First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  The air in the car goes stale. Brooks twists his neck like he’s getting a kink out.

  “You were engaged to him.” His flat tone brings all new meaning to a pitch that is supposed to be level. Brooks spoke evenly, yet I could picture the sharp daggers waiting to catch you when you fall.

  “Not exactly. He proposed. I never gave him an answer.”

  “Would it have been yes if he lived?”

  “In my heart and my mind, it would have been no.” I took another deep breath. Then I gave him a piece of myself I only discovered about a year ago. “I used to have a lot of insecurities. Still do, but when I was with Mason I lived every day as the person I believed he wanted me to be. He never knew the real me. Fear would have caused me to marry him. Because I didn’t believe I was good enough for just anyone.”

  I stare at the hand resting on my leg, the large palm and long fingers wrapped in mine. The car jerks to the right. I raise my head to see Brooks veering off the main road, and pulling his car to a stop in a grassy area.

  Cars and trucks zoom past us as Brooks shifts his body toward me, reaching with his other hand to cup my face and drag me in for a kiss.

  His lips land on mine with a fierce pressure, the fingers gripping the side of my head and cheek are noted with certainty. But the kiss itself is soft and safe and holds more passion than all the others before.

  “You’re worth so much more than you know. And I’m so fucking glad you didn’t marry him”

  I smile, warmth spreading inside my chest. Leaning over the console, I kiss him softly and bury my face in his neck as emotions begin to take over me.

  Brooks is better than an hour of yoga I usually need to get out of my head.

  We get back on the road, and I tell him the call was from my mom. Another parent I was just about done with.

  Maybe not done done. I’m frustrated and needing to vent.

  She and I spoke yesterday. For as much as she has been calling me you would think there was something new to talk about. But it’s all the same bullshit. How can I be so unfeeling as to ignore my own mother, complaints about my brother and his girlfriend spending more time with her family over his, jealousy of her sister going away for Christmas (somehow no longer important or the same as her and Dad going on a cruise for Thanksgiving), and all of it coming back around to end with her disappointments in me.

  And she wonders why I don’t want to answer the phone.

  Phone calls seem to accompany negativity. Do people only call someone to complain about their life, or is it just my luck?

  I have demons to deal with like every other person in the world who is braving a silent battle. I choose not to share them because I don’t want the negativity to consume every part of my life. There’s venting, and there’s unloading one’s inner weaknesses that should really be handled by a professional.

  I come from a family who shares every tiniest detail with one another. Unless the complaint is about you, that’s the only time you won’t be in the loop.

  My issues are with my entire family, so I had to find someone else to talk to.

  I found my therapist not long after Mason-Kason died. I was sad, bereft of all closure due to not seeing him buried, and holding the weight of an unanswered proposal that I never wanted. Conflicted, I went seeking answers as to why I wasn’t more devastated over his death.

  I never really loved him.

  I mourned him as someone would an acquaintance; someone who was in my life, but never impacted my life.

  I kept with the therapy, learning more about myself and how to respect myself.

  It saddened me that my debasement stemmed from my own mom. Her words, her appraisal, her criticism, all of it meant more to me than I allowed myself to believe.

  Brooks turns down a one lane road, oak trees covering either side and making the street more secluded and dark. He pulls the car onto a peddled driveway, past an iron gate, and up to a gorgeous farmhouse style home.

  “Wow,” I breath, taking in the open yard. Getting out of the car, I smell the serenity in the country air.

  “You have the same look as my mother the first day they saw this place.” He glances over at me, walking around the hood of his car. “They closed on it three days later.”

  “Living in the city as long as I have, I forget there are homes like this here.”

  The white house is two stories with black window shutters, and a red front door. The wrap around porch is scattered with poinsettias, and a large, festive wreath hanging on the door.

  As we’re walking up the front porch steps, the door swings open.

  Betty and Earl greet us together with huge smiles and dazzling eyes.

  “I’m so happy you came.” Betty bypasses her son, grips my face with both hands and lays a firm, elated kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” I say, Earl bouncing over and wrapping me in a hug.

  We step inside behind them, Brooks’s hand falling to the small of my back.

  I stare in wonder at Betty’s house decked out in loads and loads of holiday decoration. Garland runs up the banister, mistletoe hangs over the threshold into the living room, a mini-Christmas tree is set up in the foyer, a large tree in the living room, and stockings hung over a picturesque fireplace.

  I marveled at the main Christmas tree, filled with so many ornaments and lights I could hardly see the actual green Fraser limbs. There were pieces the boys made when they were kids, family photo ornaments during key stages of youth, and random ones like the Jaws Bruce shark and Ninja Turtles and John Travolta that I imagine have inside meaning to all of them.

  When I stepped into the kitchen—because Betty got me too, offering a slice of pie before dinner—she had a freaking kitchen Christmas tree. A kitchen themed tree with whisks and mixers and cupcakes and anything kitchen related.

  Betty’s home at Christmas time was the North Pole of dreams!

  “Well, Betty,” I turn to her after inspecting every single one of the ornaments. “Your Christmas decor has just become my new goals.”

  She laughs, a twinkling sound fittingly similar to sleigh bells. “This is years and years of collecting. I have an entire shed just for holiday storage.”

  I return with my own chortle of amazement. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No.” She waves that away like nonsense. “Sit. Eat some pie. I made a lot.”

  We cut into a couple pies. I put a slice of pecan and lemon meringue on my plate, saving the apple for after dinner.

  I bite into the lemon, groaning with appalling table manners. “This is so delicious. I tried making it once, but it was runny.”

  “We still need to have our potluck pie day, so maybe we can turn that into a baking day and I can show you how I make it.”

  “I would love that,” I reply with pure joy.

  She sits across me at the small table off to the side in the breakfast nook, cutting into her pecan slice. “May I ask about you and my son? He won’t tell me anything.”

  Lips twitching, I nod.

  “I know you two are friends, but you’ve been seeing a lot of each other and he’s never, never conceded with me when I asked him to bring a girl home.” She emphasizes never with a palm reaching to cover mine on the table.

  “We’re…dating. It’s new.” I shrug, unsure how much to reveal to her.

  With the smile that takes over her face, you would think I just delivered her first grandchild.

  “Dating,” she repeats with a mystical sigh. “Okay, I won’t ask any more about that. So what are your plans for Christmas? Going home to visit your folks?”

  “Probably not.” My fork stabs into a pecan, shoving it in my mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No,” I shake my head, looking up at her. “It’s fine. I typically see my family at the holidays, but I think I just need some space. My mom and I aren’t seeing eye to eye.”

  “I hope it’s not over that Noah Werner boy and his tra
il of dirty deeds.” Betty spits on his name in a fashion only an older, wiser woman can.

  “It started out with him, but there are some other, personal issues going on now.”

  “Well, I hope it gets worked out. You’re a smart girl with a beautiful personality and she raised you, so it’ll get better. Sometimes it takes us moms awhile to realize our babies are all grown up.” Betty pats my hand, then stands with our plates, clearing the table.

  How can something said with so little words leave me with such a big understanding?

  I needed to be fair with my mom, after all, like Betty reminded me, she raised me. She did something right to make me a good person. But it was my turn to remind her I was still her daughter seeking approval, and what she says and how she says it will stick to me like a tattoo over my heart.

  “How was the pie?” Brooks smiles down at me when Betty and I join the men in the living room. He lifts an arm around my shoulders, and I bring both of mine to lock around his waist.

  “I’m dating you only for the access to those pies, just so you know.”

  “What about my charming personality?”

  “You say charming, I say egotistical.”

  “Pshh. We both know why you’re really with me.” Brooks dips his mouth to my ear. “For the best orgasms you’ve ever had.”

  “I think you are the one addicted to the O,” I whisper. “You chased me, remember.”

  “Yes. Yes, I did,” he grins, placing a kiss on my forehead.

  Keeping my arms locked around him, I lower my gaze to everyone else in the room.

  Everyone who is staring without shame at Brooks and me.

  “This is weird,” Alex comments, leaning with an arm across the mantle.

  “A good weird,” Earl grins.

  “Never thought Brooksy would be the first to go down, but I like it.” Cam’s smile matches his father’s.

  “Hush, all of you before you scare Jo away. I like having her around and I’d like to keep it this way.” Betty shushes everyone, a pitcher of eggnog in her hand as she fills the glasses sitting on the coffee table.

  It’s not me they have to worry about scaring away.

  This was such a strange first date, but by the time dinner is over and I’ve had more pie and I’m informed of all the inside secrets to their random Christmas ornaments, I’m not ready to leave his family. I don’t want to go home.

  Filled up on eggnog and apple pie, I sit down on the couch with Cam and we play video games. Alex helps me win by snatching the controller out of Cam’s hands right before he almost beat me.

  Alex and Cam fought like teenagers, typical brothers. I watched them with mirth, but when Brooks wrapped his arms around me from behind and whispered against my ear, “Ready to go?” that was all it took. Three words filled with many secretive promises.

  Outside, pushed against the door of his car, Brooks took my mouth under the tree covered sky. The stars weren’t the only ones peeking through to catch a glimpse of us.

  I vibrated with awareness the entire ride home. And when he walked me to my door, I let him come inside this time.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jo

  Brooks finally had a day off, but he committed to a charity event with a few teammates. He would be leaving for a couple away games on the west coast soon. It was only two games, but due to the distance for traveling, he was going to be gone almost a whole week.

  I didn’t need to see him constantly, but I am understanding how difficult it can be to date a hockey player. Scheduling alone time during the season wasn’t unmanageable just because of their games. Those guys went to a lot of community functions.

  The weather temperatures were dropping enough to go without air conditioning at night. I snuggled into a hoodie, leggings, socks, and blanket on the couch while I read a new book.

  My phone sat on the coffee table when it started ringing. I jumped to grab it thinking it was Brooks.

  Where I used to enjoy my alone time, and praise myself on not being a clingy girlfriend, I sure as hell wasn’t following those guidelines anymore. Brooks is an addiction I haven’t had enough of yet.

  But as my finger reached to swipe and answer the call, I paused when I saw it was my mom again.

  Taking a deep, come-to-Jesus inhale of fresh, cold air, I answered the phone.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Oh my God, it’s actually you and not your voicemail.”

  It’s safe to determine where I get my snark from.

  “How are you, Mom?” I settle back into my cocoon of covers.

  “Fine. Your dad went bowling with his friends. I’m sitting at home alone.”

  “Bowling,” I chuckle. “Didn’t know Dad played sports of any kind.”

  “Well, he’s no athlete like the ones you hang around now, but he’s a decent bowler.”

  And there’s the hit.

  Didn’t take her too long to dive right into what she wants to pick at me about.

  “How long are you going to keep doing this?” I ask, defeated and exhausted from having the same conversation with her over and over.

  “Jolene, I know nothing about these people you hang out with. I’m worried, is all.”

  “I’m an adult, Mom. You’re not going to meet every single one of my friends like you did when I was ten.” Next, she’ll be asking for their mother’s phone numbers.

  “But when my daughter is getting involved with a man who has been accused of sexual harassment, I have a right to be worried for your safety.”

  “For the love of God, I am not involved with him.” Squeezing my eyes shut to the point a bright light flares behind them, I open them and stare at the texture in the ceiling. “I am, however, involved with Brooks. He’s a hockey player here in Tampa. Part owner of a local bar with his brothers. Has a beard and tattoos running down both arms. You’ll hate him, I’m sure, but I really like him and I could use a little less criticism from you when it comes to my life choices since I’ve made some pretty damn good ones so far.”

  “I am not criticizing you, Jolene.”

  “Well, it sure does feel like it, Mom.”

  She sighs from the other end, not in a my-child-is-being-dramatic way, but more of a worn out and done with the arguments way.

  The feeling is mutual.

  Except, a lot of my sighs are formed from her being overly dramatic.

  “These jock types aren’t someone you settle down with, Jolene. They have big egos and high expectations and they will eventually stray. I want you to be happy, and I’m just afraid you’ll only get hurt with that kind of man in your life.”

  “And what about the doctor, Mom? You loved Mason, and turns out he was nothing but a liar.”

  “Okay, I was wrong about him,” she admits with a struggle.

  “A person’s profession has nothing to do with the kind of human being they are. Brooks comes from a great family. His parents are kind and funny, and his brothers have taken me in like a sister. Brooks is sweet in his own way that I’m pretty sure most women would not get, but I do. I really like him and I would like for you to be supportive and lift me up instead of bringing me down, because I need to hear that from you every once in a while.”

  “Are you in love?” she asks in a gentle style I don’t hear often.

  “No.” Fingers picking at a loss thread, I add, “But I could easily.”

  “If he means so much, I hope you can keep a guy like him. Maybe I’ll get to meet him someday.”

  That’s halfway supportive if I overlook the underlying aggression.

  “Shouldn’t you be saying, you hope a guy like him can keep me?”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not,” I reply with defiance. “Insinuating I need to keep him makes him sound more superior than me.”

  “I hope I’ve raised you well enough to know your worth compared to a man’s.”

  “You have,” I tell her. “But how do you think it makes me feel when you only correct me on my
wrongs and not congratulating me when I do something right.”

  “That’s not my intention, honey. I’m sorry if that’s how I’m seeming to you, and I’ll do better, I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you bringing him home for Christmas?” she jumps straight into another topic that promises argument.

  “I’m not coming home for Christmas, Mom. I told you that already.”

  “Are you spending it with his family?”

  “No, we just started dating. But I’ll probably be with Taytum and Nick.”

  “Okay.” I can hear how not okay she is with that, but at least she’s trying. “Your brother’s girlfriend’s parents have invited us to their home for Christmas. That should be interesting.”

  Mom gets lost down a new trail of complaints. Can’t say I expected one conversation to change our entire relationship, but it feels like progress.

  By the time we hang up it’s after nine p.m. I’m up to my ears and nose in fuzzy blankets, an arm peeping through just enough to turn the page of my book. This is the only time I could see a Snuggie coming in handy.

  My doorbell rings and I glance behind the couch with an accusing glare.

  I am so comfortable.

  Unraveling like a burrito, I roll off the couch and walk over to my front door.

  I’m pulling back the locks once I see my favorite face in the world on the other side.

  “Hi,” I smile up at Brooks.

  He steps inside, looping his arms around my waist. The door slips out of my hand as I begin walking backward with the push from his body. Brooks closes and locks the door behind him.

  “I was out with the boys all day, and we went to Triplets afterward.” His slow steps take us through the living room. “I ordered a beer, but I just wasn’t having fun.”

  “No fun at your own bar,” I purse my lips with exaggeration. “Might want to schedule a business meeting about that.”

  “No fun because I wasn’t with you.” He kisses away my teasing expression. “So I left.”

  “I’m having a ton of no fun too. Not sure coming here was a wise choice.”

  “I missed you, Angel. Why you gotta make me say it?”