tell me more. Did you make plans to hang out again? Did you kiss? Did he tell you how many babies he wants?”

  “It was really a good time. I know this is horrible because it’s the last thing I should be concerned about, especially after Gabe, but I’d forgotten how attractive he is. Levi is hot.”

  Felicity giggles, plopping down beside me on the bed. She buries her face in my shoulder, reminding me of a time when we’d have sleepovers and be talking about boys in our class. “That is definitely something you should be thinking of. Sure, he needs to be a good guy, but the fact that he can melt your panties with one look gives him mass amounts of bonus points.”

  “You’re ridiculous. No one can look at you and melt your panties off with one look—it’s the damn dimple that does it. He needs to have a warning label tattooed across his forehead: Warning. You will not have cognitive thoughts once the dimple is flashed. Beware.’” I sweep my hand across my forehead. “Maybe even have a flashing red light.”

  “Because that wouldn’t be ridiculous at all.”

  “It would make things more fair.”

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  My heartbeat become both faster and harder, like feet falling across pavement while skipping. “He asked me what the next item on my list was, and I told him I plan to go visit the Museum of Science and Industry since I’ve never gone.”

  “And you extended an invitation, right?”

  I nod, my heart moving from skipping to running.

  “When are you guys going?”

  “Thursday. I have to be downtown to meet with a few vendors in the morning, so we’re going to meet there at two.”

  “I have to say I’m really proud of you, Books. For a while there, I was worried you were going to hole yourself up and refuse to date forever, and though I know you want to take things slow, I’m glad you’re taking a chance with him.”

  I release a deep breath. “Me, too.”

  Felicity pats my thigh a couple of times and stands. “Are you hungry? Does anything sound good to you for dinner? I want to eat everything. I’m starving.”

  I shake my head. “I’m going to respond to Catherine, then finish this blog entry.”

  She pauses, her lips curving with approval. “I’m glad you’re doing this blog. It’s something entirely for you. I think every woman should make one and create their own list.”

  I’d mentioned the idea to her after I’d met Levi and again once I made my first post because I’d used a picture that showed her face and I wanted to ensure she was comfortable with me doing so. Her only reply was to mention how we needed to take more pictures on our next outing.

  “I think we need to try yoga,” I tell her.

  “How about pottery?”

  “Want to jump from a plane?”

  Felicity grows rigid. “What? When did you suddenly develop a death wish?”

  I roll my eyes. “Stop being dramatic.”

  “I’m not!” She takes a single breath, placing a hand to her forehead. “You seriously want to jump out of a plane?”

  “I want us to jump out of a plane.”

  She covers her face with both hands. “You’ve lost your mind. Is this because of that damn dimple?”

  “Come on. If we survived our teen years, we’ll definitely survive this.”

  “You can’t compare hitchhiking and sneaking into concerts to becoming a hood ornament.” Her shoulders fall, and she takes a deep breath, already considering it. I grin, knowing that having her already contemplating it means she’s got one foot on board.

  “I bet we can tandem jump. We’ll do it to celebrate my birthday.”

  Felicity groans. “If you break your leg or your arm or something worse, so help me…”

  “Consider all the hashtags you can make.”

  “I’m considering how big you’ll owe me.”

  “There we go. That’s how we maintain our strong and healthy friendship—keeping score and mild threats that aren’t fully benign.”

  She chuckles. “If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d continue this banter, but I need to eat. Grab your phone so you can secure those purses and let’s go.” She links her arm with mine, and we head downstairs, where Dan and the kids cheer in greeting. Three months of staying here, and I haven’t grown tired of how each time I enter a room, the kids greet me like they haven’t seen me in years. I return the same level of excitement, and while part of it’s for their benefit, it’s mostly because their enthusiasm is contagious.

  18

  Three mornings in a row, I’ve woken up to find a text from Levi from the previous night. He’s a night owl, whereas I go to bed early and wake earlier. Anticipation has me waking even earlier today, anxious to see what he’s sent.

  Levi: I’m pretty sure I could have been gone an hour ago if I weren’t so focused on how you’ve lived in Chicago so long and have experienced so little of this city.

  Levi: …okay, so maybe that’s my lame attempt of admitting I’ve been thinking about you far too much.

  Levi: To the point I’m about to charge you rent for taking up too much space in my thoughts.

  Levi: I’m kidding.

  Levi: …sort of.

  My cheeks burn with a smile. If someone were to tell me a guy had sent them these messages, I’d probably find it cheesy or strange, but receiving them—receiving them from Levi—makes it impossible for me to care.

  I remain in the warmth of my bed, enjoying this moment. I consider what to say in reply. Flirting became easier in person, but typing the words out seems next to impossible. Every time I think of something cute or flirty to say, it seems completely ridiculous and immature once I see it on the screen. Clearly the tech age was not made for those of us who can’t think of hilarious hashtags and worry about their words coming across in the wrong manner.

  I eventually roll out of bed with the hopes I’ll think of something creative to say to him while I get ready when my phone beeps with another text. It’s from Jamie, a woman I was friends with who moved away a couple of years ago and whom I’ve lost touch with.

  Jamie: Brooke, I just heard the news. I’m so sorry about you and Gabe. I hope you’re okay.

  Panic sits heavily on my chest. In the months since Gabe and I broke up, I’ve only received a handful of messages that contained condolences, and they all came within the first couple of weeks. I assumed it was because I never came forward and shared the news—instead, I avoided it by removing my relationship status on social media accounts and ignoring messages that were intended for both of us. I’d stripped all the pictures of him from every account of my history, including the ones in print, because I stopped wanting him back or even considering him asking to come back within a few weeks of our breakup. It wasn’t because I was strong. It derived from stubbornness and refusal to allow someone an opportunity to hurt me more than once.

  Me: Hey. It’s not a big deal. We’re both happier.

  My thumb twitches over my keyboard as I consider how I can ask how she found out without sounding like I care.

  Me: I didn’t realize it was still news.
r />   Jamie: I’m shocked. I always thought you guys were going to get married. If you guys couldn’t survive, it makes me wonder if anyone can.

  I read her message twice—and then twice more before I set my phone down and leave to shower. The hot spray doesn’t help subdue my tension. Rather, my muscles grow tenser, my stress intensifying as though my thoughts are tangible objects, feeding off the water and my concerns and embarrassment.

  I towel off in a haze, consumed with variations of what to tell others if I receive more random messages. It hasn’t been a thought for weeks, and I hate that I’m focusing on it now.

  “Shit!” I hiss, noticing the late hour on my phone. I’d intended to be at work by now in an effort to get some things done before having to head to the city to meet with Catherine’s son. I pull on the dark skinny jeans and loose tee I’d picked out and dart back to my room to dispose of my dirty laundry and find my cotton blazer and heels. I wade through the clothes, finding a golden cuff bracelet stuck to a hanger I’d thought I’d left behind. I grab it and quickly put it on before I resume my hunt. Because we make our own hours, I’m not necessarily late, but I’ve made a habit of arriving before Catherine. It’s necessary for my sanity because as soon as she arrives, she spends the first thirty minutes or more of her day in my office, complaining about something or other. And though I’m not ready to admit it yet to Levi or even Felicity, I’ve been distracted lately with thinking of new things I want to discover for my blog, Tales of Being Single, and even more so by Levi.

  I spend another thirty seconds shuffling through a small Tupperware I’d poured my jewelry into. I pull on a long drop necklace and return to the bathroom to brush my teeth and apply as much makeup as I can in two minutes. I feel sloppy, my hair still wet, caked with product so my curls don’t become a frizzy mess. The collar of my shirt is off-center, and the sleeves of my blazer are creased from previously having been rolled.