The Fastest Way to Fall(37)

“Who’d call the paramedics if you tripped and fell?”

“Too soon.”

“Sorry.” His eyes were bright, and I could almost see the wheels of a training program spinning in his head as he glanced at his watch. “I better get going. Running will be good, though.”

What did I get myself into? I bit my lower lip but was already thinking of how this might play out for Body FTW. “I haven’t run since high school gym class, and it didn’t go great then.”

“It will be great now.” He held out a fist and I bumped it, enjoying the warmth of his fingers. “I’ve got you, B.”





26





“ARE YOU LISTENING to me?”

“I heard you, Mom.”

“I’m going out.” She pushed away her uneaten meal, then crossed her arms. I thought she’d be happy about the takeout from Lem’s, but she hadn’t touched it. The late-April air blew through the open window, bringing in sounds of the neighborhood—people talking and laughing, music blaring from somewhere, and traffic.

“You can’t. Not yet.” I nudged the food back toward her. “If you break the rules, you’re going to jail. It was this or rehab, and you refused to go to rehab.”

“I’m caged like an animal.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “You must hate me to make me do this.” Her leg shook under the table. “Both my damn kids hate me. At least in jail, I could talk to people.”

“I don’t hate you.” I reached for her tapping fingers. When Libby and I were kids, we would hold her hands and it would calm her down. I had only brushed hers when she jerked back.

She frantically ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it tousled and fraying out of her ponytail. “Was I that bad of a mom?”

“C’mon,” I started, trying to stay calm.

“I did the best I could with you two.” She paced, twitchy and pulling at her hair. “No one helped me. The teachers you two loved so damn much weren’t feeding you.”

Mine had. I’d find a gym bag filled with food in my locker every Friday, which would get Libby and me through the weekend. My football coach never said anything, never made a big deal about it, but I knew it was him, and I never forgot that.

Mom jabbed a finger at my chest. “I tried. I tried my best. Your dads were never there, but I stuck around. That’s something, right? Why’re you doing this to me?” She walked toward her bedroom.

My dad’s name was Chris, and she named me after him. He was tall, drove a green truck, and liked tequila. Everything I knew about him could fit on a Post-it note. He took off long before I could form any memories.

I reached her in two strides, pressing my hands to her upper arms. Her near-vibrating state worried me. She was ready to jump out of her own skin. “It’s okay, Mom.”

She collapsed, sobbing against my chest. “Libby wouldn’t do this.”

I stared at the wall over her head, clenching my jaw.

At one point, Libby would have helped, but she probably would have told me to let Mom live her life and to stop trying to fix everything. Sometimes I wondered if she was right. If I let Mom do her thing without me trying to step in, maybe I’d be happier. Maybe Mom would, too.

I patted her back and let her heave wet sobs against me.

She pulled away and fell to her mattress, clutching her pillow to her chest. “Go away.” She didn’t look at me as she curled on her bed. “I don’t want you here.”

“Mom . . .”

She was crying again, sobbing while she yelled and rolled to face the wall. “I want my little girl, but I’m stuck with you, and you take everything away from me. You have since the day you were born.”

I stood motionless in the small space, and I was thrown back to being the six-year-old trying to wake her so I could go to school, fighting back frustrated tears because I didn’t want to get in trouble for being late again but knowing she’d yell at me for waking her. I dropped my hands to my sides and twisted my mouth to stop the emotion rising in my face. “I love you, Mom.”

“Just go,” she said from behind her pillow.

My feet landing on the concrete echoed around me in a soothing, pounding rhythm when I left the house. I stalked to my car, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I wanted to punch a wall or break something, anything to take the emotion pooling in my chest and let it out, to forget it, because it shouldn’t affect me anymore. “Damn it!” I slammed my palm against the roof of my car, then leaned against the cold metal.

I fell into the seat and peeled out. Instead of going home, I kept driving until the suburbs were in the rear view and I was surrounded by rural stillness. The loud music and high speeds didn’t drown out my thoughts. I pulled over on the side of a gravel road and cut the engine, the still night outside a shocking juxtaposition to the music.

My phone buzzed twice, and I considered ignoring it, but I looked on the off chance it might be Libby.


Jake: You free Friday? Naya wants to harass you about bringing a date to the wedding.

Britta: Sorry to bother you while you’re out. We never set a specific time for tomorrow.



My shoulders relaxed, and I sent a thumbs-up to Jake. Naya’s not cooking, is she?