It’s a wave.
“Read the inscription.”
I turn the pendant over. Etched on the back of the delicate central icon are words that bring instant tears to my eyes.
My perfect wave.
I look up at Leo. At his soft smile and eyes that dance with hope and hesitance.
“Do you like it?”
I launch myself into his waiting arms.
43
a perfect wave
The afternoon before Christmas Eve, Kinsey, Nix, and I head to the Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade for shopping and to sit on Santa’s lap—because we’re only pretending to be well-adjusted adults. After twenty minutes in line, however, I’m as miserable as the screaming kids who don’t want to sit on a strange, bearded man’s lap.
“Whose idea was this?” I grumble, wincing at a particularly shrill scream.
“Come on,” Nix cajoles, “don’t give up! We’re starting new traditions.”
Kinsey looks between us, weighing Nix’s excitement with my angst. She gives Nix a kiss and takes my arm. “Mia and I are going to grab some hot chocolate. We’ll be right back. Text me if you get near the front of the line.”
“Okay, babe.” He points a finger at me. “No bailing.”
I laugh. “Fine, fine.”
Escaping the press of stressed parents and traumatized toddlers, we beeline for the nearby Starbucks. I can already taste a peppermint hot chocolate, and from Kinsey’s eager steps, her sweet tooth rivals mine. The atmosphere is festive, the air cool and sun mellow, and despite an undercurrent of holiday anxiety, the mood of the crowd is celebratory. It reminds me powerfully of my childhood, of holding my mom’s hand as we munched on candy canes and shopped for last-minute gifts for Dad and Jameson.
Thinking about her, I feel something I haven’t in decades—the insulation and safety of her presence, the cocoon of her unconditional love. Hot, heavy emotion fills my chest and prickles behind my eyes.
Hi, Mom. I miss you.
Lost in my private communion with the memory of my mother, I don’t notice immediately when Kinsey stops. Only when her grip on my arm yanks me back do I jackknife into the present.
“What the hell, Kins?” I glance swiftly around, then at her face. Her expression is pinched, the color gone from her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
“Ten o’clock,” she says stiffly.
I follow the path of her gaze to the small patio outside Starbucks. People pass across my line of vision, giving me brief, startlingly clear glimpses of three men occupying a corner table. One man laughs, the other two grimace. All three gesture, conversing in a light, familiar way. Like they’ve known each other for years.
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it makes sense.
Everything slows and dims—the crowds, the noise, the music from a nearby busker. Even the twinkling of Christmas lights on stores and lamp poles fade away.
Kinsey’s face floats before mine, her eyes wide and concerned. “Mia? What do you want me to do?”
My fingers curl, the woven strap of a shopping bag digging into my palm. In the bag is a last-minute gag gift for Jameson and goodies for Leo’s and Vincent’s stockings.
I swallow. Focus on Kinsey’s face. “Leo,” I rasp, my eyes jerking back to him.
As though speaking his name ignites dark magic, Leo’s eyes suddenly find me amidst the crowd. They widen. His olive skin goes ashen. Despite the chaos of sound around us, I hear the metal-on-cement scrape of his chair as he stands fast. The chair falls, clashing against iron railings. The other two men jerk, half-rising, both of them talking at once.
“Why is your brother having coffee with Leo?” growls Kinsey. “And more importantly, what the actual fuck is your ex-fiancé doing with them?”
My lips are cold. “I-I don’t know.”
Leo scrambles around tables, angling for the exit of the patio and, presumably, me. Jameson looks around wildly and finally sees me. My twin’s lips shape my name, his features collapsing into lines of misery.
“Amelia!” shouts Leo.
Eyes blazing, Kinsey snaps, “Go back to Nix and tell him we’re leaving. I’ll meet you at the car. Go, Mia!”
Grateful beyond words for the direction, I go, running on numb feet back toward the line for Santa. Nix sees me coming, his welcoming smile instantly falling. Wheezing for air, I stumble into his arms.
“Nine-one-one. We have to go,” I pant. “Kinsey will meet us at the car.”
He’s instantly alert and ready for violence. “Is she safe?” he snaps.
I nod. “Completely. She’ll be right behind us.”
“All right.” He scans my face. “Do we need to run?”
I think of Leo as I last saw him, distraught and pushing toward me.
“Yes,” I say shrilly. “Yes, please.”
So we run.
Hindsight is everything, isn’t it?
Late that night, as I lie sleepless in Kinsey’s guest bed with puffy eyes, I think about Oasis. About Leo, my brother, and Kevin. It’s like fitting together pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know existed, and the picture it creates is as mystifying as it is crippling.
“I can hold my breath for two minutes and twenty-three seconds.”
“Yes, I know.”
My eyes narrow. “Fucking Jameson. Did he tell you my favorite food, too?”
“Ceviche,” he says with a twitch of lips.
I feel my own mouth curve. “Favorite movie?”
He grimaces. “Reservoir Dogs.”
All the personal details, large and small, that Leo knew about me. How many times I’ve gone skydiving, the details of my sealed record, my most embarrassing moment, high school boyfriend, stunts and pranks spanning years… On and on.
Never once did it occur to me that there was something suspicious about the level of his knowledge. How he seemed to have it all memorized, reciting it with no hesitation or reference to notes. I always thought he was just that good. And that Jameson was a weirdo and had secretly compiled a dossier on my life.
Even from the minimal interaction I witnessed today, it’s obvious Jameson and Leo have known each other for a long time.
How? How did I miss it?
Sadly, the answer is Easily.
I was a shitty sister and friend to my brother for the bulk of our twenties. Our social lives never overlapped, and I was largely apathetic about what was going on in his life.
While he was going to law school, I was doing shots in Cabo on a stranger’s yacht, backpacking Machu Picchu, and heli-skiing in Canada with some people I met surfing. While he was getting a Big Boy job and starting a 401K, I was making ends meet waitressing and picking up odd jobs like working on pot farms during harvest months.
“It was a fucking nightmare getting you into this place, Mia. You have no idea the convincing I had to—”
“So, uh, you looked pretty cozy with your therapist in the car. You guys were all whispers and cuddles most of the drive.”
What I don’t understand—can’t understand—is why neither of them simply told me. Did Leo think my treatment would suffer if I knew he was friends with my brother? Would it have suffered?
Probably.
But why keep it from me after the fact? Does Jameson know I’ve been dating and sleeping with Leo for almost two months? Does Kevin know? And where the fuck does Kevin come into this scenario?
My phone started blowing up as soon as Nix and I reached the car. After reading the first few desperate, pleading texts from Leo, I turned the device off and gave it to Nix. It was either that or put it under the back tire to be destroyed. When Kinsey slipped into the passenger seat minutes later, she didn’t speak, just nodded at Nix, who put the car in gear and got us out of there.
I don’t know what Leo told her. She brought it up when we got back to her place, but I shook my head and walked from the room. Though a part of me wants to devour whatever explanations might be waiting, the rest of me is too angry to listen.
“What kind of secret?”
“Your biggest one.”
“I don’t think so.”
Of course, what hurts the most is the proof that Leo isn’t who I thought he was—someone I trusted implicitly, someone I believed in with all my heart. The last weeks weren’t perfect like I thought. They were built on a cracked foundation. As I embraced and reveled in the transparency of our intimacy, he was the one wearing a mask.
“You’re a very good liar, but you’d do well to remember I’m a better one.”
He is a better liar.
The best.
44
bird’s-eye view
I want to quit my job and move far, far away.
God, how I want to run.
But it’s Christmas Eve. My dad and Jessica will be crushed if I no-show for dinner.
Kinsey and Nix are still sleeping when I use the house phone to call a cab. I leave my phone on the kitchen counter with a note telling them I’ll check in later.
At home, I find Ferdi curled on my comforter. I lie beside him and stroke his ears, his purrs vibrating through my fingers. Tears slip from my eyes as I realize how much I love the little beast.
“I’m getting you a collar for Christmas,” I whisper into his fur. “Don’t leave me, Ferdi.”
He mewls and begins sandpapering my chin with his tongue. His breath is horrendous, but his spontaneous affection makes up for it. Cat therapy for the win.
I shower. Get dressed. Drink tea and manage to stomach a piece of toast. I finish wrapping Dad’s and Jessica’s presents. I even wrap the gift I picked up for Jameson yesterday. Right now I may want to cover him in honey and throw a beehive at him, but he’s still my brother.
Packing everything in mismatched shopping bags, I kiss Ferdi goodbye and grab my coat and keys. Then I realize I don’t have a phone. Hailing a cab in L.A. doesn’t really happen unless you’re outside a nightclub at closing time.
Thankfully, the third neighbor whose front door I accost is home. Twenty minutes later, I’m in the back of a cab that smells like day-old Chinese food. I really need to get a car.
Or move to New York City. Or maybe Paris or Amsterdam.
By the time I’m dropped off at Dad’s, the sun is setting. The house sparkles with hundreds of professionally strung lights. Palm trees boast alternating red and white strands and a massive, blow-up Santa wavers on the front lawn.
I haven’t seen a display like this since my mom was alive, and for a few minutes I stand in the driveway, taking it all in. How grateful I am to Jessica. How lucky I am to have a relationship with my father.
“Mom would have loved this, huh?” asks Jameson, walking up beside me.
I nod.
“Can we talk, Meerkat?”
The front door opens on Dad and Jessica. They’re wearing matching Christmas sweaters and Santa hats and grinning from ear to ear.
Sighing, I look at Jameson. “Not now. Maybe later. Maybe.”
He nods. “Whenever you’re ready. Want me to take those bags?”
I hesitate, then hand them over. They’re heavy. “Thanks.”
He peeks into one of the bags. “Is there anything here for me, or did you burn my presents?”
My smile is tiny, but it’s real. “Burned them.”
He grins. “I figured.”
“Come on, you two!” shouts our dad. “We have the karaoke machine up and running!”
“Is he kidding?” whispers Jameson as we walk toward the front door. “Tell me he’s kidding.”
I shake my head, grinning in spite of myself. “I think he’s making up for lost time, Jaybird. I see rivers of eggnog and black-and-white movies in our immediate future.”
My guess is right on the money.
It’s late. Dad and Jessica are in bed. Jameson and I cleaned the kitchen and are presently on the living room couch. Since we’re staying the night, we’ve decided to relive a preteen catastrophe and get drunk on pilfered Peppermint Schnapps. So far I’ve managed to avoid being sucked into sad-drunk territory, but the risk rises with every sip.
Eventually we run out of small talk. Quiet lasts less than a minute before Jameson says, “Ready?”
Am I?
“I don’t know. I might be too drunk for this.”
“I can tell you again tomorrow.”
I straighten from my slump, rubbing my face roughly. “Fuck, fine. Tell me.”
Jameson mirrors my position, sitting up and facing me. “I’m not going to speak for Leo or Kevin, just myself.” When I nod, he continues mutedly, “When you had the accident earlier this year, I thought I was going to lose you. Not necessarily physically, but in every other way that counts. You’d been slipping away for years, and all I could do was watch it happen. I never knew how to help you. Are you with me?”
I nod, resisting the urge to grab his hand.
“Leo was one of the founding players in our hockey league. He started the Ice Holes a few years before I joined. About five years ago, we went for drinks after a game. It was right after you called from a shoddy phone-line in Mexico and told me about your parachute not opening in the Cave of Swallows. I was upset, to say the least. Before I knew it, I’d dumped everything on Leo. I didn’t know then what his line of work was, just that he was a really good listener. He has a way of simplifying things, of bringing them into perspective.”
“What did he tell you?” I whisper.
Jameson cracks a smile. “That you could benefit from therapy.”
Even though I don’t want to, I laugh. “Figures.”
“Anyway, fast-forward another year and you showed up at a game. At this point Leo and I had a running joke that I owed him money for all our casual therapy sessions. Most of them were just while hanging out. We talked a lot about you, about how I could maintain healthy boundaries and not get caught up in worry or fear.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jesus. I’m suddenly grateful I’m three sheets to the wind.”
“Ditto.” Jameson sighs. “This isn’t easy. There are certain things I conveniently ignored, like the look on Leo’s face when I pointed you out in the crowd.”
“Do you mean…” I can’t get the words out.
He nods. “Dude was smitten.”
I shake my head helplessly. “I never even saw him. Didn’t meet him after the game.”
Jameson shrugs. “Yeah, he split right after. I don’t know why. You and Kevin started dating and I forgot about it. Things started looking up for you. You seemed happy.”
“Then ka-boom,” I say, raising my glass and downing the dregs.
He nods shortly. “I didn’t know who else to turn to but Leo. We hadn’t talked about you in a while. He’d left the team and started a new one by this point. When you came home from the hospital and… and took those pills”—he clears his throat—“I called Leo and he diverted the ambulance to UCLA, where he was an attending.”
“And he diagnosed me,” I conclude.
“Yeah, with confabu-something or other.”
“Confabulation,” I answer mutedly. “I fabricated memories to replace missing ones. In my case, the trauma of the accident caused me to cut out all memory of being pregnant and everything after.”
Jameson reaches for my hand, grabbing it before I can retract my arm. I tense for a moment, then give in and let his fingers wrap firmly through mine.
“Dad and I waited, Mia. We let you have space. Didn’t bring up the accident at all. Leo said it would take time.”
“But then I had another accident, and you thought I’d tried to kill myself.”
“I didn’t know, honestly. But whatever happened, you weren’t getting better like we’d hoped. So I called Leo again. He finally told me about an intensive, ultra-private treatment facility he’d been working at for a couple months out of the year.”
“You had to convince him?”
Jameson smirks at the affront in my voice. “I had to convince him to admit you
when he was there. He didn’t want to treat you. He said—”
“It was a conflict of interest.”
“Something like that, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mia. When Leo and I drove out to Oasis to pick you up, we agreed it wasn’t the time. Not with Dad in the hospital and all the chaos. On my end, it was purely selfish. I’d just gotten my sister back and didn’t want you to hate me.”
I stare at the Christmas tree until the lights blur.
“Mia? I’m sorry.”
“Did you know we were seeing each other?” I ask at length.
He sighs. “Yes.”
“And you still kept the truth from me?”
“Yes. I was scared you—”
“Thank you for telling me,” I interject, then use the coffee table as leverage to stand. My hand slips from Jameson’s grip. “I’m going to bed. You get the couch.”
I only stumble twice on the way to the guest room. Crawling beneath the covers fully clothed, I curl around a pillow and wait for the tears to come. They do, slow and thick. Silent.
I wish I could turn off my heart again. Undo all the work of the last months. Erase Leo’s mark on me. Reject this fragility. This love.
But I don’t know how.
45
find the stars
Christmas Day is bittersweet. Though I do my best to hide it, a pall of melancholy hangs over me. I wish I had my phone. I wish I were watching Vincent open presents.
I wish…
I’d never met Dr. Leo Chastain.
Jameson’s revelations added more pieces to the puzzle, which although clearer is still incomplete. I understand now where my brother was coming from. And seeing Leo, Jameson, and Kevin sharing a cup of coffee and catching up isn’t so shocking anymore. They played hockey on the same team for years.
The Fall Before Flight Page 20