The Upside of Falling

by Alex Light

  She opened her eyes, placed her hand on my cheek. “I wanted to protect you,” she said.

  “You did. But now we’ll protect each other.” I wouldn’t let her carry this on her own anymore.

  I sat on the edge of the bed until she fell asleep. It didn’t take long, maybe a few minutes. When her face looked peaceful again, I left and went back downstairs. I sat on the couch and waited. I didn’t take my eyes off the door. He had to be on his way home. Any second, he’d walk inside.

  An hour later the door opened.

  My dad was standing in the doorway, his tie hanging loose around his neck. I was still trying to adjust to all of this. When you’ve spent seventeen years thinking you know someone, how are you supposed to train yourself to see them differently? I’d looked up to him for so long. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to learn from him. I wanted to impress him. And now what? How was I supposed to just shut that off? The anger was still swirling inside me, a neighbor to the sadness, but there was relief there too when I saw him. Because he was my dad. He was supposed to be the one protecting me. He was supposed to tell me what to do now, where we went from here.

  Instead I was left alone, trying to separate my dad from the person standing in the hallway. And I couldn’t.

  All the lights in the house were off so he didn’t see me sitting on the couch. He started walking up the stairs. What was he going to do? Jump into bed with my mom and sleep beside her? Then we’d wake up tomorrow morning and have one big family breakfast?

  Didn’t he realize that everything was different now?

  My voice cut through the darkness. “You can’t stay here.” His footsteps faltered. “Not anymore. Not with Mom here.”

  My dad looked different as he walked into the living room. Maybe it was the blood covering his white shirt or the broken nose and the fresh purple bruises. Everyone always told me I looked like my dad more than my mom. Now? I couldn’t find a trace of myself in his face.

  He sat down, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. Not sad. Not guilty. Just tired, like the truth finally coming out was this huge interruption from his regularly scheduled life.

  “Let me explain,” he said.

  And then the weirdest thing happened. I didn’t want him to.

  I was sitting there in the middle of the night and all I could think about was Becca and how she spent five years with all these questions that were never answered. And here I was, every answer within reach, and none of it even mattered. Because there was no explanation. There was no excuse. Whatever reason my dad had for cheating wouldn’t make me forgive him. Not if he spent the rest of the night apologizing. All I knew was that my mom had been completely embarrassed tonight and spending another second talking to the person behind it felt wrong.

  What good was the truth when it was too late for it?

  I didn’t care what the woman’s name was, where she lived, how they met, or if she had kids. There was really only one question I wanted to know.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Three months,” my dad said.

  “How long has Mom known?”

  “She found out in August.”

  I felt so damn useless. How long had I spent obsessing over football to impress my dad? Practicing day and night? I even dragged Becca into this, agreed to date her to impress him too. And for what? For him to miss every game this season? For him to be off living this second life? And I just sat here and let him. I was too blinded by trying to be him, pick up his life from where he had left off, that I couldn’t even realize he was the last person I ever wanted to be.

  I got up and walked out of the room, pausing at the stairs. “You can’t stay here anymore,” I said again. Without waiting for a response, I left my father there on the couch. I didn’t go to bed until I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of his car leaving. For a second I thought that maybe he’d go stay with this other woman. But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.

  Everything felt tainted. Dirty. I and all my hobbies were extensions of my dad. And now I couldn’t figure out what parts of myself were really me. Like football; did I even enjoy playing it? Was it all to impress my dad? Would I have started playing on my own if he hadn’t forced a football into my hands when I was a kid? Then there was Becca. That was the worst part. Our entire relationship began because of how desperate I was to please my dad. I knew it had grown from that, but it still felt wrong that he was the reason for everything good that had happened and everything bad.

  I didn’t know what to do, where to go from here.

  I felt like what I needed was a fresh start. A clean slate to figure out who I was without him.

  Becca

  THE NEXT MORNING PLAYED OUT in a strange series of events.

  I woke up in my bed, that was normal. I was still wearing the dress. There was enough sunlight coming in through the blinds to confirm that, yes, there was still blood on it and yes, there was still blood on my fingertips. Another sign that last night really happened and wasn’t a weird dream my brain concocted while I was asleep.

  I winced thinking of the punch, felt this weird tightness in my chest at the memory of Brett walking away from me. And then there was the weirdest part of all, Jenny. I remember accepting her ride home and crawling into bed that night. But I didn’t remember what happened between that. It was like my brain decided to completely shut down due to information overload.

  There was a knock at my door. My mom stuck her head in. “Good, you’re awake.” She walked inside, opened all the blinds even when I protested, and grabbed clothing out of my dresser. She said, “Get up, take a shower, and come have breakfast. There’s someone waiting to see you,” then left before I could ask who it was. But it could only be one person: Brett. Which meant he was currently sitting alone in my kitchen with my mom.

  I never showered so fast.

  Ten minutes later the bloody dress was in the hamper, red stains on my skin were gone, and my hair no longer smelled like grass. I walked into the kitchen in a rush because Brett had already spent way too much time alone with my mother and I had to intervene as soon as possible. Only it wasn’t Brett sitting at my kitchen table. It was Jenny.

  I froze halfway through the doorway. They both turned at the same time to stare at me. I felt like an animal in a zoo exhibit. What will Becca do now?

  “Are you hungry?” my mom asked like this was a normal breakfast setup. “I made you banana pancakes. Your favorite.” They were my favorite, but I was too confused to even think about eating.

  “Jenny came over,” my mom continued when it was clear I wasn’t going to speak. “She told me what happened with Brett’s family last night. It’s terrible. I hope he’s all right.”

  Great. So the news was slowly making its way around Crestmont.

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jenny said. Note to self: a town tragedy was what it took to have Jenny speak to me again. “You seemed to be a little in shock last night. You didn’t say a word the entire drive here.”

  My brain was still struggling to understand this breakfast dynamic when my mom checked her watch and made a big show of standing up. “I have to get to the bakery. Will you ladies be all right here?” I think I nodded because she kept going. “And Becca, if you talk to Brett, tell him he’s welcome to come here whenever. I don’t think his house is where he wants to be right now.”

  “Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

  Then she left. It was awkward without her to fill the silence, be the middle man.

  Jenny spoke first. “I always liked your mom,” she said. There was a half-eaten jelly bell on her plate. “It’s cool that she tries to be involved in your life. . . .” Her eyes met mine. “Her baking improved a lot too. I still didn’t really believe it until I ate this.”

  “Why are you here?” It came out harsher than intended. And okay, I should probably at least try to be a little nicer to her. I mean, she did kind of save me from being stranded on
the road last night.

  “I told you. I wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”

  “But why?”

  Her face scrunched up. “Am I not allowed to still care about you? We were best friends.”

  “Two years ago,” I pointed out.

  Jenny stood up in a hurry. “Coming here was a mistake. I’ll leave.”

  “Jenny, wait.” I held my face in my hands. She sat back down. “I’m sorry, okay? Don’t go. . . . I’m just trying to make sense of this. Last night and now this morning? Nothing feels normal anymore.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I came here. Figured you could use some sense of familiarity. And . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “And what?” I asked, wanting the distraction.

  “And you were right. I wasn’t a good friend to you. I haven’t been for a long time. And, like, I don’t expect us to become besties overnight or whatever. But maybe, eventually, we can be okay again. . . .” Jenny sighed. “I just feel bad. What you said at the marsh made me realize how selfish I had become. And the worst part is that I don’t even know when I became like this. So, fine, I’m trying to make it up to you. Repent for my sins or whatever.”

  Surprisingly, this confession wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. And maybe it was because of how much my life had changed recently, but suddenly the thought of reconciling with Jenny didn’t seem all that crazy.

  “Have you spoken to Brett?” she added.

  I’d been in such a rush to barge into the kitchen I’d forgotten to even check my phone.

  “No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. Why? Got any advice?”

  Jenny laughed, ate the other half of the jelly bell. “No. Not this time. It’s weird, right? His family is, like, worshipped in this town or something. Goes to show that every family has their secrets. What?” She grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth. “Is there sugar on my face?”

  “No. It’s just— It’s weird seeing you here. But it feels normal at the same time. Does that make sense?”

  “Tell me about it. It was weird coming here two years later. I wasn’t sure if I even should come, but you seemed really not okay last night, Becca. Like, your mind was in a different world or something. Without the book this time.”

  I sat down at the table across from her. “My life is starting to feel like one.”

  We both laughed. For that second, it was like the past two years never happened and we were two fifteen-year-old best friends again.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen. “It sounds like a phone ringing.” It was a phone. My phone. I ran to my bedroom to grab it. Brett’s name was on the screen. I let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Brett, hey. How are you?”

  “Are you home?” His voice was muffled. It sounded like he was driving with the windows down. I told him I was. “Can I come over? I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course.”

  I hung up and ran back to the kitchen.

  “Brett?”

  I nodded. “He’s on his way.”

  “Guess that’s my cue to leave.” Jenny stood up and we walked to the door. I had to restrain myself from opening it and shooing her out. I wanted to talk to Brett. I needed to know he was okay. But then Jenny turned back around, looking like she was debating whether or not to say something. “I, um, hope everything’s okay with him. My dad and his dad are friends. I don’t want it to be weird when people start choosing sides.”

  I must’ve said something because she waved and left. She was halfway down the hall when I called her name. “The hotel looked great, by the way. Brett told me your parents furnished it.”

  Jenny used to have this huge smile before it turned tight-lipped. The kind that completely took over her entire face. I hadn’t seen it since freshman year. Until now. “Thanks, Becca,” she said.

  The elevator doors opened and Brett walked out. He glanced between me and Jenny, looking confused, said something to her, then kept walking. “What was that about?” he asked once he was in front of me. He looked disheveled. It was clear he hadn’t slept.

  “Long story. How was last night?” I reached out and wrapped my arms around him. He patted my back a few times, then let go. I looked up at him. His face was unreadable. “Brett? Is everything okay?”

  He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.”

  I gazed at the door for a moment, twirling the key around in my hand. It felt too private, bringing Brett inside when no one else was there. So I made my way to the elevator, knowing he’d follow, and pressed the button to the roof. We didn’t speak as we rode up, and Brett trailed behind as I walked over to lean on the cement ledge overlooking the town. He stood beside me, his side against mine. It wasn’t normal, what that did to my heart.

  I waited for him to grab my hand like he usually did when we were side by side.

  “I used to come here as a kid,” I explained.

  “To read?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. Not to read. To think. There was something about standing up here that made my problems shrink, made the world feel a little bit smaller. A little less scary.” I glanced at him. He was nodding along. “You’re being really quiet.”

  Brett looked the same as he did last night. Still angry. Still a little confused. His eyes were scanning the town below us like he’d find answers written in the rooftops.

  He may have looked the same, but he felt far away.

  “My dad came home late last night,” he said. “I told him to leave, that he couldn’t stay there with me and Mom.”

  “Did he explain what happened with that woman?”

  “You mean his mistress?” he said, gripping the ledge a little tighter. “He wanted to but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “You didn’t want answers?” That made zero sense to me. I’d give anything for a few explanations.

  “I thought I did until he was sitting in front of me. Then I realized that it doesn’t matter anymore, Becca. Answers, the truth, whatever you want to call it. None of it matters because it’s too late. Nothing he says will fix what he’s done to my mom, to our family. Maybe there’s some truths that are better kept as secrets.” His head fell into his hands. “This sucks. This really sucks. My mom didn’t get out of bed this morning. She thinks I can’t hear her crying but I can.”

  I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but I knew all too well that my sympathy wouldn’t take away a fraction of the pain. They were empty words, like trying to use a single Band-Aid to hold an entire shattered heart together.

  So I reached through the space between us and held his hand. The wind blew a strand of hair onto his forehead and I brushed it away, waiting for him to continue.

  Brett let out a long breath. “I’m sorry for leaving you last night,” he said.

  “It’s okay. Jenny gave me a ride.”

  Now that caught his attention. “You guys are friends again?”

  Were we? “I’m not really sure.”

  He nodded, staring back at the sky. “I didn’t come here just to talk about my family. I want to talk about us.”

  It was selfish, but I perked up at this. Until he let go of my hand.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Brett continued, “that so much of my life was based off my dad. I started playing football for him. I based all my plans for college off what he wanted me to do or what he would have done. I always felt like it was my responsibility to live the life he wanted for me. Like it was my fault for being born and taking those opportunities away from him. It’s weird to think about, but it feels like my life hasn’t really been mine. I don’t even know if I like football, Becca. Or if I convinced myself I did because I had no other choice.”

  I wasn’t following. “You’re going to quit the team?”

  “No. I can’t do that to my teammates.” Then he finally turned away from the sky to look at me. I wished he hadn’t. His eyes held all
the truths. “You remember why we both agreed to start dating? How I did it for my dad?” I nodded, knowing where this was heading. “That was just another thing I did for him. And I don’t want us to be like that. I don’t want our story to start because of him. Everything in my life has happened because of my dad and I need one thing to feel like mine.”

  “I don’t understand.” But I did understand. I just didn’t want to.

  “I think we need to break up. Stop this fake relationship for a little. I just need some time to think. Some space.”

  My first reaction was to laugh because I couldn’t believe people actually used that line in real life. Then the words sank in and my throat started to tighten, the way it did before I cried. “But last night,” I said, thinking back to our conversation on the patio, “you said you wanted to be together. You said it felt real even when we were pretending. You said you wouldn’t leave.”

  “I know.” Now he reached for my hands. His eyes were begging. I took a step back, letting his fingers grasp air. “I meant what I said. I meant every word of it. It felt real, it all did. But that was before everything changed, Becca. Now my head is a mess and it’s like I can’t separate what feelings were really mine.”

  “So this is your solution? To end this?”

  Brett took another step closer. “Please don’t cry.”

  It only made me cry harder. I felt so stupid. Five years—five years I had spent locking everyone out because I thought it was for the best. Because I knew I couldn’t handle another person walking out on me. And all it took was one night for me to change my mind, to decide that maybe it would be okay to let someone in. Especially if that person was Brett. I wanted that person to be Brett. But he didn’t want to be that person. And I couldn’t make him either.

  The tears were falling now. My face was hot with embarrassment. I wanted to run inside. This entire day was a disaster and I’d only just woken up.

  I took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry about your father. I really am, Brett. I know what it feels like to be let down by a parent, believe me. I’ve spent the past five years feeling like that. But I also know what it feels like to run from it and to want to lock everyone out. It doesn’t work. It makes everything worse.”