You and Everything After (Falling #2)(77)

“You aren’t stupid. You are amazing. And Jared…” I choke down bile from saying his name. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Several minutes pass. I don’t talk. Kelly doesn’t talk. She lays her head on my hand, and I let her. Every now and then her face winces, like it’s being attacked from the inside. She wants to cry, but she doesn’t want to break.

“Do you want to meet Jackson?” she asks finally.

“I’d love to.” I smile and move the gear into reverse to back out of the lot. We drive back to her home, her ruined and poisoned home with white siding and blue trim. I’m relieved that Jared’s car still isn’t in the driveway. I’m not ready to see him. I won’t be able to help myself. And Kelly needs to call the shots on this.

She helps me from the van, just like she always did. I let her push me inside, over the lip of the door, and then I hug her parents. They look the same, only their hair a little grayer. Her dad looks stronger than when I saw him last, having survived another bout with cancer a year or two ago. Kelly brings Jackson over, a tiny human, bundled in an orange pumpkin onesie that covers his feet. He’s perfect. He’s beautiful. He’s everything Kelly, and nothing Jared. Thank God.

Jared doesn’t deserve him either.

I hold him for a few minutes, and he doesn’t cry. His body feels warm, and his small movements are the coolest things I’ve ever felt—the way his legs jut forward, his hand reaches for nothing, his eyes open and close in slow motion. His yawn is adorable. And he smells like powder and strawberries.

We reminisce about high school, swap embarrassing stories about grade school, and I give them updates on college and life in Oklahoma. It’s a pleasant, safe conversation, but there’s always an undertone of regret when Kelly and I make eye contact. Regret that her world is crumbling, and I know about it, but there’s nothing we can do to fix it. She’s going to have to live through this pain, because even ignoring it would hurt.

Kelly pulls her phone from her back pocket, and her brow pinches as she reads a text. It’s Jared. I know it is. I wait for her eyes to meet mine, and she motions for me to follow her to the door. She doesn’t want me to see Jared. I understand. It’s probably best I don’t.

I say my goodbyes, making excuses for my quick departure. Mom wants me home in time for dinner. It’s the truth in a way, though Mom would understand. I kiss Jackson’s small, fuzzy head, and follow Kelly through the door back to the van. She helps me pack my chair, and I position myself in the driver’s seat.

“He’s on his way home. Said he’d be about twenty minutes. Apparently, they were out of pumpkin filling at five stores,” she says with a harsh laugh.

“Kel, if you need me…if you need me here? If you want me to deal with him? Anything, just say the word,” I say, and she leans in through the window and kisses my cheek, her hand trembling along my face. She’s scared. And she’s angry.

“I know. Not today. Today we get to have Thanksgiving. Jackson gets to have this. And my parents get to have this,” she says, her hand dropping to her side with a heaviness. “But tomorrow…he’s out of the house.”

The blankness to her stare when she says that last part is serious. It’s an expression she’s never made for me, because of me, and I’m grateful I’ve never earned it.

I reach out and squeeze her arm one more time. She covers my hand with hers. Her gaze is soft and warm again when she looks at me, and she takes a deep breath. For a moment, staring at her, we’re that same couple we were in high school—like I’m dropping her off after a dance, just having kissed her goodbye. She’s so very much a part of me. And yet, what we are to one another is so different now. It’s important all the same.

“You love her?” she asks, and at first, I’m nervous by her question. Not because of what she’s asking, but because of everything that she’s just been through. Because it doesn’t feel fair for me to love someone when she’s hurting like this. But the longer I look at her, the longer I think, the calmer I become. The more sure I am…sure of everything. The more I see in her eyes that she wants something for me—something more than I’ve been giving myself.

“Yeah, I love her,” I say, allowing myself to be happy and smile cautiously in front of my heartbroken best friend. She wouldn’t want me to be fake.

“Good,” she says, and I know she means it. Her smile looks sad, but only for her own loss. “You should let her know that.”

“I’m working on that. I’m not very good at…you know…sayin’ mushy shit?” Her laugh is fast and raspy, and she looks to the side while she shakes her head and leans back from the van, her hands gripping the window frame.

“Ty,” she sighs, coming back to me and placing both hands flat along the door panel, patting them down once for emphasis. “You are especially good at the mushy shit.”

Her hands slip from the window, and she backs away, giving me one wink.

“Call me, Kel. For anything. I mean it,” I say, and she holds up a hand to wave goodbye before pulling her arms in to hug her body. She doesn’t break stride, doesn’t pause at the door, doesn’t let any of it show in front of her family. She walks back inside to pretend everything’s fine for a few more hours, for today.