The Truth About Falling

by H. M. Sholander

  “It’s fine, Mom,” I say, struggling to believe myself.

  She wrinkles her eyebrows, regarding me with knowing eyes, like she sees straight through me. “Okay.” She squeezes my hand, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall opposite her bed. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I’m working less to be here with you,” I explain.

  “I’m glad, but you should be out living your life, not sitting in this hospital with me.”

  “This is where I want to be,” I argue.

  “But it’s not where you belong.” She looks at me, her eyes roaming my face as if she’s memorizing every detail. “You deserve more than this. Promise me that when I die, you’ll start to live your life. Promise me you’ll have more than you do now.”

  My face drops as I look past her, not wanting to see the pleading look on her face. I won’t have more; I’ll have less because I won’t have her.

  How do I tell her that when she dies I’ll move on and be happy? I can’t. Because I don’t think I will be. Everything will hurt when she’s gone, so I can’t promise that I’ll be better–that I’ll achieve more.

  But I don’t want her to know the ugly truth, so I lie. “I will.” She studies me, and I can sense she doesn’t believe me. I never could lie to her.

  “Do you remember the girls’ days we used to have?” She smiles.

  I nod, gripping her hand. “I remember.”

  “What was your favorite day?” she asks.

  I don’t even have to think about the answer. “We went to a movie.”

  “A movie,” she interrupts me. “That’s your favorite?”

  I chuckle. “You checked me out of school early, and we played hooky.” I was shocked when she showed up at my classroom door after third period. “We saw a movie, and you bought the biggest tub of popcorn they had and two different kinds of candy.”

  She pulls her hand away from mine, snapping her fingers. “Skittles because you love the fruity flavor and M&M’s to throw in the tub of popcorn.”

  “But we actually had three kinds of candy. We just didn’t buy the third there.”

  She taps a finger on her chin, her eyebrows wrinkling as she tries to recall that day.

  “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,” I remind her.

  She beams. “Because of how much I love peanut butter.” Her second favorite sweet. “We snuck them in because they didn’t sell them at the concession stand.”

  I was appalled that Mom was sneaking food in the theater. I was so sure the guy who tore our tickets was going to bust us, but he hardly glanced in our direction.

  Mom laughs, her eyes shining. “I forgot all about that.” She pats the bed next to her. “Come lie with me.”

  I hesitate, not wanting to hurt her. She narrows her eyes at me, so I stand from the chair and carefully slip in bed next to her.

  We face each other in the hard hospital bed as she plays with a strand of my hair. It makes me feel like I’m a little girl all over again.

  “We were the only ones in the movie theater,” I continue. “I don’t remember the movie because we got bored and didn’t pay attention to half of it.”

  She drops my hair. “We threw popcorn at each other instead.”

  I laugh, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. “I think more of it ended up on the floor than in our mouths.”

  “But we ate all the candy.”

  “And I had a stomachache the rest of the night,” I say.

  Mom took care of me that night, sleeping in bed with me until the sun came up the next morning. I sigh, committing this moment to memory, ensuring I never forget the love I see pouring out of her as she watches me.

  She rests her hand on the side of my face. “Do you want to know mine?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “The trip to the museum.” She catches a tear that slips free from my eye. “I told you that you could reach your dreams; you just had to make it happen.”

  I sniff, holding back the flood of tears threatening to escape.

  “Can you do that?” she asks, keeping her hazel eyes fixed on me.

  I nod, unable to answer her as I wrap my arms around her frail body. I hold her close and inhale her sweet scent, reminding me of red velvet cake.

  How am I going to do this without her? How can I make it through everyday knowing she isn’t breathing?

  I hug her tighter, never wanting to let go because I feel like I won’t ever have more than I do now. I’ll be a shell of a person when she’s gone, wandering through life…lost.

  But the truth is I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I won’t be the same tomorrow. I’m evolving, changing, every second that I breathe.

  I place the clean glasses on the shelf above the back counter, restocking while we have a lull in case I don’t have a chance to step away again.

  I feel lighter–free.

  It’s weird.

  Working less has eased some of the resentment I’ve held on to for so long because for the first time in three years, I have time to do whatever I want. Well, kind of. I do spend most of that time with my mom in the hospital, but it’s time I’m not spending at work, being miserable.

  As much as I didn’t want to be around my mom when the doctor gave me the news that it wouldn’t be much longer, I’m glad I stuck around. Because getting to spend this limited time with her has been invaluable.

  I push the door open to the back room and toss the now empty plastic bin on the metal table. I slip back out and stand behind the bar, flattening my hands against the wood counter.

  I watch as the people in the bar laugh and carry on as Kristy flits from table to table. Music isn’t blaring through the speakers like it usually is, instead it’s a faint hum in the background.

  It’s been two weeks, and I can see that Mom’s body is straining to keep going, but she’s holding on, fighting to stay with me. Mostly I talk to her about things going on in my life, which isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing, and then there are the times when I remind her of stories from when I was little. We laugh and smile, and it feels good to have that with her.

  She hasn’t once asked about Dad. She doesn’t ask where he is or even bring him up in conversation, and neither do I. I’m beginning to wonder if she even cares or if she ever did. I know she loved him the best she could, but was she in love with him? Because if she was, wouldn’t she want him by her side, wouldn’t she want to spend time with him?

  I’m grateful she hasn’t asked because I don’t have to tell her that he’s gone. She can go on living like everything is perfectly fine even when it isn’t.

  Jason walks through the front door, almost skipping the closer he gets to me.

  My lips tip up as he drops to the barstool across from me, his blue Mohawk and giant smile the only things I see.

  “Tonight is the night,” Jason says, leaning in close to me.

  “For what?” I ask, bemused at his high energy.

  He drums his hands on the bar and squirms on his barstool, more antsy than usual. Maybe he had one too many energy drinks today.

  “I’m taking Kristy off the market?”

  “Isn’t she already off the market? You guys have been dating forever,” I point out.

  He holds out his hand, aiming a finger at me. “Okay, officially off the market. No guy will ever be able to make a pass at her again.”

  I laugh because he can’t control that as much as he would like to think he can. She does work in a bar after all. “You’re popping the question?”

  “You bet.” He bangs a fist against the bar. “I can feel it in my bones. It’s time.”

  “You’re not going to do it here, are you?” I question, praying his answer is no.

  “I sure am,” he says confidently, nodding his head.

  “What is wrong with you?” I whine, angling toward him.

  “Nothing, I feel perfectly fine.” He smirks.

 
Jesus, he has no clue, but who am I to stop him–who am I to knock him down from his high? I shake my head. “Good luck.”

  “I don’t need luck.”

  Yes, you do.

  I go back to filling orders as people come up to the bar.

  “Three beers and two shots of tequila,” an older man with wrinkles lining his face calls out.

  “One beer here,” a guy who appears to barely be twenty-one adds.

  “Whiskey neat and a coke,” yells a blond guy.

  I nod my head at all three of them before I whip around and fill their orders as fast as I can. I fill four glasses with beer, sloshing the amber liquid on my hand as I turn back around to the men. I slid the glasses across the bar and begin finishing the other two orders as baby face pays his tab.

  Five more orders are shouted before I finish with my current orders. Instead of complaining or whining about the rush in the bar, I enjoy it, filling order after order, liking my job–what an odd sensation.

  “Why are you acting so weird?” Kristy asks, pulling a bottle of vodka down from the shelf.

  “I’m not acting weird,” I say, quirking an eyebrow.

  Happy is a bizarre look on me.

  “Yeah, you are. About as weird as Jason is.” She studies me as she pours a shot of vodka. “You seem…happy.”

  “Not yet, but I’m getting there.” I shrug, throwing her a half-grin.

  “Drinks after work tonight?”

  I have a feeling she might change her mind about that after Jason lays his heart on the line, but I nod my head in agreement, not wanting to ruin his surprise.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jason stand from his barstool and walk to the end of the bar. He stands there nervously as he rubs his hand over the front pocket of his jeans.

  Oh, shit.

  “You can’t be back here, you know that,” Kristy chastises him. “Just because we’re together doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

  He takes a step closer to her behind the bar, and she gives him a glare in warning. “Kristy, I love you. You are the most opinionated and outspoken woman I know. You drive me absolutely insane, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He takes another step, and she places her hands on her hips, hating that he’s not listening to her. “I want you to boss me around forever and be the person who jokes around with me the way no one else understands.”

  I try not to laugh, pressing my lips together because this proposal is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not romantic and mushy. It’s real. It’s them, which is perfect, but it’s also hysterical.

  He reaches his hand in his pocket and pulls out a tiny black box. “Marry me because I want you to be my wife, dammit.” He opens the box, but Kristy doesn’t move. She just stands there staring at him, and my heart begins to plummet, knowing Jason will be crushed if she says no.

  She shifts closer to him and plucks the ring out of the box. She places it on her ring finger and says, “Okay, but I’m still hanging out with Jade tonight.”

  And I laugh because I can’t help it. This is exactly who they are, and even though I thought his proposal at the bar was a terrible idea, it actually wasn’t. She said yes despite the fact that I thought she would say hell no.

  They are perfect together.

  I play with the string on my apron as I stand behind the bar, waiting for the few loners left to leave for the night.

  Watching Jason lust after Kristy while he sits across from me nursing his beer is adorable.

  After she said yes, she went right back to work as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  I know she’s happy because I can see it in the way she floats around the bar with a slight pep in her step. She might not show it as well, but it’s there.

  I can tell Jason doesn’t want to leave, but it’s five minutes from closing, and Kristy has told him multiple times to leave because she isn’t going home with him.

  Most people would want to run home and have sex–not her. Apparently, she wants to hang out with me. Strange.

  Kristy sashays over, hovering over Jason. “Time to go.”

  “Are you sure you can’t come home?” he pouts.

  “I have to close anyway. An extra hour won’t kill you.”

  He grabs her waist, drawing her toward him. “You never know, it might.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Fine,” he concedes, placing a kiss on her cheek before standing. “But I’ll be waiting for you.” He wiggles his eyebrows and reaches around, slapping her on the ass.

  “Bye,” she says, shoving him away.

  He places his hand over his heart, feigning being hurt, but he grins, throwing her a kiss as he walks out the door, flipping the open sign off on his way.

  “Are you insane?” I ask her, untying my apron and throwing it on the counter.

  “No,” she says with a hint of an attitude.

  “Then why are you still here? I can handle this on my own.”

  “I know.” She plops down in a chair at a nearby table and gestures for me to join her. “He asked me to marry him.”

  I walk around the counter and sit across from her. “And you said yes,” I remind her.

  “Of course, I did. He’s my other half, but I’m not ready to get married yet.”

  “Have a long engagement.” I shrug. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  She taps her finger on her chin. “You’re right.”

  “You are so weird,” I say, shifting in my seat.

  “Not as weird as you. Have you jumped Hudson yet?”

  “No,” I say, crossing my arms.

  She gasps. “Why not? I would be all over him.”

  “I don’t sleep around.”

  “Then what has you in a good mood?”

  “I’m working less, so I’m not as burned out.”

  “That’s a little upsetting.” She frowns, placing the palm of her hand on her cheek as she rests her elbow on the table. “I like it when you’re snarky.”

  “Psh, don’t worry, that won’t change,” I assure her.

  “Better not.”

  “So tell me,” I lean back in my seat, “what is it with you and the whole marriage thing?”

  She sighs, dropping her hand from her cheek and crossing her arms over the table. “My parents got married young and divorced before my second birthday. They hate each other, and I’ve watched them both get married and divorced a handful of times. They treat marriage like it means nothing more than throwing out a bad bag of lettuce. I don’t want to be like that.” She shakes her head. “I want my marriage to last. I want one person for the rest of my life who’s my best friend–someone I could never stand to lose.”

  “You don’t think Jason’s that person?”

  “No, I firmly believe he is that person. We’re perfect together. Other people wouldn’t understand our quirks, but we get each other. That doesn’t make me any less scared to commit to him, though.”

  She has a valid point. I would have hated to watch my mom marry guy after guy without thinking it through. Although, I’m not sure if watching her be married to a man who didn’t value her was any better.

  “Does he know all this?” I ask, my brows creasing.

  “No,” she whispers with a frown.

  “I think you should tell him. He’d understand your hesitation,” I encourage her, knowing full well Jason would be supportive of anything she wants. She’s his sun–he wouldn’t survive without her.

  “You’re right.” She sits up straight, a little more confident than before. “You know we’ve worked together for two years, and this is the most personal conversation we’ve ever had.”

  “Yeah.” I wince, knowing most of that is my fault. I hid myself away, not wanting to get attached to anyone, but thinking back on it now, I know that wasn’t the best decision. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Not your fault.” She shakes her head, waving me off. “I’ve never asked before, but why do you work so
much?” she wonders, asking a question I’ve been waiting for since my first day here.

  She knew when I started here that I was already working six days a week at Harry’s Garage, but she never asked why, and I was grateful.

  “I was saving money for my mom to have surgery,” I say simply.

  “Was?” she whispers. “Is she still…”

  “Alive?” I finish. Kristy nods. “Yes, but she doesn’t have much time left,” I say dejectedly, knowing the end is approaching faster than I want it to

  “The surgery didn’t work?” she asks, her voice full of empathy.

  “She never had it.”

  I go in to a few of the details, explaining that my mom didn’t want surgery and how she wanted me to have a life instead. It’s been a bitter pill to swallow, but I’m learning to accept it. I’m learning to live with the fact that soon I won’t have a mom.

  “I’m sorry, Jade. I understand now why you were such a bitch sometimes. No offense.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “You were fighting your own battle, trying to keep those you love from drowning. It’s admirable.”

  “Thanks.” I smile, pushing away from the table. “What do you say we close and get out of here.”

  “You got it,” she agrees.

  We spend the next hour closing, bantering about nothing at all, but this is something I needed. Someone to confide in and even joke around with.

  I needed a friend, and I think I finally found one.

  They’re all waiting for Mom to die–Dr. Collins and the nurses.

  I hate it.

  I brought my sketchpad along with a set of pencils to the hospital today to keep my thoughts at bay, but that can only work for so long. Because Mom’s in bed next to me fighting for each breath she takes.

  She’s been sleeping a lot, but that’s okay because I’d rather her sleep than be in pain. They keep her comfortable with medications, but I can see it in their eyes when they step into the room to check on her. They’re waiting for the last time her heart beats.

  I guess I am, too.

  God, that sounds terrible, like I’m just sitting here wishing she would die, but I’m not. I don’t want her to die, more than anything I want her to live. I do wish for her torment to end, though, because the times she is awake and talking, I can see it hidden behind her eyes. The discomfort she’s trying to bury, not letting me know she’s hurting.