Tumble

by Locke, Adriana

  “Are you sad, Dad?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice husky. “I’m pretty sad.”

  “How sad are you?”

  “I don’t know.” I chuckle. “How do you measure how sad you are?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad before.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I kick myself for opening us up to this. Was it worth it? Were a few days of fun worth this?

  “I liked having her here,” she says. “I liked knowing she was downstairs with you when I went to sleep. It felt like you were happy then. Like I didn’t need to worry about you anymore because she was worrying too.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Mia. I’m a grown-up.”

  “Sometimes you have to worry about grown-ups too. You clearly don’t have it all figured out.”

  My chest shakes as I laugh. I pull Mia closer. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She pries herself from my arms and crawls across her bed. Sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, she wrinkles her nose. “If it helps, I’m not as sad as you,” she says.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Wanna know why?”

  “I’d love to know why,” I say, twisting around to face her.

  “I know she’ll come home.”

  “She isn’t a puppy, Mia. And I do love your optimism, but I really want you to understand that she’s not coming back.” I stand up. “I know it’s hard to accept that. It’s hard for me too. But we have to.”

  “She won’t come back with that attitude.” Haley’s voice rings out behind me.

  Mia giggles as I roll my eyes and turn to face our nanny.

  “Please, Haley, join our conversation,” I mutter.

  “I don’t mind if I do.” She trots over to the bed and sits by Mia. “Just so you know, I agree with the kid.”

  “Because you are a kid,” I say.

  “No. Because I told you, this is the perfect moment for you to go find the girl.” She clutches her chest and looks at Mia. “Every good love story has a moment that makes you swoon.”

  Mia wrinkles her nose. “I just want Neely back.”

  “How do we do that?” Haley asks. “What do we need to do?”

  “Face reality,” I tell them, getting annoyed. “We can’t make her come back.”

  “No, but we can try to persuade her to.” Haley kisses my daughter on the top of her head and then stands. “Do you love her?” she asks me.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want her to come back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you feel like your life will never be the same if she doesn’t?”

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  “Then go get the damn girl. At least try. Have you ever even tried before?”

  It’s the last question that sparks something deep inside me. It’s the question that resonates through my mind, plants a seed that maybe, just maybe, Haley and her antics are onto something.

  “Just try, Dad. If she doesn’t come back, at least we know you tried.” Mia waits for me to respond. “Try for me.”

  I feel my resignation waning. It slips through my fingers despite how hard I try to keep a grip on it.

  What can it hurt? All she can do is say no.

  “Is your schedule clear for a few days?” I ask Haley.

  Mia jumps to her feet on her bed and cheers. Haley picks her up, and they do a little dance around the room, making me laugh. But when they dance over to me and I wrap my arms around the two crazy girls, I think they might be onto something.

  “I’m going to check flights,” I say, a bubble of panic erupting in my core. “What else do I need?”

  “Give me your credit card, and I’ll take care of the logistics,” Haley says, setting Mia on the bed. “You go pack your stuff and figure out what award-winning speech you’re going to use to win her back.”

  “My wallet is in the kitchen,” I call out over my shoulder. “It’ll take me an hour and a half to get to the airport.”

  “Go, Dad, go!” Mia shouts.

  This is probably a ridiculous idea. But as I grab my travel bag out of the closet and imagine seeing Neely on her turf, I realize that, ridiculous or not, this has to happen.

  She’s family, whether she knows it or not.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  NEELY

  Another night of no sleep. Another morning of perfectly frustrating coffee. Another day of keeping my phone in my hand just in case Dane calls.

  He won’t. There’s no chance and I don’t blame him.

  The thing I love about him most, something I was able to identify somewhere between the thirtieth and fiftieth siren last night, is how much he loves Mia. Everything he does centers around her. How many men do that? Not many.

  That being said, I hit him right where it hurt. Whether I meant to doesn’t matter. His greatest fear was having someone come into their lives and leave, and I did that. I didn’t even tell Frank to let me think about it. I didn’t even ask for a couple of weeks to help break the news to Mia. I just left, and that’s really what’s keeping me up at night, not the sirens.

  When I looked in the mirror this morning and put on a coat of lipstick for my meeting with Frank, I hardly recognized myself. My dress was one I’ve worn before, and the lipstick was my daily go-to just a few weeks ago. But when I look at my reflection, all I see is a person I don’t know.

  When did I become the person who’s so hedonistic I just run off on a whim? I spout off all these mantras, say all this stuff about empowering others, when in reality, I’m just as focused on myself as anyone else.

  At least that’s how it is here. That’s how I am here. As I push open the doors to my old company and take the elevator to the twentieth floor, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to flip a switch back to the old me. The one who’s up before dawn, champing at the bit to get here. The one who’s still here after dark, finishing projects that could wait until the next day.

  This was my life for so long. It was as much a part of me as Dogwood Lane or my love of gymnastics. Why do I feel like an outsider walking up to the receptionist’s desk?

  “Neely,” Georgia says, her headset perfectly in place. “It’s such a pleasure to see you today.”

  “It’s good to see you too.” I rest my briefcase on the stone ledge and sign in. “How have things been around here?”

  “Stressed. Everyone’s been running around like crazy. I know with this new launch, things are being leveraged and it’s doubled Frank’s load, but now that you’re here, maybe that will ease up some. For me, anyway.”

  “Sounds fun.” I grab my things and head over to the row of leather chairs lining the wall. I take a seat. I fiddle with my green-and-yellow bracelet—it absolutely does not match my attire, but I couldn’t make myself take it off. It reminds me of green eyes and sunshine, and both make me smile, even if I don’t feel like it.

  A few familiar faces stroll by, stopping to say hello. They tell me how much I was missed and congratulate me on coming back. I smile and thank them and wonder why in the heck it doesn’t feel like something to celebrate.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows look over the street below. There are cars and buildings and people occupying every square inch of space. There’s not a green speck anywhere to be seen. I’m wondering if it’s possible for the air to be used up without any trees close by to create more when the door to Georgia’s right opens up and Frank walks out.

  “Good morning, Neely,” he says, his baritone voice ringing through the reception area.

  “Good morning, Frank.” Chin held high, I pick up my briefcase and follow him into his office.

  Three empty coffee cups line the side of his desk. A roll of antacid tabs sits next to his nameplate. The room is stale and dank, and as I sit across from his desk, I wonder how he works like this.

  But you did.

  Shoving that out of my brain, I focus on Frank. He smooths out his tie as he sits, hiding a spilled cof
fee stain on his mustard-colored shirt.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he says. “I’m about to lose my mind.”

  “Rough morning?”

  “Rough morning. Rough week. Rough week before. This launch is going to be the death of me.” He shuffles around a stack of papers and pulls out a haphazardly put-together grouping of files with a rubber band around the middle. He plops it in front of me, shaking the coffee cups. “This is yours.”

  “That looks like a mess, Frank.”

  He nods. “I told you things were a mess when I called. You’re the only person I know who can iron them out.”

  His praise settles over me. It feels good to have him acknowledge my abilities. It feels good to have his respect. Good, but not great. That messes with me a little.

  “I’ve called a meeting for this afternoon,” he says. “I’ll let everyone know then that you’re in charge. Whatever you want, consider it done.” He leans back in his seat, the casters rolling a bit as his body moves. “You’ve earned this, Neely.”

  “Thanks.” I breathe in deeply and almost choke on the stagnant air. “I’m excited to start.”

  “There aren’t many people with your work ethic,” he says. “People willing to give up their private lives to make something work. You’re impressive.”

  Or stupid.

  “I cleared out the office down the hall,” he says. “You can get your things situated in there as soon as we’re done here. May I suggest ordering something you can sleep on?”

  His laugh fills the room, as if I’m now a part of some club that gets to give up sleep for work. I’m okay with that, really. But as his laughter settles and I realize there are no pictures of anyone in his life on his desk, I realize what else he’s had to give up.

  Frank goes on, rattling about all the benefits of the job, the little perks I’ll get for being in upper-level management. All I can hear are the things I’m giving up.

  “You get a tab at Gulliver’s, for lunch.”

  It won’t be as good as Mom’s taco salad.

  “You can get tickets to any sporting event in the city you want. We just need a little notice.”

  Can you get me tickets to the Summer Show?

  “You get to watch the sunset behind the building from your office window.” He laughs heartily as he moves on to the next topic.

  Running my hand over my face, not even caring I’m probably smudging my foundation, I remind myself to breathe. The walls feel like they’re caving in on me. Crushing me. Pushing me out of the room.

  I look out the window and try to imagine the sun setting behind the buildings. I don’t know that I ever noticed it before one way or the other, although I have doubts you can see it at all. Even if you can, it wouldn’t compare with the spectacular sunsets on the bluff.

  With Dane.

  I’m so far from him, so disconnected from reality. Nothing about being here is right. It’s like being dropped into a story you should know like the back of your hand, but you forgot to read the ending.

  I imagine years of coming into this building. The things I can accomplish. The little plaques that will line my walls someday, just like they line Frank’s. Awards. Recognitions of achievement. Industry accolades.

  But what would they replace? Pictures of a husband? Of children? Macaroni art from elementary-school craft days? Memories outside these four walls?

  The question my mom asked me suddenly makes sense. What do you have to give up to get what you want?

  The answer is everything.

  Maybe I didn’t get it before when I lived and breathed this place. But now that I’ve had a taste of more, of early-morning kisses and cherry-flavored kids’ drinks, I realize what I didn’t then: I can hope for more for me. I can need more for me. I can expect more. And as I listen to Frank, I know I want more. Not just for me but for Dane and Mia too. For us.

  My chest constricts as I try to rationalize with myself. Think of all the things you can do from this position. Think of all the good you can do.

  Maybe.

  The one place I know I can make a difference is in a little blue-gray-sided house on the edge of town. They need me, and even more, I need them.

  I matter there. My heart is there. And if I leave here soon enough, maybe I can convince them to take me back.

  “Frank,” I say, interrupting him. “I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry.” I grab my briefcase and calculate how long it will take me to get to the airport. “I can’t take this job.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t take this job.” The words come out freely, releasing the monkey on my back. “It’s just not for me.”

  He leans forward, his tie hanging askew. He removes his glasses and looks at me. “May I ask what changed your mind?”

  Tears dot my eyes as I look at his tired face. “A man I owe a new Dodgers cap. A little girl who needs me to take her for a manicure.” I hiccup a sob.

  “This is disappointing. I thought you wanted this?”

  “I thought I did too. I thought this was the key to everything. I realized while sitting here this morning that everything I ever wanted is in a little town in Tennessee.”

  “I hate to hear that.” He moves in his seat, the cracked leather creaking under his weight.

  “I hate to hear it too. I’m just . . . I’m not the person I was a few weeks ago.”

  He looks unconvinced as he sits back in his chair. “Care to explain? I’m having a hard time accepting this, Neely.”

  I lug in a breath of stale, fast-food-scented air. “I feel as passionately as I ever have about empowering girls and giving women a voice in a field where they oftentimes go unnoticed. That hasn’t changed.”

  “Then what has? Neely, quite frankly, you’re turning down something most people work their whole lives for. You’ve done that—worked for this. And now you’re giving it up? I don’t understand.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry to let you down. I’ve always felt there was more out there for me, that if I kept pushing, I would wake up one morning and find it. But really, I think what I was looking for was inside me all along.”

  Aerial’s speech comes swirling back, bringing with it another round of tears.

  Dabbing at my eyes, I shrug. “I don’t need a worldwide platform to make a difference. I don’t need a title to validate who I am or what I believe.” I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows and beyond the skyscrapers filling the sky. “And I don’t need a big old city to shield me from my fears.”

  I think he’s going to be angry. I straighten my shoulders and wait for him to tell me not to use him for a reference when I come to my senses. I prepare for him to tell me I’m wasting the biggest chance of my life.

  Instead, he smiles. “You know, sometimes the best changes happen at the grassroots level.”

  I pass a hot swallow down my throat. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

  He grabs a tissue from the box on his desk and dabs it on the back of his neck. “If you want this job, Neely, I want you to have it. But I’ll say I’m almost relieved you don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at me,” he scoffs. “My wife left me twenty years ago and took our son with her. I see him when he’s in town on work, maybe twice a year. I missed being with my parents when they were on their last legs. I don’t even know what fresh air smells like anymore.”

  “Why do you do it then?”

  “Same reasons you wanted to. I just didn’t wise up soon enough. You did.” He gets to his feet and shoves his glasses back on his nose. “You have an excellent gut for doing the right thing. Your instincts are spot-on. Always trust them. It’ll get you further than anything else in your life.”

  I stand, too, and shrug. “Now what?”

  “It looks to me like you need to catch a flight.”

  The magnitude of the situation slams against me. I almost drop my suitcase. “I do.”

  “Why aren’t you skipping out of here, then?”

  “What if
he doesn’t take me back?” I look at him and he laughs. “I’m not kidding, Frank. What if he hates me?”

  “He won’t.”

  The anger in Dane’s eyes the last time I saw him flickers through my mind. My heart squeezes so hard I’m afraid it’s going to stop pumping. “I don’t know. He’s pretty mad at me.”

  “I’d be mad, too, if you were my girl and you left me for a stupid job in New York. But let me tell you something about men.”

  “Okay,” I say as we head to the door.

  “Men get angry and loud and bristle because we don’t know how to be vulnerable. We’re so afraid of losing position and getting hurt that we try to make ourselves seem invincible, even if it’s only ourselves we’re kidding.” He pulls the door open. “Go to him, Neely. Be honest. Lay it out there, and I promise you, he’ll take you back.”

  “I hope so, Frank.” I step into the lobby and almost fall on my face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  DANE

  It all happens in slow motion. One second, I’m trying to ignore the receptionist’s comments about how “sweet” my accent is. The next, the door is opening.

  Every cell in my body tunes to the doorway where a balding man who looks like he’s on the verge of a heart attack stands. He’s talking to someone I can’t see. I don’t have to see her, though, to know it is Neely.

  I’m on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the doorway. My mouth goes dry as I try to remember the little speech I prepped on the plane a few hours ago. I went over it time and time again. Now, when I need it, it evades me.

  Her voice is soft as it filters into the lobby. I stumble to my feet, running my hands down the pants I wore last night as I wait for her to come into view.

  It takes far too long to happen, but when it does, it happens fast.

  She steps through the doorway, looking at Mr. Heart Attack. She says something I can’t hear. Finally, she turns toward me.

  The smile falters on her lips as her gaze finds mine like it always does. I take a step toward her and she trips. Catching herself on the edge of the receptionist’s desk, she blows out a breath.

  And then whips her head to me.