Risk the Fall

by Steph Campbell

  I really need to blow some steam, so I’m at the gym working on a new skill on the beam. The Miller, named after the American gymnast, Shannon Miller. I throw myself into a back dive, followed by a quarter-twist, then into a handstand, and end with a flawless half pirouette. I don’t realize that Sam, my coach, is standing nearby watching me until I hear him clapping. I jump off of the beam and walk toward him, wiping my chalk covered hands across my navy leotard.

  “You’re too damn good to not compete, Quinn. You’re just wasting your talent, kid,” he says. This is a regular topic in gym, how great I could be.

  “I prefer to call it, conservation,” I tell him with a wink. He shakes his head and stomps away from me.

  I’m sweaty, and definitely not dressed in anything that would meet my dad’s standards for proper office attire, but I head straight there after gym anyway. I want to talk to Dad about some other form of punishment – I can’t honestly be expected to work with Mark, right? But when I knock on Dad’s office door, there’s no response. I turn the knob, but it stays put. The door is locked.

  “Ms Mary?” I say walking over to her desk. “Where’s my dad?”

  “He’s in his office, hon. I think he’s still getting his new secretary all set up to start next week. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

  With the door locked? Oh. My. God.

  “Why is the door locked?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

  Ms Mary pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, shrugs her shoulders and looks before answering.

  “I’m not sure, hon. He’s been in there awhile.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “Oh, Ms Mary, I almost forgot. I made you these for your birthday.” I pass a small container of homemade teacakes over to her. I’d noticed her birthday on the calendar last week.

  I make my way to Mark’s office. I find him casually sitting on the floor, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his face planted in a file.

  “Hey,” I say, as I set my purse on top of the filing cabinet.

  I’m one-hundred-and-ten percent sure my dad is doing something vile. I can hardly see straight through my anger. Why must I have such a screwed up family?

  Mark glances up. “Oh, hey, Quinn, I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

  “Yep, just running late. I had gymnastics practice.” Ah, screw. I mentally scold myself, realizing I have set myself up for some stupid retort from him about me being flexible or something. I’ve heard them all – trust me.

  “Oh, Okay.” He looks back down at his file.

  His disinterest surprises me. I’m having a hard time believing that this is the same guy from the other day.

  “So, do you want me to finish the filing?” I say, gesturing to the stack of papers.

  “Listen, Quinn.” He sets the file he’s reading down on to the carpet in front of him. A tiny bead of sweat makes its way down his forehead, even though it’s freezing in the office. “I wanted to apologize for what I said the other day. I was completely out of line.”

  Wait, hold the phone did he actually just apologize?

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “I was just nervous about my first day, and took my joking too far. I’m really not such a bad guy,” he says.

  “It’s okay. And don’t worry – I wasn’t going to tell my dad.”

  He nods once. “Thanks. So, yes, if you wouldn’t mind, just finish that stack of filing for me. I’ll go and grab us a couple of coffees.”

  I’m not quite sure what to make of the whole exchange, but it seems like it’s entirely possible I might have overreacted before. Mark will have to do a bit more to convince me he’s not the perv he came across as, but maybe it won’t be that bad working with him after all.

  My mom, who was all about marrying me off right after high school less than six months ago, is now trying to convince me that I’m too young for a serious relationship. Ironic, since she and Caroline had once browsed china patterns together, “just in case”.

  Talking to my mom about my love life ranks right up there with the thought of hanging out with Glenn Beck, or being reincarnated as a piece of toilet paper. She’s been ranting at me for over ten minutes now so I pick up my bass as a sign that the conversation is over. She doesn’t take the hint.

  I started playing bass when I was in sixth grade. It was kind of by default, I guess. My friends and I were typical twelve-year-olds, and wanted to start a band. One kid already had drums, and two played the guitar. I tried my hand at singing, but for the sake of everyone involved, I stuck to back up vocals. So, that left bass. I didn’t mind. My parents bought me one that year for Christmas (Once they finally accepted I wasn’t going to do sports, no matter what they tried) and I basically taught myself to play. I would listen to music and try to separate the bass line from the rest of the instruments. Like photography, playing bass is one of the things I love to do.

  “All I’m saying is there are a lot of girls out there,” Mom crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Benny, you aren’t listening. You know this is not the time to be getting serious with someone.”

  “And why is that?” I play several notes. The vibration flows through my body and calms me. I can almost successfully tune her out.

  Mom scowls at my lack of attention.

  “Well, for starters, because it’s your senior year of high school. And you’re only eighteen years old, for Pete’s sake.” She lets out a heavy sigh, but she’s getting herself all worked up for nothing— I’m not going to change my mind about Quinn.

  “Are we really going to have this conversation again?” I ask her.

  “We are going to have it as many times as we need to in order for you to get it.”

  “I’ve got it under control, Mom,” I say.

  “I don’t think you do, Benny. I don’t think it is possible to have a girl like her under control.”

  My posture goes rigid. “I’m not talking about Quinn. I mean the rest of it, I have everything under control. Quinn is amazing. You’d be able to see that for yourself, if you’d give her half a chance.”

  “It’s just not the right time for this, Ben. You have a lot to be concentrating on. What about college, have you given any serious thought to that?” She picks up the large folder on top of my desk that’s overflowing with college applications and essay topics. “These aren’t going to write themselves. You need to get your priorities back in order. You didn’t used to be so reckless when it came to your future. School needs to go back to being number one.”

  “Under control, Mom.” I repeat. College is important to me; I have no intention of messing that up. I’m the one that has worked my ass off to get the grades I need to go pretty much wherever I want to. If I could actually figure out where the hell that is.

  “You’d better not screw up, Ben. Your father and I have done all we can to make sure you have the best opportunity to succeed in life. All of the overtime your father has worked over the years so I could stay home and take care of you. Do the sacrifices we’ve made mean anything to you? I thought we raised you better than to just throw it all away for some girl.”

  I calmly set the bass down on my bed next to me and meet her eyes.

  “She’s not just some girl.”

  “Hey,” I say. I’m surprised to see him. “Come on in”

  “Is anyone home?” Ben asks, looking around me.

  I shake my head. “No, they took Mason to the batting cages.” He still looks uneasy. “Seriously, its fine, come in.”

  Ben finally follows me inside the house.

  “What’s going on?” He answers me by pulling me in close to him, and kissing me like no one has a right to be kissed; slow and lingering, but with intent. There is a purpose behind the movement of his lips, like he’s trying to prove something. I just don’t know if it’s to himself or to me? When his lips finally leave me, I feel like I’m in a Ben-induced state of vertigo.

  “Whoa, what was
that for?”

  He doesn’t answer. Something is definitely up.

  “Are you all right?” I take his hand and lead him to the kitchen.

  He lets out a long, deep breath. “Yes. I’m fine now.”

  “Now? What was wrong?”

  “Nothing worth getting into.” His hands grip my waist, and he effortlessly picks me up and sets me on the counter top. The cool travertine shocks my skin that’s still on fire from his touch.

  “I was just about to make something to eat, are you hungry?” I ask.

  He nods, while running the tips of his fingers along my bare thigh. His fingers are thick and rough and calloused from playing bass. I love that. It freaks me out to have a guy touch me that has softer hands than I do.

  “So, what’s on the menu tonight, baby?”

  “Italian Nachos sound good?” I ask, hopping down from the counter.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The pantry is overflowing with packets of instant mashed potatoes, cereal and crackers— the only things Mason will actually eat. Ever since he was a toddler He’s refused to eat anything but “white foods”. If it isn’t white or tan, he won’t consume it. The parents play along with this nonsense so our pantry is always filled with the stuff. After searching behind countless boxes of Wheat Thins, I finally find the parmesan and bread crumbs.

  “Can you grab the chicken, cream cheese and whipping cream out of the fridge?” I ask him. Ben rummages through the refrigerator and meets me on the other side of the kitchen with the rest of the ingredients.

  “Teach me,” he says as he sets them down.

  “Teach you what? To cook?”

  He nods with a sweet smile and wraps his arms around me from behind. I feel like I’m evaporating in a state of bliss every time he touches me like this. It’s completely casual, but feels so much more intimate than I’m used to.

  “Really? I’m not even, like, good at it or anything.”

  When he leans down, his breath is so near my ear that it ruffles my hair, and sends a jolt down my body. His skin is so warm; I just want to devour him.

  “You are so damn amazing, Quinn. Just take the compliment.” His voice pure velvet and I feel like I’m going to melt right here.

  “’k,” I croak out, lamely.

  He lets out a smooth laugh. “Anyway, I need to learn this stuff so when we’re married and have a zillion kids, I can stay home and cook and clean while you’re at work.” He winks.

  I toss a few tortilla pieces into the skillet of hot oil on the stove top. Did he really just say that?

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say, poking the tortilla strips with tongs to submerge them in the bubbling oil.

  Ben presses his lips to the back of my neck, and my vision momentarily blurs. While I’m still steadying myself, he reaches around and takes the tongs out of my hand.

  “I know, baby, I’m just kidding. You won’t be working to support me.”

  When I turn to face him, standing there, gorgeous in his simple v-neck t-shirt and cardigan, I can’t help but wish that I was normal. I wish that I would be swept away by his words like any other girl my age.

  “No, I mean, haven’t we been over this before? This isn’t Forks, and I’m not getting married.” My gaze falls to the tile.

  “Well, I know that, obviously not anytime soon or anything.”

  “Right, but what I’m saying is, I don’t ever want to get married.”

  “Huh,” he says, pursing his lips.

  “Do you think I want what my parents have?”

  “Quinn, not everyone that’s married has a relationship like your parents.”

  “Look, it’s not as if you weren’t warned from the get-go. Emotional cripple, ring any bells?” I grab the tongs back from him and scoop out the fresh tortilla chips.

  “As a matter of fact, it does. Wedding bells,” he says with a laugh and cheesy grin.

  “You’re such an idiot,” I say, smacking him in the arm with the tongs. He laughs and pulls me in to him, his lips finding mine in the perfect way that makes me almost believe in ridiculous things like forever and marriage.

  “You love it,” he says.

  “Dinner was awesome, thank you,” I say.

  “Anytime.” Quinn flashes a gorgeous smile. “You do realize that all we ever do is eat, or make out, right?”

  “I’m perfectly okay with that,” I say.

  “Yeah, me too.” She puts the last of the dishes away, but is still eyeing me questioningly.

  “What’s on your mind, baby?” I ask.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what was wrong when you came in. Was it something that I did?”

  “Absolutely not. Just my mom, being my mom.”

  “She really doesn’t like me,” Quinn says. I start to protest, but she puts her hand up to stop me. “Don’t deny it, I know she doesn’t. Honestly, I don’t really get what you see in me—”

  “Stop right there, you are—Jesus, Quinn, you’re everything.” I wonder if on some level, my feelings for Quinn are more intense, more magnified than they would be if Mom wasn’t so against she and I being together. I push the thought back down, deep to wherever it originated and bury it.

  “How was your afternoon?” I ask her. I sink into the plush sofa. When Quinn sits down on the cushion beside me, I reach over slip my arm under her knees, and pull her into my lap.

  “It was fine. I went to gym for a while before heading to my Dad’s office again,” she says, her lips finding my neck.

  “What about that prick?”

  “Mark-shmark” she laughs, having already moved on to unbuttoning my sweater.

  I let out a low laugh and although it takes a tremendous amount of effort, I push her hand away.

  “Come on, Quinn.”

  “Come on what?” she asks.

  “You know what. We can’t do this.” I know I’m probably making her feel like she’s the villain trying to steal my purity ring or something and part of me feels like a complete prude because of it. But the other part knows that her parents could walk in any second.

  “You’re seriously not going to have sex with me? Bah, you’re such a tease.” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Seriously,” I answer. Although, my hand still lingers on her upper thigh for a split second before she shoves it away.

  “Whhhyyyy?” she moans.

  She’s tapping her foot to a silent beat. I pick up one of her hands in mine and kiss each of her knuckles.

  “Baby,” I say, smoothly.

  Quinn holds her hand up in protest. “For the record, yes, I know I’m being childish. And no, I don’t care.”

  She won’t look at me and I can’t hold back a chuckle, she’s just too damn cute.

  “I’m definitely not saying never. I’m just saying, not right now. Not in the middle of your living room when someone could walk in anytime.”

  “Fine, I get the chivalrous bit, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she says, finally turning back toward me. She curls up beside me and lays her head in my lap. The fact that I am completely certifiable for turning her down is screaming through my brain.

  “What’s wrong with me?” She wonders out loud.

  “Trust me, there is nothing wrong with you.” I run my fingers through her hair, and she closes her eyes with a satisfied sigh. “I just think we should wait until I’m sure…”

  “Sure about what?” she asks, her eyes cracking open.

  I stare at our linked hands for a moment, before looking her in the eye.

  She’s waiting.

  I’ve never said it to anyone before.

  “Sure that you love me as much as I love you.”

  She didn’t say it back.

  I’ve never told a girl that I love her before. I sort of anticipated that when I did, whoever was on the receiving end, might reciprocate. Not that I’m holding it against Quinn or anything. I don’t think she was entirely ready to hear it. Still, I can’t take it back. Not tha
t I want to.

  I pick up my bass and flip on my amp.

  My mom is knocking on my bedroom door again. I turn up the amp and smile at its growl.

  “Benny.” Mom calls through the door. Jesus I hate when she calls me that. “Did you not hear me?” She throws the door open and steps into my room.

  I shrug. Does she really want to hear the answer to that question?

  “I didn’t hear you come in, what time did you get home?” she asks.

  “Just a few minutes ago,” I answer.

  “Where have you been? You stormed out of here so upset, your father and I have been worried.”

  That’s a crock of shit. My dad wouldn’t notice my absence any more than he’d notice new curtains in the kitchen. He keeps his nose in a crossword puzzle book eighty per cent of the time, and is at work the other twenty per cent.

  “I went downtown to take some photos before the light was gone, and then I went by Quinn’s for a while.”

  I wait for my mom’s face to drop, but it doesn’t. Her smug smirk stays fully intact.

  Shit, that can only mean she’s planning something…

  “I just got off the phone with Nancy Wright,” Mom says. I stop playing and set my bass down. Mrs Wright is Caroline’s mother.

  What the hell is Mom up to?

  “And would you believe that Caroline is going to be in Atlanta next month to tour Georgia Tech?”

  “So,” I mutter.

  “So? Benjamin Shaw, is that all you can say about someone who is practically family?”

  Was, I think. Was. “I just don’t see how it matters to me.”

  “Well, it matters because I invited her to stay with us while she’s here, and I expect you to be polite.”

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Mom, Caroline staying with us? Really? Why?”

  “Because there’s no sense in her staying in a hotel when we live so close to Georgia Tech. I just don’t understand you lately, Ben.” She shakes her head. “This is Caroline we’re talking about.”