Let Me Fall

by Foster, Lily

  Kenzie stretched like a contented cat and then rested her head on my chest, snuggling her body in close to mine. “What time do you need to be at work?” I asked her, trying to keep from sounding curt.

  “Um, nine?”

  “I’ll drop you at home on my way up to New Haven. I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

  “Want company?”

  “No, I’m good,” I said, rolling off the bed and heading towards the bathroom. I didn’t want to hurt her but the thought of letting her paw me in the shower made my skin crawl and my heart ache.

  What I’d done last night was just wrong. The fact that I’d indulged again this morning—I cringed inwardly—significantly upped my level of assholery.

  Seeing Carolyn had totally fucked with my head. Wouldn’t happen a second time. I wasn’t going to lead Kenzie on anymore. I wouldn’t hurt her. And I wasn’t falling to pieces over Carolyn ever again.

  I contemplated calling Andie and asking her not to use the pieces I’d dropped off at Briarwood for next Friday. It would look like a fucking shrine to Carolyn if they displayed all three canvases together.

  Fuck it.

  Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time I got rid of everything that reeked of her.

  “No, it’s not right. I think that piece would look better next to Travis’s large canvas, right by the heart sculpture. Don’t you?

  I watched as this little sprite of a girl commanded three men.

  “What about this one, Andie?”

  “I want that right by Mitchell’s series of watercolors.”

  One of the guys saw me standing there waiting and then gestured to Andie, the girl in charge.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling brightly. “Can I help you?”

  I smiled back. It was kind of hard not to when you were in this girl’s presence; she was energetic, full of life…exuberant. “Hi, I’m Carolyn Harris. I’m just here to drop off the gift baskets for the raffle. Do you know where I’m supposed to put them?”

  “You’re Maureen Harris’s daughter?” I nodded. “So then you’re Tommy’s sister. Love that kid. Do you want to see his contribution for the Gala auction?”

  “He made something?” I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my voice. “I mean, I know he’s creative but I just never thought he was into art.”

  “Oh, but he is. Feast your eyes on this,” she said happily, as she gestured towards a large monarch butterfly made of papier-mâché.

  I smiled and before I knew it, I was wiping at a few tears that had escaped. Every year we would get one of those kits, the ones with live caterpillars to raise. We’d check on them every day together after school, watching as they changed from caterpillar to chrysalis and finally, to butterflies. We’d set them free then, watching as they landed tentatively on the purple butterfly bushes planted along the edge of our backyard before they went higher, moving further away.

  I cried because in that moment, I realized that I’d stopped doing this with Thomas three years ago. Was this his way of letting me know how much he missed us?

  “I totally get it,” Andie said, nodding. “My students’ art can bring me to tears. Just knowing the feeling and the effort they put into making something so…so…beautiful.”

  “Yeah, this is really special to me. I’ll definitely be bidding on this one.”

  “I’m so excited about this!” Andie sang happily, clapping her hands. “We have so many great pieces for the guests to bid on.”

  “The art auction was a great idea. It’s definitely going to bring a lot more money in.”

  “Well it was my idea, so it better bring money in or I’ll die of shame and embarrassment,” she said, laughing. “Mateo, Daniel…let’s help Carolyn get the rest of the baskets from her car.”

  As we were walking in with the last load, Andie looked over to me with a puzzled expression. “I keep thinking we’ve met before. You look so familiar.”

  “I volunteered here over the summer. Maybe we ran into each other on campus?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she said, still staring, trying to place me. “I just started teaching here in September. I mean, I went to Briarwood, but I’ve been away at college for the past four years.”

  I shrugged and she shook herself out of her dazed thoughts. “Anyway, so I’ll be seeing you on Friday, Carolyn?”

  “I’ll be here early setting up. I’m pretty much on duty the entire night.”

  “Me too. It’ll be fun!”

  “I’m so glad I met you, Andie.”

  There are many reasons why you shouldn’t operate a hand-held phone while driving. The obvious reason would be to prevent a crash, grievous injuries and the like. Another reason? To prevent yourself from getting a fat ticket and a stern talking-to from the cops. But the most compelling reason I now had for never, ever doing it again? Calling someone without intending to do so.

  I was trying to reach one of my electricians, Kevin, but was instead greeted by a giddy girl’s voice chirping, “Jeremy! Hey, it’s great to hear from you.”

  “Kenzie?”

  “The one and only!”

  “Um, hey, what’s up? How’s your week going?” I tried to be casual even though I was repeating: fuck, fuck, fuck in my head.

  “Getting better and better,” she practically sang.

  “Listen, I—”

  “Oh, I know why you’re calling,” she interjected. “Sadie told me already. She set up plans for Saturday night…the four of us.” I said nothing, stunned momentarily. Kenzie didn’t seem to notice, she just kept on talking. “I forgot the name of the place. It’s some Italian restaurant that she said was awesome. Sadie said our reservation is for eight o’clock.”

  “Oh.” That was the brilliant response I came up with.

  “I think it’s in Westerly. You don’t need to drive all the way up here to get me. I can borrow my mother’s car and park at your place.”

  She’s a good person, I told myself. You fucked her so the least you can do is take her out to dinner. After dinner, you can have a talk—tell her that it’s not going to work out. Be kind and respectful to a girl who certainly deserves much better than you.

  “Did you hear me, Jeremy?”

  Her question pulled me back from my rambling inner dialogue. “I’ll come and pick you up, Kenzie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Hey, dickhead, I said you could set up one date for me. I don’t recall appointing you as my social calendar director.”

  “So good to hear from you, Rivers. For the record, Sadie set that up. I didn’t.”

  I let out a breath. “Seriously, Frank, please tell her to cut that shit out. Kenzie’s a nice girl. I don’t want to mess with her head.”

  “You’re not interested? You seemed into her last weekend.”

  “I was drunk. I’m not proud of that. I’m a shit for leading her on like that, but all this double-dating crap is making it worse.”

  “You did fuck her, though, correct?”

  “None of your business.”

  He laughed. “Kind of heard it through the grapevine already but it’s nice to know you’re a gentleman.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  “You are coming on Saturday, though, right?” Frank asked cautiously. “I mean, she’s really into you. Just give this a chance.”

  I was pressing my free hand into my forehead. I was developing a killer headache. “When I’m with her it doesn’t feel right.”

  “You’re just out of practice.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s just go out as four friends, have some drinks, some laughs…see where it goes. I’m sorry, Jeremy, but I’m not gonna sit back and let you just exist—to keep up this miserable, lonely routine you’ve got going.”

  “I’m not miserable.”

  “But you’re not happy. I want you to have what I have with Sadie, man. I’m happy.”

  I thought about Kenzie the rest of the week. Thou
ght about her good looks, her smile, the way her body responded to mine. I thought about the pain she’s endured in her young life. Tried to muster up some deeper sense of feeling for her.

  I also thought about Carolyn a lot. I replayed the scene from the grocery store in my head. Before that asshole had come strolling in, barging in on our reunion, I could swear she looked at me with longing. But then she introduced me as a classmate, nothing more. It was confusing as hell. And it was painful…still painful after all this time.

  I contemplated dropping into the coffee shop to drill Tori for information but thought better of it. When Tori reached out to me Friday morning, dropping a text to ask if I was going to the Briarwood Gala, a simple nope was my reply. I felt hostile as I pounded those four letters out.

  I wondered if Carolyn would see my work. If she would even recognize herself as my subject, my muse for every important piece I’d ever created.

  I simultaneously prayed she would see them—feel my love for her through each stroke—and cringed thinking she may react by laughing at my immature need to hold onto her, when she probably had moved on from me long ago.

  The gym had been transformed. Swaths of pale, glittery fabric hung from twinkling overhead light fixtures that cast a warm glow over the space. The tables were set with fine china, silver cutlery and crystal glassware that sparkled in the light.

  I saw Beth Peterman setting spectacular fall themed flower arrangements in the center of each table. I decided to extend an olive branch. This woman had done nothing to me, aside from making me seethe with jealousy. I can’t say I was a fan, though, because if it was true, she hooked up with Jeremy while he was in high school­ and that was just flat-out wrong. But my new philosophy, in addition to speaking my mind and expressing myself honestly, also included things I was still working on: self-acceptance and letting go of the past. So I would let go of this hurt.

  “My mother said you made these arrangements yourself. They’re beautiful, Mrs. Peterman.”

  She turned, wide-eyed and wary when she saw it was me. “Thank you so much, Carolyn,” she said, recovering. She smiled warmly then. “I love arranging flowers. I’m so glad I could do this for the Gala.”

  “Well, you’re talented, and my mom said you’ve been a great help.” That compliment rendered her childlike, beaming with delight and pride. Her reaction made me feel sympathetic. I decided in that moment that I shouldn’t judge her. Here she was, a fish out of water, married to a geezer who sought fit to marry a girl the same age as his daughter from his first marriage. Maybe Beth didn’t have it as easy as I’d assumed.

  I smiled and then told her I had to get back to work, gesturing towards the raffle table I was setting up. I was pleased; the baskets looked professionally done and the placards that Ava had created on her laptop had great graphics and expressed the high quality of the merchandise within each one. These should fetch some big bucks, I thought to myself later as I took a step back and admired the finished display.

  I waved to the other women as I was leaving and then headed home, where Ava, Tori and Taylor were meeting to get dressed for the night.

  After I showered, I flopped back on my bed for a few minutes and admired the shiny, dark red mani-pedi I’d gotten the day before. Pampering myself was not something I’d done a great deal of in the past three years. It felt good. I looked over to the red dress hanging on my closet door. It was knee length, nothing too formal, but the satin fabric hugged my body. It looked a bit nineteen-twenties; the dress was sexy but elegant. I decided to get ready before they arrived. I dried and curled my hair into loose waves. I applied mascara, some blush and a tinted lip gloss that reddened my lips just slightly. I put on the satin bra and panties I’d purchased for tonight, slipped the dress over my head and then slid my feet into the black, strappy heels. I turned in the mirror, taking myself in from every angle. I looked good.

  “You look good, girl!” Tori exclaimed as she entered my room, a garment bag draped over her arm. “Holy shit, Carolyn,” she said, taking me in more thoroughly. “I’m serious, you look so beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Tori. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “Hey,” she said, cocking her head, “why do you look…blue?”

  “It’s totally stupid.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I just…I’m hoping he’ll be there tonight. And he won’t be. I know he won’t be. I’m just being an ass.”

  “No you’re not,” she countered, her eyes sad. “You care about him still. I get that.”

  “I acted so weird when I saw him in the supermarket last Sunday, Tori.”

  “How so?”

  “I was totally awkward…like I couldn’t get a sentence out without sounding totally ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t think so. You’re being overly critical of yourself.”

  “No, Tori, it didn’t go well. He looked…I don’t know, cold and offish by the time he walked away. You know, like…See ya, have a nice life, Carolyn. I felt like running after him and asking him for a do-over. I felt this need to talk to him, really talk.”

  “So then you’ll do that. You’ll talk to him. But,” she added, shaking her head, “I’m pretty sure he won’t be there tonight.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Just texted. I asked if he was coming and he said no.”

  I nodded, resigned.

  “He’s off on Sundays, Carolyn. Comes in at eight-thirty every Sunday morning, like clockwork. Grabs two coffees to go and a crumb cake.” She smiled. “I think he times it so he gets there right as the crumb cakes come out of the oven.”

  “Two coffees?”

  Tori rolled her eyes. “He goes to see his grandfather every Sunday morning.” Rubbing her palms together and smiling, she said, “Anyway, I suggest you come in for coffee this Sunday morning.”

  “We’ll see,” I said, trying to sound undecided but unable to hide the grin that was blooming across my face.

  After some last minute set-up, I stationed the girls at their respective posts. Tori and Ava would be walking about the room, selling raffle tickets, while Taylor, the most persuasive of our group, was manning the basket table, luring in prospective bidders with details about the decadent treats that awaited them if they were lucky enough to win.

  I noticed as the room started filling up, that a great deal more men were stopping by the basket table, asking questions and dropping large amounts of raffle tickets into the bags. Taylor looked like she was having fun with it, breaking out her old wily charms. I smiled because this was play acting for Taylor now. She had grown up a great deal, committing herself to one person for the past year. Marcus was a slightly older guy who seemed to be head over heels for her.

  “It’s more crowded than usual, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely, Mom. I think tonight’s going to top last year’s total by a lot. Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “Just keep selling. Everything else is under control.”

  All the girls selling raffles had a silver balloon tied to a string attached to their wrist, so that we were easily recognized. I made my way about the room, generally only making it a few feet before being stopped by another patron. As the champagne flowed, the wallets opened.

  Beth Peterman bought five hundred dollars-worth of tickets from me. I watched as she took them and approached the basket table, wondering which getaway she would bid on. I quickly grasped her ulterior motive; she practically needed a crowbar to pry the very distinguished looking, but very old Mr. Peterman away from Taylor. Beth, I decided, probably lived under the constant worry of when, not if, Mr. Peterman was going to trade her in for a newer model.

  “Now I know who you are!” I turned abruptly and was face to face with Andie, her expression pleased but a little stunned. She shook her head, bewildered, as she said, “You’re true beauty.”

  “Thanks for the compliment?”

  Andie laughed. “You do look great tonight, Carolyn, but I’m referring to the pa
inting. True Beauty? It was donated by a student…well, a former student. It has to be you. Come see,” she said as she took my wrist and led me into the adjoining space, which had been set up as a gallery.

  Andie stopped in front of a large canvas, looking at me expectantly before she dropped my arm. I stood speechless, my mouth surely hanging open in shocked surprise.

  It was me all right, perched on that stool, in nothing but my tiny white skivvies. It was a modern piece. The female form was rendered in charcoal but the borders were splashed in swaths of red, with some yellow accents. It gave the impression of burning light surrounding the girl.

  I swallowed back tears when I looked closely at the face. I was looking at him with an expression that conveyed my deep love and also my desire. My shoulder was arched back a little and one hand rested on my inner thigh. I remembered back to that night; I’d positioned myself so that he had no choice but to look at the curve of my breast as he worked. Jeremy had wanted the session to be chaste, while I’d wanted to tempt him, break him down, get him into a state where he’d need me—have to have me.

  “So you know Jeremy Rivers?” Andie asked softly, bringing me back.

  “Yes,” I whispered, nodding. “I knew him a long time ago.”

  “This piece is so hauntingly beautiful, so very evocative. It’s spectacular, really. I almost feel bad that he parted with it. Someone is going to get a bargain tonight.”

  “Did he donate anything else,” I asked, turning back to Andie.

  “Um, yeah, two other pieces,” she said, a sympathetic frown creasing her brow as she gestured across the room.

  I felt like the wind was knocked out of me again as I took in Blue Gingham. It was me, standing at the water’s edge. It was all charcoal, in black and white, but I smiled thinking about his obsession with that one particular bikini. I was dipping my toe into the lake tentatively, my arms out at my side for balance, my face tilted down, peering into the water, possibly scoping it out for vipers? The detailing in the landscape was striking. It was if he’d given the reed grass movement; you could almost hear the whisper of a breeze passing through the fronds. I smiled again as I took in the female form and noticed the slightly exaggerated size of my breasts. Wishful thinking, Jeremy.