If I Fall

by Amber Thielman

  “That’s all you must do is let him try,” Mrs. Dunham said. She sat back in her chair and smiled again at me. She smiled a lot, and yet it was comforting each time she did. “Nobody ever got anywhere by sitting back and letting someone else try for them. It’s up to him to change, and it’s up to you to let him.”

  I took the bus halfway home that evening and then walked the rest of the way, head tucked down, hood up, and hands shoved into the pocket of my sweatshirt as the rain started to fall softly. Missus Betty was out of service, chilling in Jay’s shop waiting to be seen. I found myself worrying if we were closer to the end of her days than not.

  Seeing Mrs. Dunham really did make me feel better. I’d gone from having no support whatsoever to suddenly having a bunch of people in my corner, and it was a good feeling. I knew that if I needed any one of them, they were just a phone call away.

  Ty was still at work when I finally made it home, and I knew Ava was training a new kid at the club tonight. I was about to unlock my front door when my phone rang in my pocket. I picked it up, answering it before I bothered to check the caller ID.

  “Khloe? It’s da… it’s Frank. How are you?”

  “Oh, hi,” I said, unlocking my front door. “I’m good. Just got back from therapy.” I closed the door behind me just as the rain started to come down heavy, splattering against the windows. I plopped down on the couch and closed my eyes, trying to determine if Frank was calling me drunk or not.

  “Oh, okay,” he said. “That’s good. That’s great.” I was surprised to hear that he sounded sober. I could tell because when he was sober, he never knew what to say, like a fumbling, awkward high school kid put in the spotlight.

  “Was there something you wanted?” I asked finally. I hadn’t meant to sound rude, but a nap was sounding very good, and that wouldn’t happen until I was off the phone. There was a moment of silence, and for a second, I thought Frank had hung up.

  “Would you like to come over here for dinner?” he asked. “I’m cooking. It would be nice to have the company.”

  “Oh.” I glanced at the clock. It was still early in the evening. Ty wouldn’t be off for a few more hours, and Ava would be at the club most of the night. Jay, I knew, was on a date with a college guy from school, so tonight I would be on my own until late. I had nothing better to do, and yet I found myself hesitating anyway. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m kind of tired…”

  “Oh,” Frank said. He sounded crestfallen as if I’d just ripped his heart from his chest and played basketball with it.

  “Yeah, I can come over,” I said, then let out a long breath of air. “My car is out of service, but I can take a cab. Give me fifteen minutes?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” Frank said. “I’ll set the table.” I bid my father goodbye and closed my eyes, wondering if I’d make a mistake agreeing to go over there. I knew he was trying to be better—to be sober—but some small part of me just couldn’t accept it. I wanted a relationship with him, of course, but it was easier said than done, especially with Frank. But as I sat there in the silence of my home, an internal debate going on in my head, I remembered what Mrs. Dunham had said to me earlier.

  It’s up to him to change, and it’s up to you to let him.

  Groaning, I got to my feet and slipped my shoes back on feeling worn out and tired, ready to drop into bed. If anything, maybe Frank had made something decent for dinner. Steaks, maybe. Or pizza. Even pizza sounded damn good. I slipped my jacket on and grabbed a handful of crumpled bills before heading out the door to catch a cab.

  “This is for you, Carter,” I said to the sky. “I hope you’re happy.”

  Frank still lived in the same house I’d grown up in, a quaint little three-bedroom home on the outskirts of the city near the bay. He and my mother had bought the home as newlyweds, and even after I was born, Mom had refused to sell it for a bigger place. Therefore, I’d grown up there, lived in that tiny house through middle school and high school. It wasn’t until I was standing on the front porch, letting my gaze wander over the weather-beaten garden gnomes and peeling paint on the door, that I realized I hadn’t been back in months, even longer, actually. Since Mom had died.

  “Frank?” I knocked on the door and tried the handle. It was open, so I stepped in, hesitating near the front entrance. I could smell something cooking as I looked around allowing a thousand childhood memories to flood me. Despite my mom being gone all those years, the house had not changed much aside from the empty beer cans and ashtrays filled with cigarette butts. The paint was the same, as was the furniture, including the rocker and the faded blue couch Mom had snagged from an antique shop downtown.

  “Khloe?” Frank called from the kitchen. “Come on in, kid.” I shrugged off my jacket and made my way toward the smell of dinner, wondering if I’d made a mistake coming here. Dinner wasn’t supposed to feel so awkward, so unnatural, especially not with your father.

  “Thanks for the invite,” I said, coming into the kitchen. Frank was leaning over the oven, stirring a pot of something with a wooden spoon. He looked up and smiled as I came in, and I forced a smile back.

  “I made your favorite,” he said. “Spaghetti.”

  “Spaghetti?” I repeated. He must have heard the hesitation in my voice because the smile melted from his face.

  “That is your favorite, isn’t it?”

  “I… I’m not a huge fan,” I admitted. I figured that if Frank and I were going to try to get on the same page, I would do well to spare him the fake feelings of gratitude and be nothing short of bluntly honest.

  “Since when?” he asked, looking crestfallen.

  “Since birth.” I tried not to sound sarcastic, but there was no way not to.

  “Really?” Frank said. He stared for a moment as if waiting for me to throw my hands in the air and say just kidding!

  “Really, really,” I said instead.

  “Sorry, kid.” He looked down at the pot boiling on the stovetop, brow furrowed in a look of confusion.

  “Alfredo,” I told him. “You’re on the right track because you knew it was like spaghetti, but it’s not. Mom always made us alfredo with the white sauce.” Frank looked back up at me, and I could see a look of understanding slowly form on his features.

  “Alfredo,” he repeated. “With chicken. And black olives. She always made homemade sauce.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled and placed the dinner plates that had been sitting on the countertop onto the table, figuring I could choke it down this one time, hopefully, to make him feel better. If he was trying, so could I.

  “Thank you for coming tonight,” Frank said. He sat down at the table, and I followed suit grabbing the pitcher of juice from the fridge before I did. I was both amazed and caught off guard to find no cans of beer chilling in the fridge.

  “Thanks for having me,” I said. Frank slopped some noodles onto his plate and reached for the pan of burned toast. I did the same. “This is… nice.” I poked at the noodles, feeling suddenly awkward. What was there really to say? Frank and I had been nothing short of strangers before he’d decided to clean up, and now it felt like we were starting from the beginning instead of picking up where we left off. Only, I had no idea what to say to him anymore. Life had changed so drastically since Mom’s death, and now here we were, expecting some unlikely father-daughter reunion.

  “How is your friend?” Frank asked after a moment of silence. “The Mexican… Ava? Are you guys still close?”

  “Hispanic,” I said. “And she’s doing well, thanks for asking. Jay took us to our first NA meeting the other night. It’s really going to help both of us stay out of the booze and drugs. I hope.”

  “Those meetings are a godsend,” Frank said. “It’s AA for me. Without support from those people, I’m not sure I could have stopped doing what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, they’re good people.” I hesitated, thinking of Ty’s handsome face. “I’m… with someone,” I said. For a fleeting
moment, I wondered if it was too soon to talk about my brand-new love life with my stranger of a father, but I figured it couldn’t do any harm. He was my father, after all, even if it had been years since we’d truly connected last.

  “You’re really with someone?” Frank repeated. “A guy?”

  “No,” I said. “A tortoise.”

  “Sorry.” He flushed red and took a sip of his water. “I wasn’t sure if you were seeing that Ava girl, especially when your friend Jay came to breakfast the other day instead.”

  “No, Dad. I’m not gay.”

  “Well. That’s good, I guess.” Looking awkward, Frank set down his glass and reached for some toast and butter. “So, tell me about this someone who isn’t a tortoise or a woman,” he said. “I’m intrigued.”

  “His name is Ty. He’s a paramedic. And he’s in school.”

  “And he likes you?” Frank asked. I looked down at my plate, twirling the spaghetti on my fork.

  “Yes,” I said. “At least, I think so. It feels so good being with him that I guess I keep waiting for the catch.”

  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t like you,” Frank said. “You’re a pretty amazing girl, Khloe.” I chuckled uncomfortably, wondering how this conversation was still in full swing.

  “He’s a good guy,” I said. “He’s everything I ever wanted in a person.” There was a moment of silence as we ate, and after a few minutes, Frank spoke.

  “If Carter was alive, would he approve of this Ty kid?” he asked. I was surprised to hear my father speak Carter’s name as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I hesitated, thinking about it, trying to envision how a meeting would go between the two.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think Carter would have loved him to the point of wanting him all to himself.” I was surprised when Frank smiled, amused.

  “How is the Drake family?” he asked. “The last time I heard from any of them was when Melanie brought me flowers after the accident. She had that kid with her, the kid sister.”

  “Gracie,” I said. “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “She is,” Frank agreed. “How is Mr. Drake? David, I think his name is.” I twirled the undercooked spaghetti onto my fork, trying not to grimace as Frank chewed heartily on his burned toast.

  “I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I haven’t talked to Mr. Drake since he kicked me out of Carter’s funeral.”

  “He did what?” Frank put his fork down and stared at me, looking shocked. “Why would he do that?”

  “He doesn’t like me.” I pushed my plate aside, appetite gone for good. “He didn’t like me when Carter and I were friends, either. David and I got off on the wrong foot, and it all went downhill from there.” I leaned back in the chair and sighed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I need to make things right with that family.”

  “I don’t know what you can do,” Frank said. “If I can remember right, that David Drake isn’t a cakewalk, Khloe. Maybe it’s best just to let it go.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I owe it to Carter to make things right. David thinks I influenced his son’s decision to commit suicide.” Frank set down his toast and looked at me.

  “You don’t believe that, do you? I know we haven’t exactly been friends the last few years, kid, but I do know that whatever happened with Carter had nothing to do with you.”

  “Even so, I’d rather make peace with him,” I said. “If anything, just for myself.” Frank shrugged, then, raising just one shoulder slightly. It was a habit I was also guilty of. Like father like daughter.

  “Good for you,” he said. “I guess your mother raised you right.”

  “It wasn’t just Mom,” I said quietly. “For a while, you were there, too.” Frank looked at me again and set down his fork. Our eyes met.

  “I hope I can be that man to you again,” he said after a moment. “I think I can be… if you let me.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for trying. I’ll try, too.”

  “Try what, Khloe?” Frank asked. I leaned forward, propping my elbows up on the table.

  “I’ll try to become the woman Mom wanted me to be.”

  Monday was a rainy day when I met Mrs. Dunham in her high school office for our counseling session. It had come to the point that I was starting to look forward to our weekly meetings. There was something comforting about being able to talk to the wise woman knowing that she understood what was happening in my life. She had known Carter—she had known his secrets, dreams, and desires—and now it was my turn.

  “I’m almost six months sober,” I said. Raindrops splattered against her office window, but it was calming. The rain always soothed me.

  “That’s excellent,” Mrs. Dunham said. “Have you noticed any changes in your life because of it? For better or worse?”

  “I still want it sometimes,” I admitted. “I used to turn to alcohol and drugs to help me face the world. It felt like I couldn’t even be social without being drunk first. That’s been hard, trying to make friends without a liquid crutch.”

  “Have you succeeded?” Mrs. Dunham asked. I thought of Ty. And of Jay. And even of Ava, who day to day was getting stronger and stronger without the drugs to tear her down.

  “The guy I’m with, Ty, he’s so good to me. He’s amazing. I’ve had to get to know him sober, and I’ve had to be intimate with him completely sober. There haven’t been any mornings that I’ve rolled out of bed with regret because I can’t remember who I slept with and whether we were safe.”

  “How does it make you feel to be able to make friends sober, too?”

  “Honestly, it’s awesome. Ty sees me for who I am sober and not who I turn into when drunk.”

  “And he still likes you,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “I think you’re on the right track, Khloe.” She set down her pad and paper and leaned forward, her eyes catching mine. “Carter would be proud of you, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “He would.” And for the first time since he’d been gone from my life, I believed that.

  I was surprised when I got out of therapy to find Ty waiting for me out front in his little white car. He spotted me coming out the front door and waved before getting out to greet me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. Then, feeling like an asshole, added, “I usually just take the bus home.”

  “Jay told me your car was out of service for a while, so I figured I’d offer my own,” Ty said. “He told me where you would be, so here I am.” He grinned and opened the passenger door for me, but not before pulling me into his arms and greeting me with a kiss. I allowed my lips to linger on his for a moment, feeling my heartbeat speed up with a buzz of electricity.

  “You’re a sweetheart,” I said, pulling away. “Thank you for being here.” I slid into the front seat, inhaling the soothing scent of vanilla and spices coming from the air freshener on the dashboard. Outside, the sky was threatening to open, and I was suddenly glad that Ty had made an unexpected appearance. Not just for the ride, though, but for him, too.

  “I thought you might be working today,” I said as we drove. “I always worry that I bother you too much, so I didn’t call this morning.”

  “Bother me? It only bothers me when you don’t call. No work today. I’m nearing my hours.” He smiled at me. His smile was charming, and I felt my face flush red as if I was back in high school drooling over the football quarterback. It was inevitable that his smile would forever get me.

  “No damsels in distress to save, either?” I said with a grin. Ty laughed. I enjoyed his laugh.

  “Well, there’s you, Khloe,” he said. “Didn’t I just save you?”

  “I don’t need saving,” I told him. “I can handle myself.”

  “Somehow, I believe that.” Ty turned on the heat as he drove, bobbing his head gently to the music coming from the radio. I watched his fingers tap on the steering wheel, taken with how laid back and chill he was, even sober. Jesse had always been
relaxed, but it was only ever because he was high. I found it so odd that someone could embrace and enjoy life so much without drugs or alcohol.

  “I told the counselor about you,” I said after a moment. “I never really know what to call you, though, except for the guy I like. Nothing was ever made official.” On the window next to me, it was starting to fog over. I traced a smiley face in it with my finger, thinking of Carter, wishing he were here to meet and give me the green light on Ty. I knew that he never would have approved of Jesse, but Ty was a different story. Ty was good. Kind. Whole. Ty was exactly what I needed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. His tone had shifted slightly, the joy and teasing were gone. “I already have a girlfriend.”

  “You what?” I whipped my head around, my heart dropping in my stomach. For a reeling moment, I thought I might vomit all over his dashboard.

  “Yeah,” he said, furrowing his brow. “I couldn’t leave my girlfriend. She’s too good for me. She’s kind and funny and extremely intelligent. She’s come a long way since I’ve met her.”

  “Oh.” I dropped my hands into my lap, both humiliated and too shocked to speak. I cleared my throat to say something, anything, but Ty continued to talk.

  “She wants to be a doctor,” he said. “Well, a surgeon. She’s even cooler than me. And really ambitious.”

  I looked over at him, feeling the flush rise to my cheeks as he met my gaze and smiled. The skin around his eyes crinkled up in the corners, and he grinned that silly, lopsided grin. I nibbled on my lip, fighting a smile.

  “She sounds like a catch,” I said. “Don’t let that one go.” He reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ava leaned over me to peer out the driver’s side window of my car, leering anxiously at the house in front of us.

  “I doubt it,” I admitted. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”