This Is Falling

by Ginger Scott

  He raises his hand and holds his thumb to his index finger, measuring an inch. “You kinda do. But just a little.”

  “Shut up. I want your mom to like me. And it’s really nice of your parents to have me here,” I say, actually feeling a little bad that he made fun of me. Nate can tell, and he grabs my hand, pulling me to his lap and hugging me tightly.

  “I’m sorry. It was nice of you to gush. And for the record, my parents freaking love you. Just like I do,” he says, his smile warm against my cheek. Within seconds, he’s kissing me, and he keeps kissing me until we hear Ty clear his throat in the doorway.

  “Yeah, you can’t do that shit at the Thanksgiving table. I’ll get sick,” he says, pushing into the room and lifting the corner of the blanket to his nose. “Damn. Mom actually washed your blanket. Did she wash yours?”

  Nate shrugs, and Ty backs out of the room, heading to Nate’s. We follow him in there and he pulls Nate’s blanket to his nose then quickly tosses it back down. “All right, this is bullshit! Mom, what’s up with everyone getting dryer-sheet bed but me?” He’s down the hall and moaning to his mom within seconds.

  “Dryer-sheet bed?” I ask Nate, laughing lightly.

  “It’s a Ty thing. He likes the way they smell. It’s kind of like Cookie,” Nate says with a small shake of his head. “Ty likes what he likes.”

  “Oh! Speaking of…look what I brought,” I say, leading Nate back to my room and unzipping my small travel bag and pulling out my teddy bear hostage. “I thought maybe we’ve taken this far enough.”

  Nate nods, leaning against the doorframe and grinning while I start to tuck it back into the zipper bag. “You wanna win Ty over forever?” Nate asks, and I pause, pulling the bear back out again. “Come with me.”

  Nate leads me to a small door near the back porch, and I realize quickly it’s the laundry room. We toss Cookie into the dryer with a fabric softener sheet and let it spin for about five minutes. When it’s done, we pull it out, and I write a small note in all caps that says: “NO MORE FUSSY FUSS, OKAY?” and we tuck the note and the bear in the top of Ty’s blanket for him to find at bedtime.

  Nate

  I like having her in my house. She feels…permanent. But there’s this constant ache scratching at the back of my mind every second. It’s the secret I’m keeping, and I know if I tell her, she’ll leave. And I would understand. She should leave—she should have known all along, and had her chance to say goodbye. But she can never get that back. So I guess the only decision now is what happens moving forward, and maybe her parents are right. Maybe, to move forward, Rowe just needs to keep moving. And maybe knowing this will hold her back, mess with her head during finals, ruin her great start. But I can’t help but think it might all just backfire, too.

  Her parents haven’t sold their house yet. But the last time she talked with them, right before we left for our flight, they were mostly packed. I wonder if they really went through with taking a trip—a vacation for just the two of them—or if they’re just at home, pretending.

  We spent the night curled up with one another on the couch, watching the end of the Pacers and Miami game with Ty and my dad. Mom busied herself in the kitchen, prepping for our un-traditional Thanksgiving tomorrow. Mom made Lasagna and eggrolls, and Rowe actually seemed excited by it, which only made me love her more. Every little thing—sometimes the tiniest things—makes me love her more, and I’m in so deep now, I know I won’t make it back out whole.

  Stretching out every moment, I hold her body close to mine along the sofa. My dad, per tradition, has dozed off in his chair, and Ty is busy dropping sunflower seeds in his hair, one at a time, which makes Rowe giggle, and makes me hold her tighter—loving her more.

  “All right, kids,” Ty says, brushing his hands of the salt from the seeds while he backs away from my dad’s chair. “This face needs its beauty sleep. And I told Cass I’d call.”

  “Good,” Rowe says, her voice a little forceful, and it actually surprises Ty and me.

  “I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Ty asks, his eyebrows pinched as he scratches the darned-near full beard he’s been growing for two weeks. Rowe looks up at me with her eyes wide; clearly her tone surprised her as well.

  “Sorry, that…that came out harsh,” she says, pushing against my hip to sit up in front of me. “I just meant you should call; she’s missing you.” Her words have a strange smile on Ty’s face, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was blushing. “You should have invited her to come too, you know. She wanted to come.”

  Ty just nods at her, his lips tight and his face reverent. “Yeah, I probably should have. I’m…kind of new…at this?” Ty shrugs and we all sit still, sort of soaking in what has suddenly become a strange serious environment for the three of us, which Ty, of course, is the first to break. “Anywho…gonna go see if she wants to have phone sex. So, goodnight all.”

  Ty is gone for about fifteen seconds before he’s back, gently tossing Cookie in one hand, a sinister chuckle crackling in his chest. “Well, look what we have here,” he says, looking down at the small bear in his hand before he brings it up to his nose to take in its scent. He laughs a little louder when he does, and finally looks up at me, and then to Rowe, pointing at her. “You…you just got lucky there, sister. The dryer sheet…yeah. That was a nice touch. Might have just saved you a world of hurt,” he trails off, turning around and going back in his room where he closes the door.

  “Your brother’s weird,” she says, leaning into me slowly.

  “Yeah,” I say, kissing her cheek lightly. “But he likes you. And that’s not easy to do.” She shoves me, kinda hard, and I realize what I said. “I mean…getting Ty to like you. No, liking you is easy. Ah, fuck…I hate grammar. It’s always screwing me over.”

  Rowe giggles, then slides to my lap and kisses me, and soon her lips—and the rest of her—is all I’m thinking about, and I’m pulling her from the couch, quietly tiptoeing away from my father, and the murmur of the television, to the lavender room—that she’s supposed to stay in alone, but to hell with that.

  Chapter 28

  Rowe

  Eggrolls for Thanksgiving are my new awesome. Seriously. Awesome. I’m usually a sick kind of stuffed on this holiday, and it’s normally from mashed potatoes. But today, it’s eggrolls. The lasagna was good, too, but I think there’s a chance I may try to marry those eggrolls.

  After our early dinner, Nate took me on a tour of where he grew up—driving us by his little league field, grade school, high school, and first girlfriend’s house. He even showed me the tree where he first carved into the trunk NATE LOVES STACY, and then came back a few weeks later and scratched it out with a pocketknife. Stacy, apparently, did not love Nate. He was twelve, and bitter.

  After the tour, he gave me my first driving lesson in three years. I wasn’t awful, but I wasn’t good either. I stayed a good fifteen miles per hour under the limit and stuck to the side streets. At this rate, I should be driving by age thirty-five.

  We spent the rest of the night watching old Christmas movies, like White Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life. I got excited when Home Alone came on, and when Nate admitted he had never seen it, I forced him to watch it with me. I caught him laughing a few times.

  At almost midnight, we’re the only two left awake in the living room, so Nate pulls a few logs from the pile in the corner and builds us a nice fire. I snuggle in between his legs as he sits on the floor with his back against the side of the sofa, putting us right in line of the fire’s warmth.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, reaching my hands around his forearms, which are wrapped around me, and dipping my head to kiss his skin.

  “For what?” he whispers back.

  “For letting me have this…today, this trip—this time here with you. I don’t think I would have liked the Bahamas over Thanksgiving, and being here has sort of made me forget all about how my mom and dad are selling the house.” Truthfully, I haven’t thought about it once, and e
ven talking about it now, it doesn’t hurt as much as it did when my parents first told me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Nate says, squeezing me tightly to his chest, and resting his cheek on the top of my head. He holds me there for several minutes while we both stare blankly at the fire.

  “Hey, guess what?”

  “What’s that?” he asks, his lips brushing against the side of my head in the sweetest way, I almost forget what I wanted to say.

  “I’m picking a major when we get back. I’m meeting with my advisor,” I say, actually excited about my future.

  “Astrophysicist?” he asks, turning my chin to look at him so I can see his serious face, just before half of his mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and he winks.

  “Yes, I totally want to work on rockets, despite my absolute detestation for math. And science. And fear of being lost in space,” I say, and Nate laughs but then stops quickly.

  “Fear…of…being…lost in space?” His eyebrows pinch.

  “Yeah, I can’t watch those movies. Like Apollo 13? I get all freaked out,” I say, and he laughs. Hard.

  “That’s…a strange fear,” he says, still sporting his perfect grin—dimples and all. “And, you know Apollo 13, that…that really happened.”

  “I know, but I like to pretend it was just a movie. Swear to god, freaks me out. Lost in space?” I snuggle back into his arms and relish the low rumble of the chuckle in his chest.

  “So what do you want to be then? When you grow up,” he asks.

  “A curator. Like in a museum. I’m going to be one of those art-history nerds,” I say, the smile on my face one of excitement. Nate is quiet for several long seconds, and I start to wonder why, so I turn in his arms so I’m facing him, and he smiles, fast. “What do you think?” I ask, really wanting his acceptance.

  “Sorry, was just thinking of funny art-history jokes.” He looks proud of himself, so I nod my head toward him, encouraging him to let me have it. “Okay, so…how do you get an art-history major off your doorstep?”

  “I don’t know. How?”

  “Pay her for the pizza,” he says, with a loud blurt of laughter afterward.

  “Nice, Nate. Real nice.”

  “Wait, I have one more. I was trying to decide which is better,” he says, and I sigh into him. “What are the first two Italian words an art-history major learns?”

  I sigh again before I respond. “What?”

  “Venti cappuccino,” he laughs, and I roll my eyes in response. “Get it? You know, because you’ll be working at Starbucks…”

  “Yeah, got it. Thanks,” I say, not really liking the jokes.

  “Oh, come on Thirty-three…I was kidding. Honestly? I think that’s the perfect thing for you to do. You seem to really love art. And my mom would totally help you, you know.”

  I stare at him, then finally speak. “I love it when you call me Thirty-three. You pretty much had my heart the first time you called me that,” I admit.

  “Good. That’s the first time I wanted it. And I like getting what I want,” he says, pulling me into a deep kiss that lasts until the old grandfather clock propped up on the mantle begins to ring out twelve times for midnight.

  The fire is starting to spark less and less, but I don’t want to leave this spot. For some reason, looking at the flames has me in a trance. And after a few silent minutes, I get an idea—more of an urge really—and I squirm out of Nate’s hold, getting to my feet. He looks up at me and starts to push himself up, too, thinking I’m ready for bed, but I hold up a finger; he sits back down. “Be right back,” I say, rushing to my purse in the guest room.

  It doesn’t take me long to find the pictures of Josh, because I stuffed them in my purse when I packed for this trip. I wanted to explain them to Nate more, and then I wanted to get rid of them because I was tired of holding on. But for some reason, being here—with Nate, in this perfect moment—has put things in fast-forward for me, and I’m prepared to fully let go…of everything.

  When I come back to the living room, Nate is sitting with his elbows propped on his bent knees, and when I come close, he leans back, welcoming me back into his embrace. “Does this gate thingy open?” I ask, pulling on the small wire frame that covers the front of the fireplace.

  “Sure. Why, you want me to throw another log in?” He crawls up on his knees and opens the gate a little, but before he reaches for another log, I stop him.

  “No, actually…I kind of wanted to throw something in?” The few photos I’ve kept, I now hold in front of me like a poker hand; when I do, Nate stumbles back on his legs.

  “Your pictures…of you and Josh,” Nate says, and I nod slowly to confirm. He pulls them from my hands, flipping through them slowly, pausing for long seconds while he looks at each one, until he’s seen them all at least twice. Then he piles them into a neat stack, but keeps them grasped firmly in his hand. “I don’t know, Rowe. I think you should hang on to these.”

  “I don’t want to anymore,” I say, and my conviction stuns me. I reach to take them back, but Nate leans away from me, pulling my photos to his chest and then moving them behind his back. “Nate, I know what I’m doing. Please?”

  “Rowe, I…” he starts, but then he looks down, pulling the photos in front of him, looking at the corners poking through his closed fist while he shakes his head. When he looks back into my eyes, there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

  “Nate, you’re not making me do this. I hope that’s not what you think. It’s something…something I’ve been trying to do…for months. For years! This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I promise,” I say, reaching forward again. But Nate only holds them tighter, his eyes flicking between his fist and my eyes, until eventually he stands and pushes the photos into his back pocket, and reaches down for my hand to lift me to him.

  “Tomorrow,” he says, pulling my chin up gently with his thumb, and then reaching around to sweep my hair behind my ear with his other hand. He leans in and brushes my lips lightly with his, sliding both of his hands up until they cup my face. “If you still want to throw them in the fire tomorrow, I’ll build you one, just for that. But just do me a favor…wait until tomorrow. Just to be sure?”

  My eyes are closed, and our lips are still breaths apart, but I can tell this is important to him, so I nod slowly; I feel his body release and exhale when I give in. Maybe he’s right, and maybe I should be sure. But I don’t think my mind will change, and feeling so certain—feels good enough for tonight.

  Nate

  I can’t do this anymore. No matter how this plays out, Rowe is going to hate me at the end. Not because any of this is really my fault. She’ll hate me for lying, but I think she’ll forgive me for it eventually. The long hate—the kind that’s going to last—will be the misplaced kind. The kind she needs to place on someone because her heart is broken. And me not telling her—me putting this off—is just dragging things out. It’s selfish, because I don’t want her to hate me yet. I love her too much. But if Rowe needs to hate me to get through life, I’m willing to be that person for her.

  She whispers in her sleep. I watch her lips move every time we sleep together, like they’re telling the universe secrets. Tonight, I can’t help but feel like they’re trying to tell me something, like they’re begging for me to be a man.

  I got out of bed hours ago, and I’ve just been sitting here, in this chair by the window, torturing myself with her beauty. I’ve counted every freckle on her arms, memorized her eyelashes and the way they cast perfect shadows along her pink cheeks. I’ve watched her lips for so long that I anticipate when they’re going to open to breathe. I won’t sleep any more tonight. I can’t, because as soon as she wakes up, I’m going to tell her, and then I won’t have any more time with her, like this.

  Every time she pulls the blanket in close, or rolls to her other side, I hold my breath. And finally, the thing I’ve been dreading happens, and she stretches out her arm and feels that I’m not there next to her. Her eyes struggle
to open at first, and I hold my breath, the voice in my head wishing—begging them to close again. But they don’t. And in minutes, this will all be over.

  “Hey,” she whispers, her lips giving way to a yawn. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh huh,” I whisper back, unable to push my lips into a smile. I’m sad. I’m so unbelievably sad, and I can’t fake it any more.

  “You’re not…I can tell. What’s wrong?” Her voice is so fucking sweet while her fingers rub the sleepiness from her eyes.

  I can’t get my voice to work at first, and all I can do is stare at her, which only makes her more suspicious. “Nate? Tell me…are you sick?”

  “No, baby. I’m not sick,” I say, my chest crumbling around my heart. Everything inside me hurts right now. “I’m okay. It’s fine…” I almost try to convince myself to play this off, to abandon my plan. But that wouldn’t do me any good. Everything would still be waiting for me in the morning. I understand Rowe’s parents, and I know her dad had the best intentions with everything. But I hate them for putting me in this position.

  “Tell me,” she says, her voice a little louder now, and I can tell she’s fully awake. “You’re kind of scaring me.”

  She sits up, the blankets pooled around her, and the only light in the room is that from the half-moon reflecting off the clouds outside our window. “I love you,” I start, just needing that to be said, needing that to be the first thing she hears.

  “I love you too.” She says it back quickly, and I can tell she’s full of worry now.

  “Rowe, I know something. Something that…God, I wish I didn’t know. And I’m not supposed to tell you. But I have to tell you. Because, if this were the other way around, you’d tell me, and I’d want you to.” I’m talking in circles, and I’m sure none of this is making sense to her. But I can almost see her eyes working the puzzle out, the tears already forming in the corners.