Feels Like Falling

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  She was the first mom I had after my real mom, and she was the best. She was a nice mom. I mean, she had rules and stuff. We had to make our beds and clean up our rooms and set the table for dinner. But she checked my homework every night and snuggled up beside me on the couch to watch TV. Most important, she taught me how to cook. That was a real big deal to me. It was what started my dream of opening my own restaurant one day. Now that little napkin tucked in my back pocket with the drawing of that falling-apart boat was continuing it.

  They say that people who lived through the Depression store stuff up because they’ve lived through something so traumatic they never want to do that again. It’s the same with me. I’d lived through being totally alone, so instead of storing up stuff, I stored up skills. I needed to know how to cook and clean and do laundry, how to sew on buttons, mend tears, fix my own hair.

  I only got to live with my first foster mom for two years before her husband got transferred away for work. I cried and begged and pleaded to go with them, but that wasn’t in the cards. It was the second time I’d gotten left behind, but it was easier that time. I knew what to expect, and I knew how to take care of myself.

  I think that’s why taking care of Gray felt so right. I saw a little bit of my young abandoned self in her. And now, in just two more days, I was going to be taking care of Wagner too. I couldn’t wait to meet the kid, but I was turned inside out about it too. Gray was acting like the queen was coming to visit. I’d never seen anyone so distracted. She’d be eating breakfast and then she’d pop up and say, “Wagner will need new bathing suits. I need to run to the surf shop.”

  And then she’d be working on her computer, and I’d hear her on her phone saying, “Trey, can you see if we can get tickets to that Cirque du Soleil show that’s coming?”

  And when I thought she was upstairs I’d see the car pulling out of the driveway because she just remembered that Wagner would want Rice Krispies Treats and she didn’t have the stuff to make them. All in all, she was wearing me the hell out with her nervous energy. And he wasn’t even back yet. I was terrified too, because Gray didn’t have to say one word for me to realize that if Wagner didn’t like me, I was out.

  Finally I just sat her down and said, “Honey, you’re his momma. No fancy Europe trip or shiny anything can change that.”

  “I know. I know that. But he’s eight, and he’s too young to have all his priorities straight. What if he loves Brooke? What if he has so much fun with Greg that he wants to live with him all the time?”

  Poor Gray. All those things could happen. They could. And she wasn’t wrong to be worried. But she didn’t need to drive herself up the wall. “Look, honey, if I were you I’d just try to get real clear with Greg that none of that’s going to happen. A solid arrangement in writing is insurance for him too, because Wagner could just as easily decide he wants to live with you all the time.”

  She glanced down at her phone and smiled, and I knew that, just for a second anyway, she had forgotten all about Greg and Wagner and whose house he’d love more. I felt a pang in my gut, and at first I thought it was for me, for the love I had lost. But then I realized it was for Gray. Because she had a long road ahead of her. Dating and a divorce were hard, especially with a kid. Not that I knew firsthand, but I had seen it plenty. I felt like I had seen everything, really. And not all of it was pretty.

  I had been to see Phillip that morning before I got to work. Gray was real flexible about my hours, especially on days I went to see Phillip. His new doctor and I had worked real hard these past few months with him on his medicines, cutting back a little here, adding a little there, switching an old medicine for something newer and better. And, I swear, a part of him was coming back to me. His color was better. There was a little light in his eyes. The only drawback was that he flinched now when I tried to touch his hand. But he didn’t get mad. He was talking a tiny bit more. But the medicine was still enough to keep him from having those fits he had been prone to when something set him off. They didn’t bother me so much, but I knew the home wouldn’t—couldn’t—keep him there, so close to me, if he was violent. His condition wasn’t where I wanted it, but I got the feeling he wouldn’t be as good as he possibly could until I got him out. I was sure again now that I would. Someday. I smiled, thinking of the two of us rambling around in that boat, me cooking steamer pots and him helping me with simple kitchen tasks. He would be happy doing that work. I just knew he would.

  It was Thursday again, and now that I had a place to live and a paycheck and a couple hundred dollars back in the bank, life was seeming better. It was summertime and the living was easy. I was meeting my girls for our regular night out, and as I eased myself into my normal seat at the Beach Pub, a big, salty margarita glass was waiting at my place. I sat down and said, “Thanks, y’all. You didn’t need to order for me.”

  “We didn’t,” Janet whispered. Her eyes traveled across the bar, and mine followed. Sitting on one of the stools behind the rectangular bar was a man who looked vaguely familiar. Thick dark hair falling across his forehead; a neat button-down shirt, all clean and pressed, sleeves rolled up. I was about to be flattered that this man must’ve known who I was and bought me a drink even before I got there when my heart stopped. My eyes met his across the crowded room. I was too far away to be able to tell that they were that same navy blue they’d been all those years ago. But that wink? I’d have known that wink anywhere.

  CHAPTER 8

  gray: first-time feeling

  When it rains, it pours. Diana was trying to keep me calm, but how could I be calm? We’d lost two midsize clients to a competing affiliate firm in the past week, I was behind on a proposal for a new A-client I was trying to snag, and my boy was coming home. It had felt like the longest three weeks of my life, but it was almost over. That was the best news in the world. Knowing he would be back any minute was like anticipating the first day of spring after a long, freezing winter.

  All I could think about was the books we would read together, the long days at the pool, the time on the beach, dinners out, having all his little friends over, making s’mores. I absolutely could not wait. I wanted to make this the best summer ever for him.

  Andrew had texted me earlier: Dinner?

  When I hadn’t responded right away, he had added, Please?

  I had seen him a couple more times after he showed up at my dock, and I was trying to tell myself that was enough. But in those quiet moments, all I wanted was more of him.

  I had texted back: Crazy day at work and Wagner comes home day after tomorrow. Can I let you know tonight?

  Sure. We could take the boat. Have a really special night. May have to be our last one for a while?

  A question. I knew that Andrew wanted to ask me how everything was going to work when Wagner got back. I was totally positive that I wouldn’t let Wagner know we were seeing each other. That was set in stone. But I wasn’t sure about anything else. Would tonight be it for us? The thought made me sad, but I also thought that maybe that’s the way it had to be.

  That night, when Andrew rang the doorbell, I was dressed and ready for dinner.

  He just smiled. “So you’re taking me up on my offer?”

  “Why not?” I shrugged. “I guess it’s my boat, right?”

  “Hell if I know,” Andrew said.

  He looked around. “No Trey?”

  I shook my head. “He went back to Raleigh, so Wags and I could have a little time to ourselves.”

  We walked down the dock, and he stepped into the hull. Instead of taking my hand to help me, he put his hands on either side of my waist and lifted me. I squealed.

  He eyed my shoes. “It didn’t seem safe for you to climb in here with those heels on.”

  They were wedges. I sat on the bench seat right beside him. But when he turned the key, the engine cranked and promptly died.

  In my life with Greg, that would have equaled pulling out a cell phone to call the mechanic and that our boat date was DOA.
<
br />   “Oh well,” I said. “I guess we can drive to dinner—or we can cook if you want to.”

  Andrew gave me a strange look and then turned his attention to the console. He stuck his head in, made some noise, and then walked to the back of the boat, where he did something near the engine. Returning, he turned the key once more—and, lo and behold, the thing cranked.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Wow. That was amazing,” I said, snuggling up under his arm and kissing him. He ran his hand down my bare arm, and I moved closer.

  “Not that amazing. The engine bulbs just needed to be pumped. For a boat owner, you don’t know much about boats, do you?”

  Seeing him take charge like that made me see Andrew in a different way.

  We’d been riding for a couple of minutes before I noticed the huge dark cloud looming just ahead of us. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Think we should turn around?”

  Andrew looked up and put his hand out just as the first crack of thunder broke and a few drops began to fall lightly from the sky. “It’s probably only a summer shower,” he said, “judging from the size of the cloud. Let’s go back for a few minutes, and we’ll try again later.”

  As he spoke, it was as if the sprinklers were turned on full blast and the bottom fell out of that cloud. “Oh no,” I said, laughing over the roar of the engine and the beating of the rain on the windshield.

  Andrew laughed too. “Note to self: get a T-top.” He pulled me closer as the rain soaked us. “On the bright side,” he said, “there’s nothing more romantic than kissing the most beautiful woman you know with rain pouring down.”

  I smiled. “That is true.”

  A few minutes later, Andrew was docking the boat, running from the bow to the stern to tie it up, while I stood there uselessly, watching the rain drench my shoes. I took them off, and we ran through the grass, laughing as we finally made it through the front door.

  Andrew paused and looked at me. He leaned in to kiss me like he was savoring it, like he was memorizing the moment. I realized that I was memorizing the moment too. He nuzzled my neck and, squatting down and reaching for the bottom of my dress, said, “We can’t possibly go traipsing through your house in these soaking wet clothes.”

  I raised my arms over my head, suddenly acutely aware of my near-nakedness. I unbuttoned his shirt very slowly, my mind trying to catch up with my heart.

  I was thankful that the lot jutted out into a bit of a peninsula. No one could see us.

  I noticed Andrew glance behind me, and I turned to follow his eyes. My wedding photo, in a sterling silver frame, engraved with my monogram and the wedding date. I bit my lip and said, “Sorry.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “I should probably take that down now. I guess I was just so used to it—”

  He shook his head slowly. “You shouldn’t take it down.”

  “No?”

  “No. Wagner needs to have that picture to remember that even though it’s over, it was happy.”

  I smiled sadly. “Then why were you looking at it like that?”

  Focusing on me with laser precision, Andrew leaned down and kissed me again. Then he whispered, “I was just thinking that if I could ever make you smile like that, I’d make sure I never let you stop.”

  I felt his lips moving down my cheek and my neck and my collarbone. “Andrew, I—” I heard myself start to say. But then his lips were on my ear, and he was whispering, “Everything is going to be fine, G,” and whatever objections I was going to raise didn’t seem to matter. I laughed as Andrew carried me up the stairs to my room. And I didn’t think about how I hadn’t done this in well over a year or how this was the bed I had made love to my husband in for all those years or whether my stomach looked flat. I didn’t think about anything at all. I was lost in Andrew and the way he made me feel like none of that mattered now. He saw me, and I finally saw him too, for all the amazing things he really was. He was a man. He was an equal. And he didn’t have to say a word for me to realize that he was all mine.

  Later, happy and drowsy and lying on my freshly pressed sheets, I was astounded. I had done it. I had had sex for the first time in twelve years with someone who wasn’t Greg. This feeling—freedom and happiness and fun—was what my life had been missing for more time than I would like to admit. Andrew and I lay in complete silence, lost in that sweet afterglow that I hadn’t felt in so long I had honestly forgotten about it.

  In the vulnerability of that moment I said, “I get why Greg left me.” It just gurgled up out of my mouth, and I wanted to pull it back in as soon as it did. Why would I ruin tonight of all nights?

  But Andrew just yawned, his hand trailing lazily up and down my back. “Greg is an idiot.”

  “I understand the feeling of first-time passion and not wanting it to end,” I continued. “I understand the sweaty palms and beating heart and racing pulse he probably got with Brooke. I get wanting to have that all the time.”

  He rested his forehead on mine and whispered, “I get that feeling too.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He kissed me so softly.

  “That’s kind of what it feels like when you win your first tennis match,” he said, stroking my cheek with his finger. “You can’t imagine anything ever feeling that good.” He paused. “But then you go to practice every day. You drill and play and hit bucket after bucket of serves. You put in the time. And you win again. And again. And again. It still feels good, but you’re used to it now. The butterflies are gone, but the joy remains. In so many ways, it’s deeper, and it’s sweeter because you worked so hard for it. You committed to it. And that feels even better.” Here I was, complaining about losing that first-time feeling, and here he was, young and fresh and so incredibly wise. The butterflies end, but it’s the love that’s forming all along the way that really means something.

  “Wow,” I said. I looked into those brown eyes, and I felt more than I wanted to let myself feel. “How do you even know that? You’re too young to understand the things you do.”

  He shrugged. “You know, Gray, everything in life is a metaphor for pretty much everything else. If you can get one area under control, the others come a lot easier.” He winked at me.

  I sighed, that glowy feeling seeping away, remembering that I had no area of my life under control. A familiar panic welled up in me as I realized that, despite what I had promised myself, I wasn’t ready to let him go. But I didn’t want anyone, not even adorable Andrew, to be in Wagner’s life. I felt trapped.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted.

  “Do what?”

  “I don’t know how to be a single mother. I don’t know how to date and have a son. I don’t know how to balance all these things and it’s not fair to you.” Andrew put my fingers, which were wrapped around his, to his lips. It was one of the most endearing things he did.

  “No one expects you to have it all figured out, G.”

  I laughed incredulously. “Yes, they do, Andrew. Of course they do.”

  He sat up and looked down at me. “Well, I don’t.”

  It was next to nothing. And, yet, it was everything. The knot in my stomach uncoiled, just like that.

  “How about this?” Andrew added. “What if we figure it out as we go along?”

  He was right. One step at a time. He assured me so well. I panicked again as I realized that I was developing real feelings for him—and I knew I needed to break the intensity of the moment. So I jumped out of bed and raced to the kitchen, a blanket wrapped around me. I grabbed the whipped cream, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons, and raced back.

  When he saw me, he said, “I can’t imagine life ever, ever getting mundane with you.”

  I don’t know if it was the words, Andrew, Ben, or Jerry, but I know for sure that, of all the nights in my life, that was one of the sweetest.

  diana: trailer trash orphan

  When I was developing the photos down at Meds and More, I realized right off that people only
take pictures of the good times. But I say we’d all be a darn sight better off if we’d take pictures of the bad stuff too, so we wouldn’t keep making the same mistakes over and over.

  As I tried to pick up that margarita glass with my hands shaking, I wasn’t sure if this moment would fall into the category of “take a picture so you can remember” or “take a picture so you’ll learn your lesson once and for all.” My mouth was so dry I couldn’t talk.

  “We couldn’t believe it,” Cheyenne whispered, as if Frank would be able to hear her across the crowded bar.

  “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since…” Robin trailed off.

  She didn’t have to finish that sentence. I knew better than anybody when the last time we saw him was.

  “Di,” Janet said softly, which was when I realized that I was staring into my margarita glass. “You okay?”

  She reached over and touched my hand. Janet had been there with me that day, the only one who had the stomach for it, I guess. Cheyenne and Robin, they’d been there waiting when we got home, and every last one of them, they worked real hard to make sure I was okay. We were in it together, in a way. But in a much, much bigger way, I was the only one who had to live it over and over, and I was the only one who realized that maybe, in a situation like that, you can’t ever truly be okay again.

  And Frank? Well, Frank had got off pretty much scot-free. Frank had been wandering around all these years not knowing one damn thing I’d been going through. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing here now. I felt pretty sure that he had some beautiful wife and a bunch of kids and a big house. His momma and daddy were probably real proud. He’d found himself a suitable woman, not a trailer trash orphan like me. It almost embarrassed me how fresh the wound felt, remembering his momma calling me that—and knowing she wasn’t wrong.

  I looked up at Janet long enough to say, “Oh yeah. You know me. I’m gonna be fine. Just surprised to see him here, is all.”