The Fear of Falling

by Amanda Cowen

  I blush and click off the text message.

  “What is the address?” I glance up at Ryan with a smile.

  He doesn’t smile back. In fact, he seems lost in thought as he glares down at my phone. He fiddles with the song selection, settles with Mumford and Sons, then looks out his window away from me.

  “Ryan. What’s the address?” I ask again.

  The light switches to green, and he finally rambles off an address.

  Google Maps leads us through a long and manicured tree line before we pull up to a sprawling golf course and finally, a picturesque Country Club. Ryan parks the car and leads the way through the parking lot. He pulls the Country Club’s front door open, and I step inside the brightly lit space. A sign reads Dorothy Owen’s 80th Birthday Celebration with an arrow pointing to an outdoor terrace.

  We walk through the lobby and through patio doors onto a terrace overlooking a man-made lake and a state-of-the-art golf course. At least fifty or so people are crowded around chatting, eating and drinking for Gam-Gam’s birthday.

  “Ryan, honey. You made it,” a female voice says from my right side. I turn to see Claudia Owen, Ryan’s mother, leaning in and giving him a hug. She looks stylish as always in a sapphire dress and nude open-toed heels. Her long brown waves frame her Botox-infused face, and her lips are colored a deep red. She looks at lot like Ryan. He definitely inherited her big, dark brown eyes.

  She turns to face me. “Hi, Ella. Ryan didn’t tell us he was bringing a friend.”

  I smile politely. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Owen.”

  “Ella was nice enough to come with me at the last minute.” Ryan tells her, draping his arm around my shoulders. “Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have come.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you,” she responds, finally giving him a smile.

  Richard Owen, Ryan’s father, approaches us . He is wearing a dark gray suit probably worth more than my tuition. He’s very attractive for an older man, and has the same dimple on his chin as Ryan. He’s tall and broad, and always styles his salt-and-pepper hair to perfection.

  He smiles down at me. “Hello, Ella.” He pauses, and looks at Ryan from head to toe. “Glad you could make it for Gam-Gam. How was the drive?”

  Ryan shrugs. “It was okay.”

  “Okay?” That’s an understatement of the century. We had a blast. “It was awesome. We sang and danced along to every song on your playlist.”

  Mr. Owen hums, then turns back to Ryan. “Why haven’t you returned my calls? I need to know if you’ve received your LSAT results. I spoke with Dean Erickson. He’s always been a loyal friend of mine, and he said he’s hasn’t seen your results on his desk. As soon as you receive them, you need to forward them to him so he can have Admissions push your application through for early admittance, just like he did for your brother.”

  Ryan helps himself to a bite-sized appetizer from a tray being carried around by a waiter. The wrinkles on Mr. Owen’s forehead grow deeper every second he doesn’t receive an answer. I’m feeling Ryan’s resistance big time and it’s making me uncomfortable, so I nudge him to say something.

  He coughs, and glares down at me before he finally speaks. “I’ll forward my results to Dean Erickson once I receive them.”

  “The results should have been made available last month.” His older brother Reggie appears with that same cock-sure smile Ryan loves to flash.

  “Hey, Reggie,” he murmurs.

  Reggie is the complete opposite of Ryan, both in looks and personality. His hair is the color of honey, and his eyes are a striking hazel-green. He’s not nearly as attractive or as funny, even though he tries to be. The only trait they share is their tall, athletic build.

  Mr. Owen’s clears his throat, unimpressed with his younger son. “You better follow up with your test administrator.”

  Reggie smirks. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be waitlisted.”

  Mr. Owen’s nostrils flare, and he blows out a breath. “Jesus Christ, Ryan,” he hisses. “Don’t make me look like a fool. Maybe if you put as much effort into your education as you did frolicking Down Under this summer, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  I feel Ryan’s body become tense as he stands beside me.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Owen,” I pipe up. “Ryan is very focused on his education.”

  “Ella, stop –” Ryan warns.

  But I keep talking. “And just because he went to Australia instead of working at your firm doesn’t mean he doesn’t take his future seriously.”

  Mr. Owen looks at me in a way I’ve never seen him do before. He’s both shocked and amused; his eyebrows go up, almost touching his hairline. “Does Ella always speak on your behalf, son?” he arrogantly laughs. “Or just when your tail is between your legs?”

  My pulse accelerates as I think about the pressure Ryan’s father places on him. Mr. Owen is known to be a major jerk, but I can’t help but feel a spike of irritation that he’s never considered what Ryan wants for his future.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you, Mr. Owen,” I say politely. “But I know he’s working really hard to get into Yale. And I think that he would be a great lawyer, no matter what law school he attends.”

  “Our firm only hires Yale graduates, no exceptions.” His father repeats his arrogant laughter. “Not even for blood. I suppose Ryan forgot to mention that.”

  “It’s an Owen family tradition,” Reggie adds.

  “So I’ve heard,” I murmur.

  “A pleasure seeing you again, Ella,” Mr. Owen nods in my direction. “Have a nice afternoon and enjoy the party.” He turns his attention to Ryan, and speaks to him sternly. “You come and see me before you leave. I’d like to speak with you in private.”

  Mrs. Owen remains silent, nods in my direction, then leans forward and places a kiss on Ryan’s cheek. “Make sure you say Happy Birthday to Gam-Gam,” she tells him.

  Ryan nods, and Mr. and Mrs. Owen turn away from us and walk over to the bar.

  “Ouch, Ella. You pissed off the old man,” Reggie chuckles and sips from his drink.

  “That’s fine,” I reply. “I don’t regret what I said.”

  “No one ever challenges my dad like that,” he grins.

  “Well, maybe someone should,” I suggest.

  Reggie wiggles his eyebrows. “How sweet of your girlfriend to stick up for you.”

  “We’re just friends, dipshit,” Ryan scoffs.

  “Figured,” Reggie winks at me. “My baby brother couldn’t score a cool chick like you even if he tried.”

  “Very funny,” Ryan says dryly.

  Reggie becomes distracted by one of the waitresses holding a tray of appetizers and follows her. The space where he stood is quickly filled by Gam-Gam, who is waving at us. She’s in really great shape, and doesn’t look her age at all. Last time I was in Sacramento with Ryan, she told me she started taking yoga classes. She also told me she had a Facebook account, then sent me a Friend Request. And even though her hair is stark white, she religiously dyes it a dark brown. She’s not your average grandmother.

  “Ryan? Is that you?” she asks, smiling from ear to ear. “Come and give your Gam-Gam a hug.”

  She embraces Ryan, hugging him tightly and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Happy birthday, Gam-Gam,” he says.

  “I’m so glad you could make it.” She holds both his hands in hers, squeezing them. She smiles over at me. “And you brought Ella, what a nice surprise.” She gives me a hug, too. “Oh darling, you look as beautiful as ever. I’m so happy Ryan brought you.”

  “Happy birthday,” I say, and hand her the bouquet of flowers I bought earlier.

  “Oh, you are always so sweet and thoughtful,” she beams. “When are you two ever going to be a couple? You’d make beautiful babies.”

  “Geez, Gam-Gam,” Ryan pipes up. “I have a girlfriend, remember? Ella and I are just friends. I’ve told you that so many times.”

  “That’s a real shame,” sh
e frowns. “You two look so nice together.”

  “Where’s Rosie?” he asks, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

  “Your mother didn’t tell you?” she whispers.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Rosie’s been readmitted to a residential treatment program,” she says nonchalantly. “Your parents brought her there a few weeks ago.”

  Ryan stiffens, scratches the back of his head without looking up, and gives Gam-Gam a dubious glance. “Oh yeah, right… I forgot.”

  She pinches his cheek. “Don’t worry, dear. Rosie is in a good place.” Ryan nods and remains silent. “Enjoy the party. Make sure you eat some tea sandwiches, but save room for cake because it’s chocolate buttercream, your favorite,” she adds.

  “I will.”

  “You too, Ella.”

  I smile. “Thank you. Will do.”

  “And don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye,” she warns us.

  “We won’t,” he says. “Love you, Gam-Gam.”

  Once she’s gone, Ryan runs a hand over his face and lets out a strained sigh.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.

  “No, I’m not fucking okay,” he hisses. “They admitted her? And no one told me?”

  “Maybe your mom forgot to mention it,” I try to reason with him.

  “Forgot to mention my little sister is locked up in a mental ward?” he says sarcastically.

  I let his emotions settle before I speak again.

  “Ryan, we both know it’s a state-of-the-art mental-health facility, probably nicer than this Country Club.”

  “Why wouldn’t they tell me?” he asks, his voice strained. “Why is everything always such a fucking secret with my family? How can everyone just stand here and make faces and act like nothing's wrong when my little sister is struggling?” He shakes his head and winces. “Always need to keep up appearances, show the world how great we Owens are when we are just as fucked up as the rest of the world.”

  He glares at his parents, who are standing just a few feet away. Then he starts walking toward them.

  “Ryan,” I hiss at him. “Where are you going?”

  He turns back to face me. “I want to know what the fuck is going on.”

  “Ryan –” I try to reason with him again, but he cuts me off.

  “Stay out of it, Jonesy.”

  I stare at Ryan talking to his parents for at least a minute, worried that he’s going to do or say something impulsively stupid, but he seems to be keeping his cool. I’m assuming it’s on account of Gam-Gam.

  “Mimosa?” Reggie’s voice comes from my right.

  I take the drink from him, thinking it’s the only way I’ll be able to cope with Ryan’s posh and ridiculous family for another three hours. “Thank you.”

  “Where did little bro take off to?” he asks.

  “He’s talking to your parents.”

  Reggie looks over my shoulder, and stares at the back of his parents’ heads and Ryan jabbering away. “Let me guess. He found out about Rosie,” he says. “I’m assuming Gam-Gam let it slip?”

  I sip my mimosa. “Why wouldn’t someone tell him?”

  “Ryan is very protective of Rosie,” he sighs. “And we know he can be hot-headed and allow his emotions to rule over reason. Mom and Dad didn’t want to upset him… especially now with his sole focus needing to be on Yale.”

  “How do you remain so calm with all these expectations placed on you by your father?”

  He shrugs. “It’s easier to be with him than against him. The sooner Ryan realizes this, the easier his life will be.”

  I look over Reggie’s shoulder to see a waiter handing out cake slices. “Can I take one of those?” I ask politely.

  The waiter hands me a ridiculously oversized piece of chocolate buttercream cake. I take my first bite of the warm, sweet cake, and I swear to God my eyes roll into the back of my head.

  “This cake is fantastic,” I tell Reggie. “This may be the best cake I’ve ever tasted.”

  “It better be,” he says. “It cost a small fortune. Gam-Gam ordered it from some fancy French patisserie.”

  I shift my attention back toward Ryan and his parents. They were still there, but he wasn’t.

  “Where’s Ryan?” I take a deep breath.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  I quickly scan the party and don’t see him anywhere in the crowd.

  “Thanks for the mimosa, Reggie,” I say. “But I should go find him.”

  I am moving toward the steps leading off the terrace, scanning the gardens and calling out his name. I exhale in relief when I finally spot him a few minutes later. He’s sitting on a park bench, staring aimlessly at a glistening man-made lake. A golden weeping willow shades him from the hot sun. He doesn’t look up at me even when I’m clearly standing in front of him.

  “If it’s any consolation, this cake is delicious,” I say.

  Ryan nods, taking a sip of his drink. I can still hear the music and voices from the party in the distance, but it feels like we are in our own little bubble down here.

  “Want a bite?” I ask.

  He blinks up at me. “Nah. Thanks, though.”

  I sit down beside him. “Family events are always fun,” I say, hoping he catches my sarcasm.

  “They sent her away because Rosie had another manic episode and threatened to kill herself. God. Fuck.” He drops his head in his hands. “They didn’t tell me because they didn’t want to upset me and have it affect my studies because of fucking stupid Yale and fucking stupid law school.” He’s now hunched over and scowling. “I just can’t handle how they brush Rosie’s mental health issues under the rug and send her away for someone else to deal with.”

  Honestly, I can’t even imagine. Sure, my mom’s depression can be bad sometimes, but she has never threatened to take her life. I don’t even know what to say.

  “All they care about are money and appearances and fucking stupid country clubs. I can’t stand it. No wonder she is suffering.” He wipes a tear from his eye before it could fall down his cheek. “I didn’t even get to see her to tell her I love her, and that everything is going to be okay.”

  I swallow, placing a hand on his back. “She needs professional help, Ryan,” I say quietly. “I’m sure you can visit her to tell her those things yourself.”

  He exhales as his tries to regain his composure. “Mom said no one can visit her for at least four weeks, which is the busiest fucking time of the school year. I won’t be able to get time away from campus.”

  “Oh.”

  “Man, I am so glad you came with me.” He swallows and looks at me. I can tell he’s still a mess because the vein in his neck visibly throbs and his eyes are welling up. His voice comes out hoarser than usual when he says, “I’m so worried about her.”

  “Everything is going to be okay,” I assure him. “And if you find any free time in four weeks and you want to drive down to visit her and you need someone to ride shotgun… I’ll come with you.”

  He turns toward me and touches the back of his neck

  . “I’ll need a serious pair of earplugs if I have to listen to your tone-deaf voice sing for three straight hours.” A smile finally graces his lips. “I barely survived ninety minutes.”

  I playfully nudge him in the shoulder. “Like your voice is any better.”

  “Some say I could’ve been the sixth member of One Direction,” he winks.

  I laugh. “No one has ever said that.”

  He bites down on his bottom lip. He studies me with his dark brown eyes, in his usual way, and I feel a twinge of uneasiness at the way he’s watching me.

  “What?” I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  He shrugs. “I love your laugh.”

  “Really? It’s so loud and crackly,” I take a bite of my cake slice.

  “No, it’s not,” he says. “It’s more bubbly than crackly and yeah, definit
ely loud. Then again, nothing about you is ever quiet. Hell, you told off my dad today.”

  “Haha. Very funny.”

  He leans closer, his gaze lingering on my mouth.

  “What?”

  He motions to the side of his lip with a finger. “You’ve got some icing on your face.”

  I immediately blush. “Where?”

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, mortified that I am such a messy eater. I can never just eat something and not make a complete mess of myself.

  Ryan grabs my hand. “Don’t,” he says. “I’ll get it.” He leans forward and brushes his thumb against my lip, slightly pulling down on it. For a brief moment, he holds my gaze a little too long, and I feel that now-familiar tightness in my chest.

  I lean away from him and look down at my half-eaten cake. “We should probably get back to the party.”

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I guess that’s why we’re here. To celebrate Gam-Gam.”

  “Plus, I could really use another piece of chocolate cake.”

  He laughs, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Careful… you don’t want those knees getting any chubbier.”

  “Jerk.” I smack him in the arm. “You know I’m self-conscious about my knees.”

  “I’m just bugging you,” he says, squeezing my bare thigh. “You’ve got great knees. Sometimes, I can’t look away from how perfect they are.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please stop.”

  “Aw, come on. You love it.” He stands up from the bench. I nudge him in his side, and he puts his arm over my shoulders as we walk back to join the birthday party.

  A few hours later, I’ve managed to eat enough chocolate cake for the entire party. I also down more than a few mimosas, but Ryan sticks to bottled water. The rest of my afternoon is filled with meaningless small talk with his cousins, aunts, and uncles. As the party winds down, we head to the lake with Reggie, share a cigar and talk about nothing and somehow everything.

  Just before we drive back to San Francisco, Ryan leaves me to chat with Gam-Gam while he has a private conversation with his dad. Gam-Gam makes me laugh more than once with her bold and comical outlook on life. Compared to the rest of Ryan’s family, she is a breath of fresh air.