Forever Falling

by Paige Randall

“Oh shit, do I fucking smell?” he asks, sniffing himself wherever he can reach.

  She smiles because she can get him going so effortlessly. “No, but you look a bit scruffy.” She scratches his new beard. “Is this intentional? I can shave you.”

  “It is very intentional. I’m updating my look.” He tells her about John being the inspiration for the longer hair and the new beard.

  “Do you have a man crush on your new brother-in-law?” She stuffs a piece of bacon into her mouth.

  “So what if I do?” He stuffs his own bacon in.

  “Show me a picture. My guess is you have more than a few selfies in there.” She points to his mobile. Beautiful, arrogant men pose for a lot of photos.

  “Are you bloody mocking me?” His voice is higher than usual. He stops chewing his mouthful of eggs and waits for an answer.

  She shrugs. “You do though, don’t you? I bet you have over thirty selfies from your visit with your sister.”

  “My god you are a vile bitch.” Even though the words are harsh, their tone isn’t.

  He hands her the phone and she scrolls through countless photos of his nieces, three sunrises, a table laden with shellfish and a crowd of people around it laughing and drinking (tilted sideways), a boat, six of John and Anna (she looks at those for a long time), and exactly four selfies -- one with Callum and Anna, one of Callum and John fishing, two of Callum with John, Anna and their girls.

  “Okay I was off by 26.”

  “Bitch,” he says tucking the phone back into his pocket.

  “You just found them?” she asks. “You look like you have known each other for years. I can see the love between you in every picture. Your sister is beautiful. John’s not too bad either. Definitely a bromance there.”

  Callum tells Victoria about that day when he got the call from his mother. Facebook changed his life. Anna’s birth mother, Ellen, had been looking for her daughter for years. Anna’s best friend, Pemberley, found Ellen. Ellen and Callum’s mother were old friends from their childhood days in England and had connected on Facebook years before. When Callum got the call that he had a sister, he almost dropped dead on the spot. He was in bed with Elizabeth at the time, trying to talk her into running off with him. The more she resisted, the more he pleaded.

  “What a blessing Callum. I can see how much they all mean to you. You are very lucky.”

  “Am I? I think my life would have been very different with a sister. Hers certainly would have been better with us. Her parents were monsters.” He tosses his fork onto the plate. This subject always gets him angry. “Sometimes all I can think about is the time I missed with her. She is six years older than me. I missed my whole life with her”

  “No Callum. You have your whole life ahead of you.” She lays her hand over his and he pulls his back fast.

  “Jesus Christ, Callum. I wasn’t making a pass at you,” she says indignantly.

  He doesn’t bother to answer, just frowns in her direction.

  “Oh that.” She keeps her eyes on her plate. “Good eggs.”

  “Fuck the eggs. Are you tossing me about, Victoria?” he asks.

  “I don’t even know what that means. You know sometimes you speak much more English than others. You accent isn’t very balanced.”

  “Oh shut it about my accent,” he tries to get the conversation back on track.

  “See?” she says determined to keep the conversation off track.

  “Are you wanting to get me in the sack or not? Just out with it. Don’t play the kissy in the kitchen game with me.”

  Her face goes six shades of red. “No.”

  “Just a bit of a flirt then?”

  She nods, then shakes her head. “I’m lying. Yes. Wait a second. Why am I being defensive? Weren’t you the one fondling my leg just a few days ago? That felt pretty flirty.” She deepens her voice and fakes his British accent, “I’m thinking about doing things to you with my mouth.”

  He smiles. “So no or yes. I’m confused.”

  “You are too scruffy. No.”

  “What if I shower? You might find me irresistible then.”

  She takes an unnecessarily large bite of sausage, “I’ll let you know.”

  Because she is funny, he lets her off the hook.

  Driving back to Park City, Callum can’t help but fixate on the time he missed with Anna. As the mountains pass by the car window he thinks about those lost years. Everything would have been different with a sister in his life. Laila and Daisy would never have happened. He isn’t sure why, but he thinks Anna could have saved him from that. Especially the end. It ended badly.

  One day they were gone. It was a Tuesday, not even a Saturday or Sunday when events of note typically occur. Callum rode his bike over as he did every morning when his mother left for work. They always left the door ajar for him. They liked him to find them in interesting predicaments. Showering together, tied to the bed, dressed up as vampires (there was a lot of biting that day). Just once, with two other men. That day was the worst day, the day he hurt himself.

  On this day, the door was locked and there was no response to his knocking or his fist banging the wood. He jumped off the step, walked around to the back, climbed the red wooden fence into the garden. He knocked a window out with his elbow and turned the lock on the back door.

  Dresser drawers hung open as empty as his heart. Closets held nothing more than hangers and lies. The bed was stripped as bare as his soul. In the kitchen, only his apron remained. It was carefully laid over a kitchen chair, striped in blue and white. Callum searched the apartment. He opened every closet, every cabinet, overturned every lamp, every table. He pulled every painting off the wall and put his knee through each canvas. Surely they left him a clue, some way to find them. There was nothing. He folded the apron and tied it into a neat package and took it with him.

  He pretended to be sick for the next few days to avoid facing his mother and Eric. Finally, he went back to school.

  Before classes started, Callum got caught drinking scotch alone in an empty classroom. Headmaster Lester had been supervising young boys for most of his career. He was most disturbed that Callum was alone, isolating himself. Callum sat by a shuttered window in headmaster’s office fiddling with the heel of his shoe.

  “Mr. Townsend, you know we do not tolerate this type of behavior on campus. This is grounds for expulsion. But I think you know that and expulsion seems a rather simplistic solution.”

  Callum opened and closed his mouth making a lip smacking sound which Mr. Lister chose to ignore.

  “Answer me a question, Mr. Townsend. Why were you drinking alone?”

  Callum of course shrugged.

  “That is not an answer, Mr. Townsend. Vocalize a response immediately.”

  Headmaster knew how to use a tone to elicit action. “I wanted to be alone. These guys are all assholes.”

  “I struggle to disagree, but you enjoyed those assholes very much last year.”

  Callum shrugged again.

  “Very well. I will not expel you because that would be a punishment more to your poor mother than to you. But your punishment will be severe.”

  “What is it?” Callum asked. “Headmaster Lister,” he added as an afterthought.

  “If you don’t want to spend time with the boys, we’ll eliminate your participation in all fall programs, athletic and otherwise. You’ll work outside of class time.”

  “The kitchen,” Callum volunteered.

  “You are volunteering to work in the kitchen?” This surprised Mr. Lester. He could see a tiny spark in Callum’s eyes at the thought of working in the kitchen. Heaven knew this poor boy didn’t have much of an academic career ahead. And with no father to guide him, Lister could not send him home. Kitchen work would be good for him.

  The hole in Callum’s heart filled a little when he cooked. There wasn’t a lot of actual cooking, but the chef let him do prep. Peeling five hundred potatoes was mind numbing and comforting at the same time. The work offered
him freedoms the other boys didn’t have. He traveled into town on the bus every week for one supply or another.

  He met a girl at the grocery with short blonde hair and a nose ring. On his second visit, he talked her into the alley behind the store. When she tried to kiss him, he turned his face from hers. She tasted like an ashtray. But he fingered her and as soon as she came, he pushed her to her knees. She blew him while a trash truck backed into the top of the alley. When she used an index finger to wipe the overflow from the side of her mouth, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. For the first time, he knew that he could live without Daisy and Laila.

  Victoria drops him off at the house and heads to work. He takes a long hot shower, washing his incision with care, feeling like shit. My god, I’m a fuck of a mess. He leans against the shower wall and tries not to think about how he got here. He is suddenly drowning in self-pity, ruminating over the lost years with Anna and the years he would rather were lost with Laila, Daisy and Elizabeth.

  He tries to avoid the regret. He fucking hates regret. Make your decision and live with the consequences. But he does have regrets about Elizabeth. He was so sure telling Jeremy would solve all of his problems. Jeremy, ever the gentleman, would bow out, and Elizabeth and Callum would live happily ever after.

  Callum knew Jeremy his whole life. They were side by side for season after season of every sport. Their families were best friends. They travelled together, touring Europe through their teen years. After school, Jeremy went on to university and Callum worked his way through restaurants. He left Manchester and found good work in London, apprenticing wherever he could. Callum learned cooking through and through, but his lack of schooling was going to hold him back. He couldn’t manage the business end, but he was extraordinary in the kitchen. In the four years Jeremy was mostly away earning a Finance degree, Callum made a good name for himself as an innovator in some of the best kitchens in London.

  When Jeremy moved to London after graduation, suddenly there was Elizabeth. They had met in school. When Callum first met her, he didn’t think much of her. She was attractive but bitchy. Long dark hair, usually piled on her head. Her eyes were dark and a little mean, often covered in horn rimmed glasses. Her skin was fair and the contrast gave her a slight vulnerability that was interesting. She smiled all the time, but she wasn’t funny and she always seemed a little detached. She had a lot of confidence for a woman her age. She acted like she could do anything and do it very well. She was usually right.

  Before long there was a wedding and then they were the three fucking Muskateers, opening a restaurant together. Elizabeth had her hand in every pot. She designed the restaurant and managed the business end while Callum ran the kitchen. Jeremy worked a more traditional banking job to keep the rent paid. They all shared an apartment to save money since they were never home anyway.

  It took four years, but Mise En Place took off. The name is a French term for organization in the kitchen. Callum’s dyslexia made kitchen organization his highest priority. This was the place where he could finally see everything he needed to see, how he needed to see it. He had complete control and designed a world where he could create magic. And he did. There were Michelin stars and press and Mise had a month long waiting list and celebrities clamoring their way in.

  The water runs cold and Callum gets out of the shower gingerly, wrapping himself in a soft, white towel. He uses his forearm to clear the mirror of steam, rubs his hand over his face and decides the beard is working for him. The beard makes him think of John and Anna and brings him back to the present and then he is grateful. A more likely scenario would have been never finding his sister. Finding her at thirty is far better than never. He feels better.

  He dresses in jeans and a collared shirt, then puts on his ski jacket and very slowly makes his way down Victoria’s driveway, one house over and up Lacey’s driveway. They met this morning on the way to the ortho. Lacey gave Callum an enthusiastic anything you need.

  Lacey opens the door before he knocks.

  “Hey.” She stretches the three letter word into three syllables.

  “Hi Lacey.”

  She swings a little boy on her hip.

  “I was wondering if you might possibly be going anywhere near a grocery today?”

  “I sure am. Can I pick up a few things for you?” she offers.

  He has a brief thought about lonely women with husbands overseas, but dismisses it before it even fully forms in his brain.

  “Could I ride along with you?” He is ready to cook and he can’t just hand over an ingredient list.

  “Sure Callum. Give me an hour and I’ll pick you up?” She doesn’t seem to mind the idea of spending the afternoon with him. “I just need to be back by three-thirty to meet the bus.”

  He thanks her profusely and tries not to slide back down her driveway.

  “Be careful! Can I drive you back?”

  He waves, indicating he is good and she picks him up an hour later.

  Walking the aisles of an American grocery store is a bizarre experience for Callum. He has hardly grocery shopped in years. He has eaten most of his meals in restaurants, his own or friend’s, since he can remember. Selecting food for a restaurant isn’t anything like this. There are more choices than he expected. He pushes a small cart along while he crutches through the store. He and Lacey go their own ways. She spends more time with cereals and canned food. He is drawn to produce and meats. There is a lot of meat here.

  When Lacey drops him off, he thanks her and pats the boy’s head for good measure. After putting away his groceries, he pushes Victoria’s laundry through so he can do his own. He wants to close his eyes when he moves her laundry from the washer to the dryer, but he doesn’t. He hangs anything he finds questionable for the dryer on a garment rack lined with wooden hangers and he borrows the lacy white bra that was already hung and is dry. He loads the washer with his own things. He’ll need to get more clothes eventually. Marina will be home in thirty minutes. He takes Hunger Games to his bedroom along with the white lacy bra. He really does feel better.

  When Marina gets home, he tells her to get her homework done, so they can cook a special dinner for her Mom. By the time she is finished, he has the table set. He bought long blue candles and found a table cloth in the linen closet in Victoria’s bedroom. He has suddenly become a snooper. There was a locked box on the top shelf in the back. He considers picking the lock another day but is pretty sure he knows the contents already. Way to go Victoria! The thought alone has his mind in the gutter. He did replace the white bra with Victoria’s other unmentionables.

  Marina walks into the kitchen and admires the table. “Looks nice in here.” She smooths a wrinkle from the edge of the blue and green floral cloth. She looks a little downtrodden.

  “Tough day?” he asks.

  She shrugs off the question and asks what they are cooking. He shows her two large, still kicking, lobsters that they are going to use to top off a penne. She has never done this before, but she is game. They set out vegetables and start preparing the sauce.

  He shows her how to hold the knife properly and, after a little practice, she slices the onions and garlic paper thin.

  “You are a good cook Marina. You learn fast.”

  She smiles, but not many words are coming out of her today. “You okay,” he asks wondering when he started caring. “And don’t shrug please. Chefs never shrug.”

  She has tears in her eyes, but they might be from the onions. He’s not sure and he can’t get her to say anything.

  “What is it Marina?” he asks more insistently. When she still doesn’t answer, he takes the knife from her hand, sets it down on the cutting board, and pulls her to sit down next to him at the table.

  He waits. She covers her face with her hands and her tears flow silently.

  “My God did something happen today?” He has no idea what to do. “Should I call your mother?”

  “No!” That gets her going. “Don’t tell h
er anything about this!” She is overly emphatic, but at least she is talking.

  He hands her a clean dish towel to wipe her face.

  “Then tell me.”

  She takes a deep breath and what she says next stops his own breath. “Callum, I think I’m a rape baby.”

  “What does that even mean?” he asks, understanding perfectly what that means. He is buying time.

  “I think my mother was raped and she got pregnant with me. I think my father was a rapist.” Tears roll down her face and he pulls her onto his knee, trying to decide if this is what people do. She weeps into his shirt and he has no idea what to say.

  “Marina, why would you think that?” seems like a start.

  She tells him about sex ed at school today. They covered a “No Means No” segment and there was a speaker from a rape crisis center. She shared statistics about date rape.

  “Callum, my mother has literally never told me a thing about my father. I have never seen a single picture. I don’t know his name. She left Asheville before she had me and never went back. She tells me she fought with her Dad, but there is more. I know there is.”

  “Maybe she loved your father so much that it hurts her to remember. Maybe he was in the service and died in Afghanistan or maybe it was a one night stand and she didn’t know him.” He stops talking. A daughter shouldn’t be thinking about her mother having a one night stand.

  “She would tell me that. She is really open. And Callum she never ever dates. She pretends to, but she doesn’t go near men.”

  “Maybe she is a lesbian.” He’s not sure he is helping.

  “She’s not a lesbian. Callum, I just know this is it. I’m a rape baby.”

  He smooths his hand on her back while she cries and thinks what she is saying might not be wrong. “You should talk to her about it.”

  “No Callum. Not now. We’re going to Asheville. So much has happened with me and then you. I don’t want to do this to her. If she was raped…” She can’t go on talking through the tears.

  “Listen Marina. Worst case scenario is that you are right.”