“You sure?”
“Yeah. It makes no sense to bother Corrine and Kyle when I have my own house, and no one’s here.” She seems nervous, and the knowledge of this only fuels my fire.
“Sounds good to me.” I give her an easy smile.
“Okay.” She lets out another deep breath when we reach her front door, twisting the lock and pushing her way inside.
I follow directly behind her, watching her flip on lights as she crosses the space. It’s not dark outside, but it’s cloudy enough to not offer much natural light through the windows.
My eyes drift across the space. It looks nothing like I remember. The floor plan is the same, but that’s it. The carpet has been removed to make way for dark hardwood floors. The dark paneling has been stripped from the walls which are now painted light gray.
Modern furniture is placed strategically around the room for optimal space, and black and white photos line the walls.
“I’ll be right back.” Melanie drops her coat on the back of the couch. “Make yourself at home,” she adds before heading down the hallway that houses the bedrooms.
While she’s gone, I take a chance to study the pictures on the walls. After the first two I realize they are a pattern, not random photos like I had originally thought.
“I wanted to bring a piece of my childhood into the home.” Melanie’s voice pulls me from my concentration.
My eyes quickly locate her leaning against the doorway between the living room and kitchen with two beer bottles in her hands. How did I not hear her walk back through the living room and into the kitchen? I must have been zoned out.
With her jacket and dress now gone, she looks more like the Melanie I remember. She’s wearing pink plaid pajama bottoms and a light pink long sleeve top. Her dark hair is now knotted in a messy bun on the top of her head leaving tendrils of hair that won’t stay up falling all around her face.
Fuck me, she’s so beautiful.
As if suddenly aware of the way my thoughts have gone, she crosses toward me and stops directly in front of the picture I’m looking at, one of an old barn. Sliding a bottle into my hand, her gaze remains on the photo.
“The Miller’s barn,” I say, loving the way a smile plays on her lips.
“That’s right.”
“The creek behind Michael’s house,” I say, moving to the next photo. “The railroad tracks.”
She nods and follows me, taking a drink of her beer.
“The fort.” I give her a sideways glance, knowing that was always our favorite spot to play when we were kids. “Did you take all these?”
“I did.”
When I reach the next picture, my insides seize up and I find it difficult to pull in a breath. I’d recognize that porch anywhere. Only it’s not just the porch; it’s a distorted shot from a distance, the focal point the sidewalk leading up to the front porch.
I know without a doubt why she chose that particular spot to highlight. It’s where I kissed her the night before I left for college. It’s gratifying to know that it meant as much to her as it meant to me. I’m suddenly realizing that maybe I don’t know Melanie Anderson nearly as well as I once thought I did.
“I loved that porch.” She finally speaks next to me.
I turn my face in her direction only to find her gaze locked on me. The look in her eyes damn near knocks the wind right from my body. How did I never see it? Was I really that blind?
“You loved me.” It comes out even though I don’t mean for it to.
Just like that the moment is over. Whatever trance Mel seemed to be under, she quickly snaps out of it.
“You know I did. You were my best friend.” She crosses the room and drops down on the dark gray couch that sits along the far right wall.
“I think you know that’s not what I meant.” I stalk toward her, setting my beer on the coffee table before dropping on the opposite end of the couch.
“I’m not sure I understand?” So many questions swim in her eyes, but I can’t form one clear answer for her.
It would be so easy to tell her everything. To tell her how I’ve loved her my whole life. To tell her that every girl I’ve ever dated has paled in comparison to her. To tell her that she’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I’ve spent the last six years trying to fill a void in my life that I created the day I left Melanie behind. Honestly, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay here and love someone who would never love me back.
Now I’m wondering if I wasn’t running away because I knew that she did, in fact, love me, too. Maybe the real reason I left is because I knew I’d never be enough for her.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, knowing now is not the time or the place.
Everything is so fucked right now. With Michael’s death, she’s already in a fragile state. I can’t come barging in here after six years and unload on her, but I also can’t bring myself to leave either.
“So tell me what you’ve been doing for the past six years?” I take a long pull of my beer and take to safer ground.
“Um, okay.” She seems confused by my sudden change.
Don’t worry, I’m just as fucking confused.
“Well,"—she finally continues after a long pause—“I mean, I don’t know what you want to know. I’m not a very interesting person.”
“Everything, Mel. I want to know everything.” And I really do.
I drink up her words like they are the only antidote to a poison that is slowly killing me. I watch the way her expression changes, taking note of each one as it comes.
Sad—talking about her mom.
Proud—telling me about her brothers.
Happy—talking about her photography, which I’m pleased to learn is her full-time job. She’s so incredibly talented.
The more she tells me, the more I realize I’ve missed. Every high, every low, every single thing that has happened in the past six years that I wasn’t a part of.
It’s harder than I thought, hearing her talk about her life after I left. How she picked up the pieces and did what she had to do for herself and her family. She became the woman I always knew she'd be, and somewhere along the way she left me behind in the process.
It’s a staggering reality, and one I can’t deny hurts like hell.
Cole doesn’t say much. He just listens to me go on and on about everything that’s happened in the past six years. Of course, I leave out how hard it was at first—knowing he wasn’t around anymore, dealing with the first real heartbreak of my life.
He seems to cling to every word like he truly cares and doesn’t want to miss a second of what I’m willing to share with him.
When he first arrived I wanted to shut down. I didn’t want to see him or deal with him. I just wanted him to disappear again so that I wouldn’t be forced to face the one thing I’ve carried with me for six years—the fact that I’ve never gotten over him.
But then when I saw him standing by Michael’s grave, the way his broad shoulders slouched forward in sorrow, and I just couldn’t do it. Cole was my best friend before he was anything else. If I can somehow find a way to get us back to that point then maybe I can find a way to fix the rift that runs so deep between us.
“So you live in Cleveland now?” I question, dying to ask him about this the moment he mentioned it.
“Yep. Moved there right out of college. Almost two years now.”
It was one thing when it was New York, but Cleveland? He’s lived only an hour and half from me for two years and never came to see me? The knowledge twists my insides, but I push it down, knowing that giving in to the way that makes me feel won’t change anything.
He’s here now.
“Any reason Cleveland specifically?” I ask.
“I got a job offer at Craft Perish, one of the top architectural firms in the country.”
“You’re an architect?” I question, finding it hard to believe that he’s been here for a while now and we’ve yet to stumble into this conversation. This is m
ore starting ground rather than something you discuss halfway through the evening.
I shouldn’t be surprised though. Becoming an architect was always Cole’s dream. He designed our entire tree fort in the woods when were only twelve-years-old, and it was amazing.
“I am. I interned there my first year out of school, and I must have done something right because they hired me on full time at the end of my internship.”
“Of course they did. You’re a natural. The way you see things—your creativity, your ability to envision something others wouldn’t dream of—that’s always been your specialty.” He watches me intently, not commenting on my sudden slew of compliments, so I quickly add, “Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“It is.” He nods. “I love it. I love the company, and I have worked with some amazing clientele. More than anything I love the challenge. I’m always trying to outdo myself. Make things bigger, better, flashier.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I say, meaning it to the depths of my soul.
I can hold on to the hurt I harbor, or I can embrace that the person I cared for more than anyone else is happy. That’s all you can really want for the people you love.
Of course, I ignore the pang of jealousy that he did everything he said he would—attend NYU, live in a big city, work as an architect—and I wasn’t there for any of it.
“What about you?” He turns it on me, gesturing around the room at some of my photography on the walls. “Who knew running around taking pictures on that crappy, little, pink camera of yours would actually turn into a career.”
“My little, pink camera was not crappy.” I fake offense. “She is the reason I have pictures of almost everything we did as kids.”
“Okay, I definitely need to inspect said pictures.”
“They’re all up in the attic right now. I’ll have to pull them down one day, and we can go through them.” I don’t tell him the reason they’re up there is that I haven’t been able to look through them since he left.
“It’s a date.” He winks.
A date? As in he’s planning on spending more time with me? As in he’s not going to disappear back to Cleveland and I’ll never see him again? I try not to get too excited by the idea, but I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t make me the happiest girl ever.
“When do you have to go back home?” I brave the question, knowing I’ll only drive myself crazy if I don’t just go ahead and ask.
“I’ll need to head back by Friday. Why? Ready to get rid of me already?” he teases.
“Maybe I am.” I laugh when he grabs his chest like I’ve just wounded him.
Friday, that means I have only three days until he leaves. I have very mixed emotions about the whole thing.
“I can’t believe David and John are out there on their own, like real adults.” Cole snags the framed picture of my two younger brothers off the end table next to him, clearly just seeing it for the first time. “God, I still feel like they should be the little kids who used to follow us around like lost pups.” He shakes his head before draining the remainder of his third beer.
“Yeah, I mean, they still kind of are lost pups. Well, John anyway. Though, I’m fairly sure he will never settle down.” I laugh, feeling more relaxed with each beer. “You want another?” I snag Cole’s empty beer bottle as I stand.
“Yeah, I could do another.” He gives me a lazy smile, his eyes following me as I disappear into the kitchen.
Dropping the bottles in the trash, I snag two more out of the fridge before spotting the tequila bottle setting on top. I’m not typically a big drinker. I almost always have beer in the house for when I have company, but hard liquor very seldom crosses the threshold of this house.
Setting the beers on the counter, I push up onto my tiptoes and grab the bottle from the top of the refrigerator. I bought this the day I found out Michael died. All I wanted to do was drink it all away.
And with that, I get a very bad idea. One I can’t seem to talk myself out of once it’s taken root.
Tucking the beer bottles in the crook of my arm, I grab two little plastic cups I used to make Jell-O shots for last New Year’s party at Nate’s, and the bottle of tequila before returning to Cole. He looks up and smiles the instant he sees the tequila in my hand.
I try to ignore that he’s slipped out of the shirt and tie he wore to Michael’s funeral. Sitting now in only a fitted white undershirt, I swear I can see every ripple of muscle. And his arms—oh his arms
“Planning on getting drunk are we?” He gives me teasing grin, snapping me out of my haze.
“In the movies they always do shots for a fallen friend,” I explain, setting the bottles and tiny plastic cups on the coffee table before reclaiming my seat just a couple feet from Cole. I try to focus on anything but on his body, even though his face is just as sexy. “I thought maybe we should, too. I think Michael would have liked that.” I smile, oddly proud of myself for concocting such an amazing plan even if it’s clearly a very bad idea given my current company.
Good idea, Mel. Get drunk around the boy you’ve secretly loved for over half your life. Yep, that sounds like a good plan.
I shake off the nagging voice and refocus.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re onto something.” This time I get a full smile, one that shows his dimples despite the facial hair that makes them harder to see.
I pull the cap off the tequila while Cole opens our beer bottles. Somehow he knows I’m gonna need a chaser without me saying a word. Setting my beer in front of me, he takes a pull of his own before setting his down, too.
He watches me in silence as I pour two shots and then pick them up, handing one to him.
“So,” I pause, now feeling a little silly.
“To Michael,” Cole takes over, “the best soldier and best friend that anyone could ask for.”
“To Michael.” I raise my cup, tapping it against Cole’s before pouring the liquid down my throat.
It burns like wild fire but quickly subsides when I take a long drink of my cold beer.
“Wow.” Cole shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t think I have drank tequila since high school.” He laughs, setting the plastic cup on the table. “Now I remember why.”
“I didn’t really know what to buy,” I explain. “I’m not really much of a hard liquor drinker.”
“Then why’d you buy it?” He settles back into the couch, his long fingers wrapped around his beer bottle, the other resting on his knee.
“Because I wanted to get shit-faced drunk.” I laugh, shaking my head at how stupid that sounds. “I always see people in movies and on television drinking tequila, so that’s what I went for.”
“Whiskey,” he interjects. “That’s the stuff right there.”
“Eww.” I curl my nose up in disgust.
I’ve only tried whiskey once in my life and that was the bottle that Michael stole out of his mom’s liquor cabinet and brought out to the creek one summer night. We couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
As if Cole’s remembering the same thing, he eyeballs me and then we both start laughing.
“Fuck I almost forgot about the whiskey incident.” He shakes his head, his dark eyes holding a bit of sparkle I haven’t seen since he was much younger. “You spit that shit right in Michael’s face the first time you tried it.” He holds his stomach as laughter rumbles through him.
“It’s not like I meant to.” I move to defend myself. “He was just in the line of fire.”
“I still remember the look he gave you. He was horrified.” His laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but let it pull me under, too.
Before long we are retelling stories and laughing so hard I swear at one point I almost pee my pants.
I had forgotten about this Cole. The funny, carefree boy who at one time knew me better than anyone else or anyone has since.
By ten thirty we’ve managed to drink through a
full twelve pack and the additional four beers that were in the fridge. He was responsible for most of those, but I like to think I held my ground. Six beers is a lot for me.
Neither of us touched the tequila again; the beer was more than enough for me. Not being much of a drinker, to say I’ve reached drunk status would be a very accurate statement.
When the laughter dies and silence settles over us, we live in that moment—lying on the couch, both looking at the ceiling, my legs draped over Cole’s. I revel in the way the alcohol seems to have calmed my soul, and Cole, well, he seems to be lost in something himself as well.
“Mel?” Cole finally speaks after several minutes, surprised to find me still awake.
“Yeah?” I respond, making no attempt to move from my comfortable position.
“What do you think would have happened if I had stayed?” His voice is low and gruff.
“What you mean?” I ask, my heart taking off in a full gallop, suddenly beating so hard against my ribs I feel like I might be sick.
“With us. Things kind of got twisted during high school, but I always thought we’d find our way back to the way things were before.”
“You’re here now.” I hate how weak my voice sounds.
“Mel?” He says my name again after at least a full two minute pause.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really fucking sorry. You know, for leaving the way I did.”
“I’m sorry for pushing you away after you and Dawn started dating.” If we’re apologizing for things I figure I might as well own up to the mistakes I made as well.
“I’m sorry for dating Dawn in the first place.” I feel like the statement is said jokingly, but his voice is dead serious.
“I’m sorry for letting my jealously build such a wall between us.” I almost regret saying it, but if I’m being honest with myself, that’s exactly what I did.
Instead of appreciating that I had him in my life, I pushed him away because I couldn’t have him the way I wanted. I should have treated him better, maybe things would have been so very different if I had.
“When were you ever jealous?” he finally asks.
How We Fall Page 5
