If I Fall (9 page)

I studied her. I had a hard time remembering the last time I'd actually seen her upright, much less take a shower. Probably when Aunt Sara had come by to break the news about the house. I didn't know what she did when I wasn't home but when I was here, she never seemed to leave her room, much less move off of the bed. I wondered what had motivated her to do so today.

“Megan?”

I remembered her question. “Um, yeah.” Then I stopped. “I mean, no. Dad turned off my cell phone.” The anger resurfaced. “Did you know anything about it?”

Her face tightened and her eyes welled with tears and I wanted to kick myself. Damn. She was still just as fragile as she looked.

But she kept it together, at least long enough to mutter, “No. I don't know anything about
anything
.”

She pressed her lips tight and, without another word, closed the bathroom door. Something clattered to the floor
—a brush, I thought—and she let out a heaving, gasping sort of cry. Her recovery had been short-lived, thanks to me. Just the mention of him could reduce her to tears.

Emotions twisted inside of me, anger and guilt and sadness swirling into a noxious, toxic stew. For the first time in a long while I felt myself sinking, falling into the same vortex that held my mother captive.

I turned to go, anxious to leave before it swallowed me whole. The fading sun streaked into the room, igniting the dust motes that floated in the air, transforming them into sparkling crystals. It glinted off something on her bookcase, a blinding flash of amber light. A bottle. Rows of bottles—wines and brandy, rum and vodka. My mother's personal stash.

Quickly, before I could change my mind, I crossed the room and grabbed the bottle closest to me. I unscrewed the lid and brought it to my lips. The liquid burned my throat but I didn't care. I drank more, swallowing huge mouthfuls. The heat coursed through me, seeping into every pore, melting some of the anger and sadness that had almost consumed me moments earlier. I took one last swig, wiped my mouth, and put the near-empty bottle back on the shelf.

I needed someone. I ran to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

“
Miss me already?”

He was still in his car. I could hear the music blare and the engine sputter in the background.

“Come back.”

“
What? Like right now?”

“
Uh-huh.” I didn't want to be alone. I didn't know what I'd do if I was. “I need you.”

There was a soft knock at my door fifteen minutes later. I opened it and he thrust a Wendy's bag into my hands as he peeked into my house. The brandy had worked its warm magic, calming me down, settling my nerves. I greeted him with a smile and a kiss and I wondered absently if he knew I'd been drinking.

“You sure it's cool I'm here?”

We always went to his house. Mostly because we could lock ourselves away in his room but also because my house was on the market. We never knew who was going to be dropping by. Or when.

“Yeah. It's too late for showings. And
she
won't be coming out tonight.” I held up the bag. “What's this?”

“
Dinner. I'm starving.”

He followed me into the kitchen.

I set the bag down on the table and he unpacked it while I searched for glasses and something to drink. There were a few cans of Coke in the pantry. I fished some ice cubes out of the freezer and set the glasses and cans down on the table. There was a burger and fries for him and a salad and baked potato for me.

Aidan looked at me. “Vegetarian, right?”

For some reason, tears filled my eyes and I had to look away. “Yep. Perfect,” I said, blinking rapidly. “Thanks.”

I told him about my dad's message while we ate. I didn't mention the grocery situation.

He tore open a package of ketchup and squirted its contents on to his opened hamburger wrapper. “When was the last time you talked to him?”

“The day he left—a couple months ago.”

He shook his head. “How many times has he called? Tried to get a hold of you?”

“I don't know. A lot,” I admitted. “Two or three times a week, maybe.”

“
That is so not cool.” His voice was filled with disapproval. “He's still your dad.”

I balled up the foil from the baked potato I'd just inhaled. “But he's an asshole.”

“So? He's your
dad
. You can't avoid him forever. I mean, he's probably really pissed about the whole wedding thing.”

He and Cheri had done the deed a couple of weeks ago, some sunset ceremony on the beach at the Hotel Del. I hadn't gone.

He finished his burger. “He's just doing this to get your attention.”

“
Well, it worked.” I ate another forkful of salad. It had been ages since I'd had one. “So you think I should call him?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. And not just because you want your phone turned back on.”

“Fine. I'll call him.”

He smashed his paper wrappers back into the bag. “Good. Do it now.”

I knew he was going to say that. I picked up the phone and hit redial. My dad answered on the first ring.

“
Megan.”

“
Dad.”

Our conversation was stilted, halting. He asked questions and I answered them. Nothing more. He told me a little about the wedding, their new condo. I stayed silent.

“I want to see you,” he told me. “Will you come up this weekend? I can pick you up after work. You can stay the night and I'll bring you home the next morning.”

The thought horrified me. Spend the night with him and his girlfriend...or, rather, wife?

“No.”

“
Megan. This is your house, too. At least come for dinner. If you don't want to stay, you don't have to. But I want you to come. I expect you to come.” He paused. “Hang on a sec, hon. Someone's on the other line.”

Probably my new stepmom, I thought bitterly. I leaned against the counter and waited.

“Well?” Aidan mouthed to me.

I made a face. “He wants me to come up this weekend. Dinner. Spend the night.”

He pushed his chair away and joined me at the counter, wrapping his arms around me. “Do it. Just get it over with.”

“
I don't want to go.”

I leaned up and kissed him. I didn't want to be away from him.

His mouth moved to my neck. “Just one day. One night.”

“
I don't want to,” I repeated.

He laughed. “Don't I know it.”

His mouth traveled to my collarbone, then to the subtle V made be the neckline of my shirt. He lowered himself, lifting my shirt as he kissed my stomach. His fingers fumbled with the button on my shorts.

“
Aidan,” I murmured, tucking the phone against my shoulder as I clutched his head next to my stomach.

“
Tell him yes and get off the phone,” he whispered as his mouth moved lower.

My dad clicked back over then and I managed to answer. “Come get me Friday.”

I hung up and let him pull me to the kitchen floor.

FOURTEEN

It was Friday. My bag was packed but I wasn't ready. I didn't want to go to my dad's new house and I didn't want to see Cheri, the person holding the winning numbers in the Dad lottery. Aidan came inside with me when he dropped me off that afternoon. To keep me company, he'd said, but I knew better.

He was making sure I followed through, did what I'd told my dad I was going to do.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked.

My black duffel bag sat on the wooden chair positioned in front of my desk. I threw a change of clothes into it.

He lounged on my bed, texting someone. “Call me when you get back. I'll come get you.”

“
What are you doing tonight?”

“
Don't know yet.” He kept typing. “A bunch of people are heading to TJ. I might go with them.”

“
Oh.” I tried to be nonchalant. I knew what happened in Tijuana. It was depressing to think about. Mostly because he was going to be doing it without me.

I grabbed my own phone from my dresser and shoved it in my pocket. My service had been miraculously restored after making plans with my dad. I zipped my bag closed and slumped next to Aidan on the bed.

“This is going to be unbearable, you know.”

He laughed. “He's your dad, not some serial killer.”

“No, not that. Well, that a little bit, I guess. I mean being away from you.”

It scared me how much I'd come to depend on him. He was the only constant I had. When everything else in my life fell away, crumbling apart or slowly disintegrating, he was the one who kept me together, who kept
me
from falling apart. It was only one night but I didn't know if I could stand it.

He ran his hands up and down my arms. “I'll miss you more,” he promised. “You're all I think about. Ever. You're the best I've ever had.” His hands moved up my stomach, soft as a feather as he trailed his fingers lightly across my breasts. “In every way.”

I cupped his face and kissed him. I felt like a bottle of champagne, love and desire bubbling inside of me, ready to burst.

“
I love you,” he murmured against my mouth.

It was the first time he'd ever said this to me and my breath caught in my throat as I whispered the words back to him. I loved him wholly, completely. Losing him would be akin to losing a limb or an organ, some essential part of me that, without it, I would be hard-pressed to go on.

He kissed me thoroughly, his hands caressing every inch of me. Maybe I could forget my evening plans and he could forget his and we could stay locked in my room instead.

“
I need to go,” he said, tearing his mouth away. “And so do you.”

I didn't want to but I let him leave.

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. My dad. I stood up, tucking away the memory of my afternoon with Aidan as I grabbed my bag and switched off the light in my room. I didn't bother saying goodbye to my mom. It would just serve as a bitter reminder of where I was going. I thought back to Aidan and the words he'd spoken; I intended to replay that scene in my room the entire evening, hoping it would see me through the nightmare I was sure waited beyond my front door.

*

Rush hour traffic was awful any night in San Diego but a drive up Interstate 5 on a Friday evening was pure hell, especially sitting alone in the car with my estranged dad. After a couple of attempts at conversation, he finally gave up and turned the volume up on the radio. I stared out the window as we crawled past the canyons between Pacific Beach and La Jolla, at the houses that perched atop the rough terrain and at the huge cross that was a continual source of contention among Christians and the ACLU. Logan's family was a staunch supporter of Mt. Soledad's massive cross.

The traffic didn't let up, even as we passed UCSD and Torrey Pines, as the 805 and 5 merged together, multiple lanes of traffic shifting abruptly to four. It took us nearly a half an hour to travel five miles. Finally, he pulled off the freeway and headed toward the beach, past the deserted fairgrounds, turning right on a street lined with Mediterranean-style townhouses and condominiums. There were parking spots with numbers painted on the pavement and he pulled into one. He got out and I followed, hoisting the straps of my bag on to my shoulder. I trudged along behind him, down the sidewalk, up the five steps that led to his front door, and into the cool, air-conditioned living room that had Cheri's stamp all over it.

Black leather couches and a marble coffee table filled the room, and huge paintings hung on the wall, the kind that looked like someone had randomly splattered colors on each massive canvas. I hated them. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace—why anyone needed a fireplace in San Diego was beyond me. And plants and flowers everywhere. Red and white roses arranged in wide black vases, spilling out of clear crystal ones; delicate ferns potted in black rattan baskets; tall, leafy miniature trees tucked in to the corners of the living and dining rooms.

“
There's a second bedroom back here,” Dad said, motioning down the hall.

I followed him and my flip flops squeaked on the wood laminate floor. A gilded mirror was mounted at the end of the hallway and I tried to rearrange my features, to wipe the scowl off of my face and replace it with a smile, as my dad stopped in front of an open door.

“Your room.”

I peeked through the bedroom door and grimaced. It was white, pure white. A four-poster canopy bed with a white down comforter, the bed piled high with eyelet pillows adorned with delicate pink ribbons. A white dresser with white knobs decorated with tiny pink flowers—probably hand-painted—and a white vanity table, a pink cushioned stool positioned in front of the oval mirror. Did she think I was ten and imagining myself a goddamn princess? This would
never
be my room.

“
Cheri's down at the pool. I told her we'd come down, maybe go for a swim before dinner.”