Freedom in Falling

by J. Emery

  Liam cleared his throat and warning bells screamed in Noah's head. "Eli is here. And Meryl."

  The words "fuck" and "no" were on the tip of Noah's tongue, but Liam already had a hand on his coat collar and was yanking it down his arms. He stripped the coat off of Noah and propelled him through the kitchen. By then it was too late to turn back. Everyone would see him. "There aren't even enough chairs for all of us," Noah hissed over his shoulder.

  "It'll be fine."

  He was mercifully saved from more than a cursory pretense of cheer by the fact that everyone was seated at the table already. At Noah's entrance, they turned. Eli scowled. Meryl waved. His parents both pretended to be happy to see him. Even their sincerity felt forced after all these years. Liam pressed Noah down into his usual spot (which now featured a rolling desk chair instead of a dining room chair thanks to a tragic blanket fort incident in the fourth grade) and Noah smiled like he wasn't quickly succumbing to panic.

  "WE'RE SO GLAD YOU COULD all make it. It's been months since we had everyone together. And you too, of course, Meryl dear." His mother smiled and it certainly looked like she was happy. Her face folded along all the lines where her smiles used to go, neat as an origami napkin swan.

  "Thank you for having me." Meryl's hand folded around Eli's. Squeezed.

  She was pretty in a nondescript kind of way. If Noah had passed her on the street he might not even have remembered her if she was by herself. Long brown hair curled over her shoulders. The extent of her makeup was pale pink eyeshadow and a nude lip. Plenty of days Noah would have been wearing more. But she exuded pleasantness like a faint golden glow. It was the kind of aura he associated with preschool teachers and band aids slapped on skinned knees or people who helped little old ladies across busy streets. He wasn't used to having it at his parent's dining table. The one time they'd met previously, Noah had excused himself after five minutes to avoid overheating while trying to make inoffensive small talk. He didn't know what else to do with her.

  His family chatted around him in between the clink of forks and the passing of dishes. Noah let himself fade into the background. His parents glanced at him a few times and he did his best to be looking elsewhere. Then with the precision of decades of practice, Liam subjected them all to one of his worst dad jokes. The man didn't even have children. He had no business knowing that many puns. But even with Liam running interference as usual there was only so long that Noah could dodge the inevitable question from his father.

  "So, what have you been up to?"

  It was the kind of question you asked friends you hadn't seen in years or relatives last seen when you were in diapers. "What have you been up to?" was what you said while waiting in line to buy movie tickets to keep the silence from getting awkward. And to the outside observer, it sounded benign, especially delivered as it was in his father's bland monotone. Not at all like it was swaddled in years of silent judgment.

  Noah's throat closed up immediately. "Oh. Um." He stared at his plate. It was nearly empty because the easiest way to avoid talking was to stuff his face. "Stuff. Things. You know. Keeping busy." He couldn't think of a single thing that they would want to hear about.

  I met a guy who reads smart books and probably hates me, but I can't stop thinking about his pretty eyes.

  I'm getting my own solo show at the gallery in three months. You should come. You'll absolutely loathe it.

  Nothing would work.

  Every option was too... him. His parents had never been outright rude about any of his interests, even the revelation of his queerness had been met with a shrug and a blank stare because they just didn't get it. They never got any of it. Not the art or the boyfriends and girlfriends and theyfriends. It was forever like explaining himself to a wall so he gave up trying.

  His father rested his fork on the edge of his plate, face a mask of expectation. He'd been waiting years for Noah to say something that interested him. He would keep on waiting.

  Meryl saved Noah from having to dig for more words to fill the silence. "That reminds me!" she chirped, setting down her own fork and beaming. It was such a strange mirror of his father's attitude that Noah's head spun. Meryl folded her hand smoothly around Eli's again. "We would be so happy if you would take some pictures at the wedding." It was the sentence that Noah had been dreading, but in light of all the other things he was currently dreading it sounded like a rescue. "Nothing too elaborate. I know you're busy and we have a photographer for the formal shots, but it would be so great to have a more personal touch too."

  He couldn't feel his face, but he tried to smile. Normally there would be a fee for that kind of thing. It was still work even if you did it for your friends and family. She probably didn't know that it was rude not to offer. A perfectly understandable mistake to make. He opened his mouth to say as much. Then he remembered Eli beside her and his parents on the other end of the table. Their faces were hard to read. Maybe they were enjoying their mashed potatoes. Maybe they were preparing to snap at him. No way to know. The words died in his throat. "Yeah. Sure." He shoved a green bean into his mouth so no one could ask him anything else.

  The damage was already done. The rest of the dinner passed in quiet conversation that studiously avoided Noah. It bounced between Eli and their parents or mom and Meryl only making occasional detours to Liam. Noah watched it all with wary acceptance lest a stray comment fly in and bloody his unprotected nose. All in all one of the more successful family dinners.

  He fled as soon as the plates were cleared, bursting out into the needle sharp cold like he was being chased by an army of small trolls with stabby weapons.

  It wasn't just his parents. Or Eli's presence. He was used to the oppressive air every time he set foot in the modest suburban ranch-style house. It had been cramped when they were children and it still felt a little too tight around the shoulders whenever they returned but the stifling had a certain comfort that he associated with family.

  Eli's and Meryl's linked hands were different. Their parents were never the most romantic duo. They didn't hate each other by any stretch but they didn't broadcast their feelings about each other any more than they broadcast any emotion besides indifference. Clasped hands at an awkward family dinner was new territory. Meryl looking at Eli with stars in her eyes as they barreled towards marital bliss in a few months. She looked at him like forever wasn't a terrifying prospect. Eli had never been a big talker—it was a wonder they were related, but the birth certificates didn't lie—but he came alive with her.

  Jealousy churned in Noah's stomach. He liked his life (mostly) and he liked his friends. He liked doing what he wanted when he wanted. He liked being free. But what would it be like to have someone look at him like that? Just for a day, an hour, a minute? To have someone smile just because he was there? He'd fallen in love plenty, but it always faded as quickly as it came.

  There wasn't anything better about a love with forever attached, than one that lasted just long enough to get them out of their pants and into his mouth. But sometimes he thought it might be nice. To come home to the same face and the same body and know he didn't have to perform if he wasn't feeling it. What would it be like to let that burden down and not worry about it being too much? He couldn't imagine it.

  Not that promising the rest of your life to someone had much appeal when they might wake up one day and want their forever back. He'd figured out a long time ago that he was always going to be too much for some people. Most people. It was hard to be anything else with his own brain fighting him. Better not to try.

  Noah had been lonely so long he didn’t know how to stop, but with this wedding bearing down on him there was no denying anymore. Watching his brother get everything he wanted was a knife in his heart. A knife made out of impossible hope. Noah didn't want hope. Not if he couldn't have what he wanted.

  "Well. That was fucking awful," Noah muttered as he slumped into his car and let his head drop back against the seat. His breath clouded the air. "Let's never do that again
."

  Yet another promise he wasn't going to be able to keep.

  "YOU SURE YOU'RE NOT coming in with me?" Charlotte asked. Her head lolled against the headrest as she looked up at West. "Just for a little bit? Until mom gets home?"

  The house looked empty. The driveway was free of cars and all the windows were dark. It was absolutely possible that it was as empty as it looked. Reese's flight had gotten in this morning—a half an hour early even, as West had found when he'd checked. Not that West had really put any effort into the hope that the flight would be canceled and Reese would decide to postpone his trip. Circumstance was never that convenient. But the house might still be empty anyway. Mom was working late again and Reese could have gone out on his own. If there was a God, a local friend might have invited Reese to dinner.

  West doubted he was that lucky either. He let out a sigh that felt like it took three years. "Fine. I still have some work to finish up. I'll help you carry your stuff in, but then I have to go."

  "Deal!"

  He lugged her bag up the walk. "What's in here? Did you pack up half my apartment?"

  "You don't even have anything good to steal, West."

  Inside the house was quiet, all the lights off like the house itself was dormant. Charlotte was right. It was kind of creepy. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before.

  The second she was in the door, Charlotte pranced off to the kitchen and slammed a pot of water on the stove to make dinner. She hummed while she worked. Everything was spotlessly clean as though Charlotte was the first person to ever consider making food on the enormous range. The stainless steel door of the fridge was covered in an orderly collection of notes held up with magnets shaped like flattened glass pebbles. A calendar held pride of place. On it someone had drawn a green box around yesterday's date and filled it with exclamation points. Charlotte, he would guess.

  West leaned in the doorway. He folded his arms over his chest. "That stuff tastes like box too," he said as she pulled the boxed macaroni and cheese out of the cabinet.

  "You eat tofu. You don't have any room to talk," she shot back, head buried in the fridge while she rummaged around. Bottles clinked. "And I wouldn't have to make this if you had gotten me a pizza."

  He rolled his eyes even as his stomach clenched again. "No more pizza. We got one yesterday."

  "Details, details." She set out milk and butter on the counter then hopped up herself to wait for the water to boil. Her legs kicked back and forth, casting long shadows on the floor from the overhead light. "You don't actually have to stay until mom gets home," she said halfheartedly. "I was only kidding."

  "Uh huh."

  A yawn like the roar of a wounded bear sounded from the direction of the living room. They both stilled. Before West could do anything, shuffling steps made their way into the kitchen. "Charlotte? That you?" Reese's dark eyes were sleep dazed as he blinked between Charlotte and West and for once his hair was mussed. It stood up in dark spikes on one side. "Oh, it's you too. I didn't know you were gracing us with your presence today, West."

  "Surprise."

  "You should've woken me up. I was just catching a nap since I took the red eye and there was this baby on the flight. You wouldn't believe the screaming. People shouldn't be allowed to bring kids on planes. It ruins it for the rest of us." He grimaced and continued his shuffle to the fridge where he helped himself to the bottle of orange juice.

  Charlotte slid off the counter. "West and I were gonna watch a movie. You want to watch with us, Reese?" They hadn't made any such agreement, but West felt mean saying so. He didn't like leaving her all alone anyway. Reese didn't count. As he proved a second later.

  Reese grimaced and took a long swallow from his juice. "I'm good. Think I'll go finish up my nap. Still have a killer headache you wouldn't believe. Don't turn it up too loud," he said. A door banged shut a short time later.

  With him gone the house felt too quiet all of a sudden. West looked in the direction that Reese had disappeared. Probably to his old bedroom. It had turned to storage in his absence but there was still a bed and a dresser for these rare visits. West's room was in a similar state even though nothing short of a fire could compel him to move back into this house. It wasn't that Mom was hopeful he might change his mind. It was just easier to leave everything as it had been. Emptying his room took more time than she had to devote.

  "What movie did you want to watch?"

  NOAH ARRIVED AT THE coffee shop with a sketch pad, another hangover, and a dire need to be anywhere that wasn't his apartment. The problem was that all his equipment was there. His photos lined the walls. Everywhere he turned there he was.

  He needed to be away from himself for a while.

  The itch beneath his skin hadn't let up since The Dinner. It had only grown worse. That was before he began to consider the fact that not only was his solo show coming up in a matter of weeks, he had just committed to taking photos at Eli's wedding. He didn't know why he had done it. He'd been completely sober. And he had no one to blame but himself.

  He could do both. The wedding was six months away in June and his solo show wasn't until April. They were worlds away from each other. But the idea that he had to prepare for both—immediately—had cemented itself into his head and, try as he might, he couldn't dislodge it. They sat on his schedule like ticking time bombs.

  He would have felt more confident about it if he had a concept for his solo show. Noah had been showing his work at a small local gallery for years and this was only the second time he'd been offered the space for a show of his own. Normally he could only hang a few pieces at a time. Three or four at most. This would be half the gallery all to himself. His first solo show had been haphazard and unfocused. He hadn't had a plan and he hadn't known shit about promoting it. By the end of the opening night reception he'd drunk an entire bottle of wine while he stood in a corner by himself and only sold one piece—a tiny little thing that he'd underpriced to begin with—to a friend who took pity on him. This time was going to be different. He'd learned how to network for one thing. His work had improved by leaps and bounds. Whatever it took to make it a success, he would do it.

  Which was why he needed a concept. Something new. Him, but not too him. Something to unify the show and make it come alive.

  Noah's remaining mocha was cold, whipped cream melted into sad ripples, when he finally resurfaced from an intense round of sketching. He had ruined three sheets and covered another five in smudged drawings of any random shit that had come to mind. He threw down the pad. They were shit. Everything was shit. And then he tried to guzzle down his mocha and almost died, choking, because it too was awful. The chocolate had settled to the bottom again. The coffee was cold and oily from the whipped cream. The mouth feel alone was a torment. Worst thing he'd ever swallowed.

  Someone chuckled and Noah whirled to glare at them only to find that it had been his other personal torment.

  West sat at the next table, looking put together in an olive green v-neck sweater and his studious little glasses and Noah had never wanted anything so badly in his life. His free hand clenched into a fist. The twinkle of mirth in those brown eyes watching him was the answer to prayers Noah hadn't even known he was praying. He was so struck that he didn't immediately realize that West was smiling at him. Smiling. At him. That had never happened before. Noah dropped his pencil. It had to be a trick of the light.

  The mug in front of West was empty, a dried ring around the lip from the coffee that had once filled it. His book sat untouched on the table in front of him. His smile remained.

  Noah's eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "From here it looks an awful lot like you're laughing at my pain."

  "I am. And I'm enjoying it immensely, thank you." Also not the expected response. The challenge in those eyes was no accident.

  The smile. The teasing answer. Once Noah might have considered this flirting. But flirting and West were two things that did not go together. No matter how much he might sometimes wish they d
id.

  Rather than dwelling on the frankly ridiculous discovery that West had been watching him, Noah stood, deposited his deceased mocha in the bin, and headed to the counter to order a new one. He needed caffeine if he was going to be unraveling the mysteries of the universe.

  West. Flirting. With him. He nearly laughed. Preposterous.

  When he returned, things were back to how they were supposed to be. West had his nose buried in a paperback with a lone and sullen figure on the cover. He didn't look up at Noah's approach. Or when Noah flopped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling with a straw in his mouth.

  Noah chewed on the end of the straw as he thought. He hated every single sketch he'd just done. Worse, he hated every drawing he had ever done in his entire life. The only good work he had ever produced in his twenty-six years was that perfect coloring page of the Beast back in the third grade. He'd so perfectly stayed in the lines. But everything after that was shit. His show wasn't even supposed to be graphite so why was he bothering with all these half-assed sketches? Noah closed the sketchbook and took up his phone, thumbing through texts with lightning speed. He'd hit up a few of the models he had used in the past, but so far none of them were free. Or interested. Or speaking to him in one particular case. He'd take the blame for that. He wasn't an easy person to like sometimes.

  His pencil fell off the table so he chased after it with his foot, rolling it back, heel to toe, until it was close enough that he could reach it with his hand.

  He had some work to show. Nothing big or eye-catching. Nothing really new. He had plenty of photos. He just didn't feel excited about any of them. There was no spark. It would be settling. Again. He'd already done that once and he'd sworn he wouldn't do it again. This time he would be together.

  His brain idly cycled through pricing, the cost of matting and framing, paying a model. He was going to be so fucked. Maybe he could con Liam into sitting for him. Family could be tricked into helping in a pinch and Liam was good at looking mysterious and pensive in a variety of settings. He also owed him. Again, not what he wanted, but Noah could call it experimental and pretend like he was happy about it.