Until I Fall

by Claudia Burgoa

  Later, I’ll ask Bradley to pull me off the roster, or to schedule me only when necessary. Mom said to live my life the way I want. At least that’s how I understood it. For the next weeks and months, I choose to be near my mother. I choose to spend more time with Aspen. My family matters more than anything else in the world.

  ASPEN

  MY HEART HAS been jackhammering against my chest for the past few hours because of that kiss. The make-out session with Anderson. It wasn’t just hands impatiently exploring, tongues wrestling with one another. It wasn’t just the meeting of body parts. It was a religious experience. What do I do after coming back from San Jose? I sit crossed-legged on top of Brynn’s bed, holding my tablet with one hand and a cup of tea with the other. She’s updating her blog. I’m pretending to read a medical journal while enjoying her gibberish rant. She’s funny when she responds to the crazy people who follow her. Who follows a medical blog? For the first time in three years, I’ve decided to look at my father’s will and what’s left to do. Mostly, it’s his last wishes and the assets Mom never claimed. Anything to keep my mind occupied and away from Anderson’s mission and the lust growing inside me—because it’s only lust. Isn’t it?

  “I wonder what Mom did with Dad’s things.”

  “Who knows? My mother usually throws everything out on the street,” she replies, not paying much attention to me. “Every divorce or breakup is followed by a temper tantrum and some new-found lifestyle.”

  “You make it sound like she’s done it too many times.”

  “Two divorces and so many boyfriends. Did I tell you she’s dating a woman now?” Brynn’s mother is incapable of holding on to a relationship for long or being alone. “I think she’s doing it to show Dad that she can be gay too.”

  I move my gaze to her nightstand, where the picture of her father and his partner stands. “Is it a phase, like her vegan one?”

  “Who knows?” She shrugs. “There was that time when she became a Zumba instructor. It lasted until she broke up with whoever she’d found there. I’ll never forget when she decided to live in a nudist community.”

  “That was less than a year ago,” I recall.

  “Hmm, yeah, you’re right. She quit when that boyfriend brought two new women to their home.” Her lips twitch from side to side. “I loved when she moved to California for a few months—no phone or way to communicate. I think she’s still in love with Dad.”

  “Love is easy, loving the wrong person is what complicates it.” This is mostly my experience watching others and their relationships. Michael and I were perfect for each other.

  She sighs, nodding in agreement. “I wish they had handled their relationship different. Dad made a mistake, that didn’t mean that he should’ve married her.”

  “He was confused about his sexuality, and your mother volunteered to . . . what was she expecting?” I’ve heard the story from her father’s standpoint, never heard it from hers. Maybe she was in love with him way before they slept together. “The guy wanted the best for his daughter.”

  She huffs. “Well, you don’t marry because you knocked up the woman. And if you do, you divorce right after you realize that you’re in love with someone else. Why live with my mother for seven painful years? Then he hid who he was and pretended Wes was his best friend and roommate for another eleven.”

  “How are they?”

  “Okay. Happy. They bought another goat and adopted a third dog.” She shakes her head and taps the monitor of her computer. “Speaking of parents . . .”

  “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

  “I was going to ask about Sophia.” Brynn types as if someone is chasing her. “As I said earlier, your mom just left the voicemail. Call whenever you have time.”

  “It’s not my birthday or Christmas,” I protest, closing my eyes. Why would she call? Do I want to know? “Sophia’s prognosis was devastating. She feels strong enough to go on a trip with her sister, though.”

  Brynn nods. “She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t want to leave the party until it’s over.”

  “Anderson doesn’t like the trip idea, but there’s nothing he can do. He respects his mother’s wishes.”

  “Are you going to share what’s going on between the two of you?” Her eyes don’t waver away from the monitor. “Look, unlike Scarlett, I don’t pry. I prefer to wait until you’re ready. But honestly, you’re scaring the fuck out of me.”

  “How so?” I play dumb because I’m scaring the fuck out of myself. Why am I reacting to another man? Anderson scares me. He pushed my walls, broke the steel barrier protecting my heart and is climbing into it slowly.

  “You’re back to drinking more than your fair share. Your mood swings are off the charts, and you’re not taking your medication.” She continues her task as she talks. “You know that I hate to sound like the responsible adult. But I will if you need me to, just say the word. Have you considered going back to your therapist?”

  Brynn is right. I understand my triggers. I know how to reduce them but haven’t done anything to help myself. However, I haven’t had as many episodes as I used to have when I’m not medicated.

  “We kissed.” I let out those words with one weak breath.

  The sound of her hand slamming her mechanical keyboard makes me jump. Her eyes are now on me. “You just broke up with Heath, and then went with Anderson on a trip and kissed—any sex involved?”

  My breath catches as I recall the kisses, the ache between my legs and my soul begging for more. Those weren’t ordinary kisses. They were mind blowing, better than ice cream with M&M’s. The best I’ve ever had. Which scares the fuck out of me. The best I’ve ever had is supposed to be Michael. Mike, the sweet boy who promised to love me forever. A man I love beyond realms, and who I hope to see again someday. I can’t possibly like Anderson’s hands or enjoy his lips, let alone let him occupy a space in my heart that’s designated for Mike.

  “I hate that I like being around him, he makes me . . . feel.”

  Feel different.

  Feel cherished.

  Feel alive.

  “Progress.” Brynn moves away from her computer, her blue eyes holding mine. I hold my breath, hoping she stops inquiring about him. This isn’t the time for a deep conversation. At least not about him. I’m not ready. “Have you spoken with Scarlett?”

  “Why?” Thinking about my other best friend terrifies me. Is she going to ask me about Michael’s party? No, she’s going to take all the memories I have left of him with her. The fear’s enveloping me and freezing me into place. My stomach is ready to hurl my dinner, and the adrenaline is rushing through my veins.

  “She wanted to talk to you before she left for the ranch, you ignored her.” Brynn takes off her earring. “Last night we were on the phone and she asked me to give you a message, ‘have her call me.’ She’s hurting. Michael’s birthday is coming up. Her best friend and sister is ignoring her, and her mother is . . . being a bitch.”

  “Do you think she’s trying to hook up with Anderson?”

  “Ah, so we circle back to Anderson,” she plays with the hoop earring in her hand. “Scarlett wouldn’t cross the line if you tell her that you’re interested in him. Is that why you’re avoiding her?”

  I shake my head, sipping some tea. I’m avoiding her eyes. She can see through me. How can I explain to her that I’m not ready to discuss Anderson without saying it out loud? Scarlett loved Michael more than anything. What would she say if I tell her I’m falling for someone else? Fuck, am I falling? “Things were great before she visited. I had handled the upcoming dates well until she came back.”

  Lame, lame, lame, Aspen. At least deliver a better lie.

  “Then?” She crosses her arms. One perfectly styled eyebrow raises in a “you can do better than that” gesture.

  Scoffing, I lower my gaze to my toes. The sight of chipped nail polish is better than her expectant glare. Explain, Aspen, give me more.

  “All the emotions in the
world swirl inside me. I’m afraid of . . . Scarlett brought Mike’s memories,” I confess, lifting my head. Her arms crossed, waiting for more.

  “Then, there’s Anderson and all these . . .” I gesture my hand around myself. I’m doing a poor job explaining the fluttering wings inside my stomach, the fast thumping of my heart when he’s around. My breath catches when he touches my skin, sending an unknown warm that flickers a fire inside me. Nope. That is a conversation one has during a slumber party at fifteen while braiding each other’s hair. It’s not an adult conversation that you with your best friend during your early thirties. “There’s no name to describe it, not now. I can’t talk about it.”

  “What’s the plan? Open the doors to this new thing or drink yourself into a state of forgetfulness?”

  I hate that she knows me so well. Of course she does. We’ve been living together for almost fifteen years. That’s a lifetime.

  “Do I want to be in an inebriated state of bliss?” I smile, knowing what she’s asking but circling a little before I touch what she wants. “Yes! The buzzy feeling and the numbing is delicious. Just as much as when I spend hours working. And I have no room to think about anything.”

  Lifting my boo-boo fixer mug, I flash another smile. “See this? It’s tea. I decided to drink tea instead of whiskey.” Sipping once more, I straighten my back and splay it all for her. “I’m not saying Anderson and I are perfect for each other. But I think we’re good for now. My plan is to protect my heart while enjoying his company.”

  “Fuck. Are you listening to yourself?” She rolls her eyes. “Give yourself a chance to live.”

  “Says the woman who—”

  “Please, don’t bring my bad dating habits into the conversation,” she warns me giving me the stink eye. “You can’t possibly compare my bad luck to your . . . what is it? You’re closed off from the world. Michael died eleven years ago, honey. He wouldn’t want to see you wasting away.”

  Sounds simple; convincing myself to find someone else isn’t, though. I feel like a storm is coming my way, and I’m afraid this one might be bigger than the one I endured with Michael. Allowing myself to feel isn’t about Anderson, Michael, or anyone else. It’s about giving me a chance to live—to experience something new, different. “I decided that I’ll find the balance, and learn to sail through my emotions. Locking everything away only causes mayhem. Exercising control by feeding the void wasn’t smart.”

  Brynn’s lips hide a smile.

  I give her a “maybe I’m growing up” glance. “I’ll go back to therapy, continue my medication and learn to cope in a less bitchy way.”

  “You’re not a bitch,” she reminds me. “There’s emotionless and there’s being a bitch. I’d punch you in the face if you were the latter.”

  “As always, there’s so much love coming from you.”

  “I’m that amazing,” she says, jokingly. “Are you considering quitting the hospital?”

  “Whatever we do, it’d be a mutual decision, Brynn. I don’t go anywhere without you.” The thought of opening a pediatric practice is growing on me. I’m not ready to voice it. There’re many things I’ve neglected throughout the years, including myself. It feels like the right time to take the reins of my personal life while deciding the future of my professional career.

  “Give me a few weeks to get ahold of myself, Brynn. Then you can ask me what we’re doing next.”

  “Fine.” Brynn brushes her dark hair from her face. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be done. We can have a midnight snack before we hit the pillow.”

  Me: I got your message. I’ll call you soon.

  “There, I’ll call my mother,” I say to no one, slipping the phone into my pocket. Item one is done. I check it off me a to-do list for this morning. I have three weeks of vacation. Twenty-one days to rest, relax, and I’m already hyperventilating. What do I do with my free time? Brynn suggested cleaning the house. I finished that three hours ago. Afterwards I walked Hugo. Then I made a to-do list. Going to the hardware store to choose a new color for my room is number five. After that is cataloging the cookbooks we never used; emptying and cleaning the fridge is at the bottom of the list. Text Austin is second.

  I haven’t spoken to my brother in a couple of weeks. Our relationship is nothing like the one I have with Mom. I want to believe we’re close. Not tight, but if either one of us needs to bury a body or is sick, the other would be rushing over with a shovel or chicken soup in hand. We have a close connection, even when we don’t see each other often. It’s a shame since we live only an hour away from each other. Our schedules never coincide, my night owl schedule clashes with his nine to five.

  Me: U alive?

  Austin: Are you alive? Can you notice the difference between these questions?

  I chuckle. I love to tease him. Abbreviating or shortening sentences while texting is something he hates.

  Me: That’s not an answer, Aussie. Are you available?

  Austin: For you, monkey, always.

  “I’m not a monkey,” I protest before he can say hello.

  “What’s up, squirt?” He sounds so close to Bugs Bunny the way he says it. He started doing it after I graduated med school.

  “Not much, butthead.” I stick out my tongue, even when I know he can’t see me. “Just checking in with the big brother. How are you doing?”

  “It’s Wednesday, one in the afternoon and you’re not working,” he states the obvious, sighing. “Should I worry?”

  “No, I took some time off.”

  “What’s going on, sweetheart?” He’s probably jumping in his car, ready to drive toward me. “Talk to me, Aspy.”

  “I went to San Jose with my neighbor. We spent less time there than we thought. And now I have three weeks off.”

  “Nice start, now give me the whole story.” He sounds bossy, worried. “Aspen, you need to talk to someone. I’m always here for you, what’s going on?”

  Austin is a great listener. I don’t remember if he’s always been like that, or if it happened as he started to work as a counselor. Either way, he never judges me. He just tries his best to guide me through the mayhem inside my head. My therapists have never been as easy going or understanding as he is with me. Sitting on the couch, I close my eyes and talk for what feels like hours about my life. The beginning is easy, Sophia is sick. Getting to the present is not a smooth ride.

  “Deep breaths, Aspy,” Austin reminds me as I stir toward the end of the story. “Brooklyn is right, you have to find a new place. You’re incredibly dedicated. The hospital will lose one of the best, but you’re pushing yourself too much. We can’t save everyone.”

  “I can’t leave it behind.”

  “Tell me about this guy, Anderson. Is he hot?”

  “Hot is putting it mildly.” Between laughs and chuckles, I tell him more about Anderson.

  “How hot is his friend?” Austin’s voice sounds flirty. “We could double date, you know.”

  Thinking hard about him, I can’t come up with details. Hair color, eye color . . . Kevin is handsome, well-built. Tattoos dance all over his arms. As Anderson said, he’s his partner. I felt a pang of jealousy and relief. Liking and being attracted to a taken man, a gay man in a commited relationship, was perfectly fine. Acceptable.

  “Hm. He’s good looking, I think.” I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling. “I couldn’t see too well with the lights. So, that’s the story. These next days are going to kill me. There’s nothing to do and too much to ponder about.”

  “Have you spoken to Mom?” He changes the subject.

  “No.”

  “It’s been years, Aspen. Try talking to her, she has some news.”

  “What news?”

  “You have to talk to her, Aspen,” he insists. “Please, help me.”

  “After things settle.” I sigh. He’s right. Dad is gone. She’s the only parent I have, but can I deal with her while I’m already having a hard time with everything that’s happening? “When can I see you
?”

  “Pick a day and I’ll take you to dinner,” he offers. “Friday. Let’s go out on Friday, you can come and crash at my place afterward.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I tell him. “Thank you for listening.”

  ASPEN

  UNCERTAINTY, OH HOW much I hate the fuck out of you. I hate this—the wait, the lack of news. No news is good news. Anderson left on Tuesday, right after we arrived from San Jose. It’s Thursday night, and he’s not back yet.

  “It could take a few days,” he said, kissing my lips. “When I’m back we’ll talk about us, Aspen.”

  “Are you okay?” Brynn pauses Breaking Bad, which is making me anxious. Anderson denies it, but he’s been close to Scarlett’s ranch. It’s where drug dealers and cartels swarm, killing law enforcement without batting an eyelash. I nod. “Because you’re shredding your organizer.”

  I look down at my lap. My hands are fidgeting with the pages, tearing them up.

  Anderson: Are you asleep?

  The muscles of my back relax, knowing the mission is over. Wherever he is, he’s safe.

  Me: No, where are you?

  The doorbell rings, I jump off the couch running toward the entry and swinging the door open.

  Anderson stands in front of me. He has a few bruises on his face, but his sexy grin is stamped on those full lips. “You’re okay.” Finally, I exhale.

  He pulls me into his embrace, my feet leaving the floor for a few seconds. “I fucking missed you.”

  As he settles my feet back on the floor, my hands reach for his face. I stand on my tiptoes as I lower his lips to mine. “Welcome home,” I murmur, kissing him deeply, letting go of the anguish and worry.

  “So this is what the fuss is all about. Having someone waiting for you after a mission.” Anderson’s hands rest on my hips, he pushes me against the wall, his erection pressing into my waist. The kiss intensifies, the urgency increases with every second that passes. This isn’t just a casual hello. At least for me it’s a, “don’t leave me without news for this long, the past couple of days were hell without you.”