Tumble

by Locke, Adriana

  My heart cracks because that love, a mother’s love, is one I don’t think Mia will ever know. I’m not sure Katie has it in her to give that kind of affection. We never shared it in the ten months we were together, roughly speaking. And she didn’t show it to our daughter in the month she stuck around after she gave birth.

  My only solace in it all is that Katie knew enough to just leave. She packed her car, told me we were better off without her, that she had no inclination to be a mother, and left. My mother couldn’t do that; she drank herself to death right in front of us.

  “So . . .” Mia nudges my arm. “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  Because I broke up with her so she’d go to college. Got drunk. Got Katie pregnant. And never spoke to Neely again after telling her the news.

  “There’s more to getting married than finding a pretty, smart, nice person,” I say. Standing up, I tuck the sheets in around her.

  “I bet she would’ve married you.”

  I act like I’m shocked. “Are you saying I’m awesome?”

  “No.” She giggles. “I’m saying when you walked into the gym today, she made that face at you that Penn makes at Haley.”

  “Mia, Penn makes that face at everyone.” I flip on her nightlight. “And if Penn ever does anything, you should do the opposite. Big lesson right there. Did I land it?”

  “As good as I landed my tuck.”

  “Great.” I kneel at the edge of her bed. She closes her eyes and folds her hands together in front of her face. “Dear God, thank you for all the blessings you’ve given us. Please protect us while we sleep. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Her lashes flutter open as she yawns. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, rascal.” After a kiss to her forehead, I flip off the lamp and head to the door. “Don’t even think about using the flashlight under your pillow to read after I leave.”

  “Dad,” she groans. “How’d you know?”

  “Because I know everything,” I whisper. “And if I pick up your bag off the floor again, you’re taking out the trash. Understood?”

  “Yes,” she grumbles. “Good night.”

  “’Night, baby girl.”

  I make my way back into the kitchen. Fishing around in the refrigerator, I find a beer, and then I slip out the back door.

  The sky is dark, the moon bright overhead and illuminating the good-size backyard. I plop on the swing and take a sip of the beer that’s probably expired.

  My heart is heavy as I push back and forth in the warm night air. From the corner of my eye, I see a flashlight on in Mia’s room and laugh. She never listens. Dad says she gets it from me. I say she gets it from Matt.

  She used to come up with new quirks—a way of saying a certain word or a new part in her hair—and tell me she got it from her mother. Then when Sara, a woman I really liked and saw a potential future with, moved in after our dating for a year, Mia latched on to her like a leech. And when six months went by and she left us, too, saying she wasn’t prepared to raise someone else’s child, Mia was broken.

  I won’t let that happen again. I won’t fail her a third time.

  I take another sip of the beer and free my mind to roam. It does the typical inventory list for work and runs through anything I might need to leave for Haley in the morning. And then it goes somewhere I usually don’t let it: to Neely.

  Resting back in the swing, a baby doll lying beside me, I imagine what life might’ve been like with her. Everything I said about her tonight is true. I’m not surprised Mia thinks the world of her. What I am surprised about is, despite her hateful words to me at Mucker’s, I still think the world of her. How could I not? I’m the one to blame for things not working out between us.

  Right or wrong, I broke up with her.

  I gave her hope we’d work some kind of long-distance thing out.

  I slept with Katie.

  I had a kid.

  Glancing up as the flashlight beam bounces off the window above me again, my heart fills with a love I’ve never felt for anyone else.

  I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NEELY

  Focus,” I demand. Flexing my fingers, I start again.

  Dear Mr. Snow,

  Thank you very much for the invitation to interview.

  My fingers stop working.

  I throw my head back and sigh.

  It’s taken me twenty minutes to type twelve words I don’t hate, and all I’m doing is thanking a man for an opportunity to interview. It’s a basic email. I should’ve been done with this nineteen minutes ago.

  Alas, I take a deep breath and start where I left off.

  I can be available for an interview at several times next week.

  I groan. “All week because I have no life.” I start again but stop when a knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Come in.”

  “Hey,” Mom says, poking her head around the corner. “I’m heading to the grocery for tea. You want anything?”

  “I can’t think of anything.” Scooting my computer off my lap, I narrow my eyes. “You look different. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She says it too quickly. “Just running out for some tea.”

  “Eyeliner. You’re wearing eyeliner.”

  “So?” Her cheeks turn a shade of blush that isn’t natural. “Can’t a woman my age wear eyeliner?”

  Grinning, I swing my legs off the side of the bed. “Yup. Especially if you want to look hot. Who you looking all spiffy for, Mama?”

  The blush deepens. “Will you stop it?”

  “Not until you answer me.” I walk across the room and pull the door open. “And you’re wearing a skirt.”

  “A maxi skirt. For goodness’ sake, Neely. It goes to my ankles.”

  “So you’re going for a classy look. A ‘you have to work for the goods with me’ type of thing.” I raise a brow. “I like it.”

  Her hands fly through the air in exasperation. “When do you go back to New York?”

  “Needing this as a love pad?” I tease. “I can stay with Claire, you know.”

  “No, you may not. You’re staying here.” As she smooths down her skirt, the pink in her cheeks pales. “Mr. Rambis needed a few things, so we’re going together.”

  “Mr. Rambis from across the street? The guy that taught algebra for a hundred years?”

  “It wasn’t a hundred years, but yes. That’s him.”

  I consider this. “Not bad. He’s cute. Could lose the mustache, though. But his lawn is impeccable. You might want to consider that.”

  “And why should I consider his lawn when I’m just getting some groceries with the man?”

  “Because,” I say, sitting back on the bed, “it starts with groceries. Then you start baking for him. Then he’s staying late into the night, and the next thing you know, he’s in your bed.”

  “Neely!”

  “It’s true. I’ve read articles on things like this because God knows I don’t have any experience. And they say if a man’s lawn is too tidy, that means he doesn’t spend enough time inside.” I waggle my brows. It brings the blush back to her face. “If you get what I’m saying.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I lean against the headboard and bring my laptop back to my lap. “It’s been said.”

  The banner on the screen is for a cosmetics line, and the logo is a bright green. That’s all it takes to send my spirits in a downward spiral.

  I bite my thumbnail and try to shake the vision of Dane and Mia together from my brain. Looking up, I see my mother still standing in the doorway.

  “What’s the matter, Neely?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on,” she prods. “You owe me after that Mr. Rambis crap.”

  Guilt gnaws at my insides. I’d hoped it would be gone by now. I’d prayed that I would put some distance between us, get a shower, eat half a cheesecake, and fall into a carb-loaded bliss and not feel so bad about the t
hings I said. Or implied. Or insinuated.

  Didn’t happen.

  Instead, there might be a hole in the wall of my stomach from this evening alone. It grows a little deeper every minute.

  “Have you ever had a Rocket Razzle?” I ask.

  Her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. “Yes. Why?”

  “Well, it turns out those turn off a filter in me, and I say things I’m not proud of.”

  Mom sits on the end of my bed. “What did you say? And to whom?”

  I can’t look at her, so I look out the window at the dark night sky. “I said some questionable things to Dane.”

  “Questionable, huh?”

  “Fine. Maybe nasty.”

  “Oh, Neely,” she mutters. “You’re better than that.”

  “I know.”

  She lays her hand on my foot and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Do I want details?”

  “No.” I look at her again. “I don’t owe him an apology for anything. He hurt me. But I feel so freaking bad, Mom.”

  “Honey,” she says, getting to her feet. “He might’ve hurt you, but hurting him back isn’t going to sort anything. Because you’re the one feeling bad right now, and if I were to guess, you hurt a lot worse than him.”

  “This is so not fair. Why do I have to be a good person?” I pout.

  Mom laughs. “Because I raised you to be one. Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do because you’re a grown woman and you know what you said and didn’t say. But I’m going to give you some advice.”

  “Please do.”

  She faces me. “The last time you left here in a fight with Dane, it wore on you for years. I could hear it in your voice. I saw it in your pictures. Your gymnastics even lacked a certain umph you had before.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, feeling worse.

  “You’re going to leave here in a few days. That’s what you say, anyway.”

  I shift in the bed, unable to sit still. “What’s your point?”

  “Don’t leave like that again. If you have to suck it up and apologize, do that. Be the bigger person. Then you can leave and go back to your life without any extra weight.” She gives me a small smile, then disappears into the hallway. “That half a cheesecake missing from the fridge isn’t going to help either!”

  “Hush,” I yell back at her. My laughter softens just as the snap of the door closing floats down the hall. I settle back against the pillows, mulling over her words.

  I can certainly survive in New York without apologizing to him. Saying I was wrong after everything that’s happened between us doesn’t sound appetizing.

  Glancing down at the unfinished email on my computer, I realize she’s right. If this interview goes well, I could be gone by next weekend. It would be really nice to start fresh with a new job and a new hobby, if I can get back into teaching gymnastics, and without any old burdens I don’t need to carry.

  I hit “Save” on the draft, close my computer, and find my shoes.

  I watch the house from the safety of my car like some kind of weirdo. There’s a single light on in the front. Through the shadows of the curtains, I’m guessing it’s a lamp.

  Surely he’s not in bed already.

  Shivering despite the balmy outside temperature and lack of air conditioner inside the car, I kill the ignition. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. It just ups the awkwardness as I climb out of the car, as if I’m being filmed for some made-for-TV movie.

  “I’ll knock,” I tell myself. “I won’t ring the bell in case they’re asleep. If they don’t hear the knock, then I can rest assured I tried to apologize. The universe can’t hold that against me.”

  The sidewalk is clean, the little rows between sections free from errant weeds or mud. There are neatly trimmed bushes along the front of the blue-gray-sided house with crisp white shutters. There aren’t any gnomes or little flags like many homes on this street have, but the mulch is black and looks new. As I take the three little steps onto the wooden porch, I remember what I told my mother about a tidy lawn and laugh.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I rap on the door. There’s no dog barking. No feet falling. Nobody on the other side announcing they’ll get it. Just silence. I wait a few moments before tapping again.

  Just as I turn to head back to the car, relief filling my veins, the door opens.

  Standing only a few feet away is a just-out-of-the-shower Dane. His cheeks are smooth and freshly shaven, a pair of red gym shorts showing off a set of toned calves. The gray T-shirt is unnecessary, but I do appreciate the slight clinginess of the fabric to the lines of his body.

  His brows are raised, clearly in surprise, as he reaches above his head and grabs the top of the door. There’s no tilt of his lips, no outward expression that he’s happy to see me.

  Talk fast. Get it over with.

  “Hey,” I say, fidgeting with the hem of my tank top. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by so late, but I didn’t want to say this over the phone. Not that I had your number but . . .” I look down. “I’m rambling.”

  I wait a few moments for him to say something. Nothing comes. Holding my breath, I look back up at him. He’s almost grinning.

  “You’ve always been kind of cute when you ramble.” His shoulders rise and fall. “Might be your saving grace tonight.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  He blanches. “That beer couldn’t have been that expired,” he mutters.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He steps onto the porch and pulls the door closed behind him. There are two rocking chairs to my right, and he heads that way. “You want to apologize, huh?” he asks, sinking into one of the chairs. “I better sit down for this.”

  “You aren’t cute when you’re being a dick,” I tell him, sitting in the other rocker.

  “That’s not a good way to start an apology.”

  “I haven’t started yet.”

  He finally smiles a wide grin that shows off his pearly-white teeth. “So? Let’s hear it.”

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  We sit in silence, rocking back and forth in the old-fashioned chairs. The motion is relaxing, and coupled with the sweet scent from the rosebushes planted at the end of the porch, my shoulders sink into the chair.

  “I bet Mia tumbles across there, huh?” Motioning toward the front yard, I look at Dane. “It’s the perfect length for a tumbling pass.”

  “She does. It makes me crazy. I’m afraid she’ll fall on her head.”

  Laughing at the tortured look on his face, I shake my head. “It’s good to fall on your head sometimes. It teaches you to keep your hands up.”

  His rocking slows. “Is that why you’re here? You fell on your head, and now you’re trying to get your hands up?”

  “No. I’m here because I’m a guilt-stricken person who doesn’t want to go home without at least trying to apologize for things I said that I didn’t mean.”

  “Here’s the thing, Neely—I think you did mean them.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You sure about that?” He rocks faster again, setting his sights somewhere across the street. “I know you have feelings about Mia, and—”

  “I adore her,” I cut in. “She’s a great little girl.”

  “I know that,” he says quietly.

  Most people wouldn’t hear the pain in his voice, but it’s obvious to me. The notes buried in the language have me wanting to reach out. To touch his arm. To make him look at me so he can witness the genuineness in my eyes.

  But I don’t. Instead, I fight the constriction in my chest as I search for words. He beats me to it.

  “I regret a lot of things.” He flexes his jaw back and forth. “I regret thinking I knew what was best for you and breaking up with you so you’d go to college.”

  “What?” I sit up in the chair. “What are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t want to go to New York. I’d just started at the mill and figured it
would suit me better than some metropolitan city I had no interest in. The mill suited me, Neely. But New York suited you.”

  Someone might as well be trying to explain to me the earth is flat, because none of this makes sense. I stare at him in the moonlight and wonder if I’m hearing things. “I had no idea that’s why you broke up with me.”

  “I know. I felt like it was easier having you be mad at me and just going. You needed to take that scholarship, Neely. You were so damn talented, and all you ever talked about was this life of doing all this stuff.” He looks at the ground. “I didn’t want that life, and it wasn’t fair to make you pick between the two.”

  My heart sits at the base of my throat. “It wasn’t fair for you to pick for me either.”

  His eyes lift to mine, and we rock back and forth, searching each other’s gaze for understanding.

  “I loved you,” he says, his voice so soft it’s barely audible over the crickets chirping in the yard. “I figured I’d let you go and you’d come back to me eventually.”

  “I would’ve. If we were together, I wouldn’t have gone to New York after college. But we weren’t, and you had Katie and the baby and I couldn’t stomach seeing that, Dane.”

  His face pales. He sucks in a deep, haggard breath before blowing it out slowly. “I’ve never truly apologized to you for that.”

  “For what?”

  “For Katie.”

  “Dane, I don’t want to—” I say, adjusting in my seat. He cuts me off.

  “Listen to me. I’m sorry for sleeping with her. I’m sorry for doing that to you. I know those words are the most overused words in the fucking English language, but I don’t know what else to say.”

  Looking away at a tree growing topsy-turvy in a neighboring yard, I fight back the tears in my eyes. This is all I ever wanted to hear.

  My heart swells in my chest as I force my lungs to inflate.

  “You don’t have to accept that,” he whispers.

  “Of course I do,” I say. “But can I ask you why?” I turn to face him. “Why her? Did you really think we would never be together again? Were you trying to move on? I just . . . I can’t understand it.”