Let Me Fall

by Foster, Lily

  I wouldn’t that night. I treated Carolyn like glass, like I had to be careful and go slow with her. If I had made her mine, would it all have turned out differently? Would she have trusted me? Let me know what Chase was doing to her? I bit back that old familiar anger, thinking about him threatening her, coercing her. Would she have let me in, let me take care of her? Would that act, connecting with her in that intimate way…would it have made her love for me strong enough?

  Would it have made a damn difference?

  I’ll never know.

  “What’s up?” I answered happily, always glad to see Andie’s name flash across my screen.

  “You know, saving the world, one learning disabled child at a time.”

  “I love that you’re at Briarwood, Andie. How cool is that, teaching the next generation?”

  “I hate to say I got lucky, because this position only opened up because Mr. Frazier had a stroke, but I do love this job. Like, I am so happy waking up every day. How many people can say they have a job like that?”

  I smiled. Andie hadn’t changed; she was still all that was happiness and light. Her enthusiasm was infectious. “How’s Mateo?”

  “Awesome.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Oh, he’s angling for an invite up to Killington this winter. Just warning you.”

  I had gotten a place last winter, splitting the cost with my dad. It was nothing fancy, but it had a few extra guestrooms, a decent kitchen, a big ass fireplace and a location that couldn’t be beat—ski-on, ski-off. We rented it out for the Thanksgiving, Christmas and February school breaks to offset the cost, but otherwise, I tried to not miss too many weekends during the season.

  “You two are always welcome. Um…you know what? On second thought,” I teased, “Mateo is more than welcome but if you want to come up you have to promise that you’ll at least attempt one run down the bunny hill.”

  “Gah! I was not made to ski. I’m a beach bum. You know this about me, Jeremy!”

  “Then tell Mateo I’ll see him soon.”

  “Make you a deal. I’ll bring a giant pot of my killer vegetarian chili and some of my awesome space cakes…but I’m not skiing.”

  “It’s a deal…only if you stick some meat in that chili. Oh, and plain brownies for me, Andie. My space-caking days are officially over.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’ve actually got to head up there sometime in the next few weeks.”

  “Why so early?”

  “Just to do some repairs and to tidy up. There’s a nice sized hot tub on the deck but we couldn’t use it last year. There are some wiring issues and the deck railing is kind of shot. I’m going to put in some outdoor lighting too.”

  “Yeah, make sure you get that hot tub running since that’s where I’ll be spending most of my ski weekend,” she said, laughing.

  “I haven’t given up on you, Andie. I bet by the end of the winter me and Mateo will having you shredding up the slopes.”

  “Not happening. You need your very own little snow bunny to torture. And on that note…anyone special in your life, Jeremy?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “No worries, handsome, she’s out there. You just haven’t met her yet.”

  No, I’ve met her, I said to myself.

  Andie and I had lost touch during those years I’d been at Westerly, connecting again after we met at an art show where Chuck Watters’ work was being shown. She didn’t know more than the most basic details of what I’d been through in recent years. She didn’t know about Carolyn or the reason why I now had no desire whatsoever to find myself a snow bunny of my very own.

  “So,” I said, changing the subject, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well, I kind of need a favor.”

  “Anything, Andie, you know that.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. The Briarwood Gala is the first week of November. I’m the new kid here and I want to make a good impression on the board. In addition to the usual raffles and baskets, I suggested we have a silent auction art show. I’m asking students and former students to donate some of their work with the proceeds going back to the school. Are you in?”

  “Um, I don’t know if I have anything worthy of selling, Andie.”

  “Please, none of that self-deprecating bullshit, all right? Your work is insane, Jeremy. It will fetch some serious ducats.”

  “I don’t know about that, but you’re welcome to whatever you need. How many pieces and how big?”

  “Two…three if you’re feeling generous. And any size is fine. Nothing is too small or too big.”

  “You got it. Any promising students?”

  “Oh, you have no idea. There’s this one boy, Travis. I feel like a complete fraud instructing him. He’s totally more talented than I am. You’ll see. His work will be displayed that night.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make that night,” I said, knowing that Carolyn would most certainly be there. Then again, maybe I should go, see once and for all how she’d react to me now that she had—what did Tori say?—come out on the other side.

  “Well, I sure hope you can. But let’s definitely grab lunch the day you haul your stuff here, all right?”

  “It’s a date.”

  That night I wandered around my place, flipping through canvases of various sizes, trying to find something that might fetch some money at auction. My best pieces had one thing in common: Carolyn was the subject.

  “Mom, I really need a job.”

  “I don’t agree. You have your coursework to focus on, Carolyn. A job on top of school might be—”

  “It won’t be too much, Mom. I’d be working two shifts a week, one night during the week and Saturday nights. I’d only work more during school breaks and holidays. I’ve been careful not to take on more than I can handle but, Mom, I have to start becoming more independent.”

  “I think you’ve been doing so well. I’ve been so happy watching you,” she stopped briefly to wipe her eyes, “come back to us this year. I just don’t want you to have any setbacks.”

  I hugged my mother close. Over the past three years, my parents had suffered as much, if not more than I had. Now that I was able to look back on everything, I can’t imagine how hard it was for them to watch me change from a girl who seemed to have it all under control to a scared and paranoid young woman who could not function without constant support. And my mother and father had been nothing but supportive. How could I have ever thought they would be angry at me, blame me—that they would not have been in my corner? No one had better parents than I did. Of that I was certain.

  “You and Dad have been so good to me. I just need to start paying my own way. I know that you had to eat the cost of that entire first semester of Penn and then…the hospital. I overheard you two talking one day. I feel so terrible that I’ve put you in debt.”

  “Do not ever mention that again, Carolyn. I mean it. We would not have done anything differently. I’ll never view anything that helped you as a financial burden. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. “But I still want to take the job. I’m ready, Mom.”

  I don’t know why I thought waitressing would be a mindless job, a breeze. Both Thursday and Saturday nights at La Viola were slammed every week. I had trained during some afternoon lunches—piece of cake—salads and mineral water for the after tennis, ladies who lunch crowd. At night, however, it was three course meals, opening wine bottles in the precise manner in which we were instructed to do so, and juggling up to nine tables at a time. It made the nights go quickly, though, and the tips were fantastic.

  I was proud of myself after those first few weeks. Not only because I was able to handle the fast pace and the multi-tasking, but more so because I was able to handle the anxiety that sometimes still reared its ugly head when I was in a position to interact socially.

  In my first week I had waited on Mike Hanson’s parents and my high school French teacher. With a few deep, calming
breaths, I was able to do my job, smiling and keeping track of everything just fine. It was the little things, the small victories that I celebrated.

  I didn’t call Kenzie. I didn’t see the point. She might say that she wasn’t looking for any kind of commitment but I believed that to be well-intentioned bullshit.

  It had been a week since our date. Frank asked me about it once, told me that Kenzie really liked me, but then dropped it. I appreciated that. I knew that if a really good looking, seemingly kind and willing girl was doing nothing for me, then I just wasn’t ready.

  Sunday morning I woke up early and took a really long run, as I did every week on my day off. I’d always stop at the bake shop for a fresh crumb cake on my way back and then have coffee with my grandfather as he polished off most of the sweets.

  The past year had been hard on him, since my grandmother had passed away. He spent his days tinkering, attempting to fix things around his house even though his fingers weren’t that nimble anymore. And he began sculpting again. Oddly enough, his arthritis gave an interesting quality to his work. The faces he sculpted had features that were a little distorted but the work was really spectacular—it was emotional. He’d laugh me off when I complimented him, telling me that he wasn’t blind yet so I should stop yanking his chain. I would work alongside him for an hour or so on Sunday mornings before heading out when he laid down for his mid-morning nap.

  That Sunday I drove back into town again on my way home. I needed to grab some beer and chips to bring to Frank’s place later that afternoon. It was the Jets versus the Patriots and we always made a day of it. Sometimes we were lucky enough to snag tickets, but otherwise either me or Frank would invite everyone over. It was a mix of some old high school football buddies, work friends, and when Mike could make it, a few of his frat brothers tagged along too.

  Mike had originally been planning to attend Stanford out west but after everything that happened, he decided on staying closer to home, accepting a seat at Yale instead. He told me once that he’d gone to see Carolyn, just to make sure she was all right and to let her know that she’d have him around at Yale if she ever needed anything, but, like me, he was turned away.

  I grabbed a baseball cap out of the glove compartment before I walked into the supermarket; I still hadn’t showered since my morning run. I went straight for the beer section. I grabbed a case and then snatched a few bags of chips with my free hand. I was nearly at the end of the aisle when she turned into it from the opposite direction and we nearly collided. I dropped the chips and she scrambled to the floor at the same time I did, apologizing as she tried to pick them up for me. “Leave it, Carolyn, I got it.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m such a spaz,” she said, swallowing uncomfortably.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good, and you?” Her tone was formal, like it was a rehearsed speech.

  “I’m all right.”

  The air hung between us, not in an uncomfortable way, more like it was charged. After a moment of staring at each other, Carolyn broke the silence. “Um, looks like you’re heading someplace fun today,” she said, gesturing towards the beer.

  “Frank’s house. Football. Nothing really. What are you up to?” If she said “nothing” I was going to do it, ask her to go somewhere with me right now. I envisioned the two of us sitting across from one another in a diner, telling each other everything, catching up on the last three years, giving each other explanations for what had gone wrong.

  “Meeting my running group. I’m training for the Boston Marathon this spring.

  “That’s great, Carolyn. I’m impressed.”

  She looked away, seemingly unsure of herself as she said, “Thanks. The running…it helps.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, wanting to reassure her. “Running always clears my head and makes me feel good.”

  She nodded. “Anyway, I just ran in to grab some Gator—”

  “Did you find them, Carolyn?” asked a guy around my height, slight build, dressed in running gear that I’d never be caught dead in: tights, slim-cut top, state of the art, giant ass training watch on his wrist. I mean, what self-respecting guy wore running tights? He looked me over from head to toe in return, certainly taking in my longish hair, my wrinkled, sweaty Tri-State Electrical tee shirt, my case of beer and my chips—which were not vegan, unsalted or gluten-free. This guy looked like he subsisted on tofu, chia seeds and almond milk.

  “Um, Jeremy, this is Todd.” Looking back to him, she said in explanation, “We went to high school together.”

  I winced. That fucking hurt more than it should have. I nodded, probably tight-lipped and looking as pissed as I felt. That’s what we were? High school chums? Fuck this, I’m outta here. “It was good to see you, Carolyn. Take care of yourself.” I walked off, not bothering to say goodbye to Todd. That was for the best, as I currently had a strong urge to wrap my hands around his puny neck and squeeze…for no good reason.

  I needed to take my aggression out on the heavy bag for half an hour until the hurt and the anger bled out of me. After a long shower, I felt maybe not better, but resigned. Who knew if that guy Todd was her boyfriend even? I suspected he was, because she looked really uncomfortable when he came upon us. And if he wasn’t, he wanted to be—that was clear. But even if he was nothing to her, it seemed like I fell into that category as well. We went to high school together. For some reason it also hurt that she looked great, beautiful…better than ever.

  She looked happy…without me.

  Frank was hosting today and he was bringing the obnoxious to a whole new level. I was a die-hard Pats fan, while Frank’s family, originally from Brooklyn, bled Jets green. As I walked up the steps to his second-floor apartment, I saw the Jets flag covering his window and the Gang Green sign on his door.

  There were about ten of us there today, all seated around Frank’s seventy-inch flat-screen. His place was basically a man cave with the largest leather sectional couch I’ve ever seen, flanked by recliners on either side. There was ample room for ten large guys in his living room.

  By half-time, the Pats had taken a comfortable thirteen-point lead and I was at least six beers in. I wanted to forget—to drink, to laugh and to move on.

  At some point during the fourth quarter, Frank’s door opened and in came Sadie, followed by a few of her friends. Cheers erupted when the guys saw they were carrying pizza boxes and more beer. Kenzie’s eyes found mine and she smiled at me apprehensively. It’s like she was silently asking: Are you happy to see me or not? I’m sure I gave her back a lazy-ass, borderline lewd smile, but she seemed pleased. She personally brought a slice over to me and when she went to go back to the girls, I tugged her into my lap and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  A few seconds later she whispered back, “Yeah, I get the idea that you’re happy to see me,” as she wiggled a little in my lap. Kenzie was wearing short shorts and a halter top, which wasn’t out of place on this Indian summer kind of day. She was a petite little thing, probably no more than five-four, with Marilyn Monroe-like curves. She was hot. Me? I was horny, love-sick and angry.

  “I’m heading out when the game’s over.”

  “Do you wanna hang out?” she asked, hopeful.

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  She took my keys, thankfully, and drove us back to my place.

  My alarm went off at five–thirty, set for the time I usually took my short, pre-dawn run. That wouldn’t be happening this morning. My mouth was dry, my head was a little fuzzy and the smell of sex, I noticed, hung in the air.

  Her soft, curvy ass nudged back against my morning wood. I’d nearly forgotten how nice it felt to have this. Kenzie was all soft skin, plump curves and willing. Taking the lead again, she reached down between us and eased me towards her entrance. Despite the mild hangover, I was into it, but I stopped. “Wait, let me grab a condom.”

  She tugged on me again, gently. “We’re good, Jeremy. We didn’t use one last night.
It felt fucking awesome.”

  “Oh, shit,” I murmured, rolling away from her onto my back.

  She turned over, leaning up on one elbow, caressing my chest with her other hand. “I’m on the pill, baby, it’s ok.”

  “I don’t like taking chances.”

  “It was your idea last night,” she challenged. “You said you needed to feel all of me. Nothing between us.”

  “Yeah, I’d say that was the ten or so beers talking. I shouldn’t have done that, Kenzie. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all good, Jeremy, we’re protected.” She reached behind her, where the condoms sat ignored from last night, and ripped one off the strip. She straddled me, her tits swaying heavily with every slight move she made. “If it makes you feel better, let’s cover you up,” she said teasing, but there was a hint of hurt in her tone—like she clearly understood I’d be fucking miserable if she was ever to become pregnant.

  She rolled the condom down, biting her lower lip as she watched the latex move down my length. She looked to me then and said, her voice husky, “I have to have you inside me again, baby. I need it.”

  As long as she needed it and not me, I was good to go. She rode me, arching her back, thrusting her tits out. She was hot and uninhibited. She slowly reached both hands up, lifted her long hair off her neck for a moment and then eased back, bracing her hands against my thighs. All the while she ground her hips in a circular motion as she bounced herself up and down along my shaft. She was losing control, chanting my name, panting and moaning. She dipped her head down to kiss me then and whispered, “Tell me I’m beautiful, Jeremy.”

  Something about those words snapped me out of this mindless fucking. A memory. Isn’t that stupid, that I was so desperate to be told I was beautiful? The memory of that painful secret Carolyn had shared with me so long ago. Her shame at going along with that piece of shit, Greg Henley—an insecure girl so grateful to be told she was beautiful.

  Whatever it was, Kenzie’s demand deflated my boner like a pin to a festering blister. She was just about there, though, so I worked her with my fingers as I kept thrusting and then—yes—I faked it. She didn’t seem to notice that I rolled her off me immediately after letting out a series of lackluster grunts. She hadn’t noticed that I’d peeled off an empty condom. She didn’t acknowledge that I had not repeated those words back to her, as she’d asked me to.