The Fastest Way to Fall(58)

“Ugh, I hate that she has the old photos up,” Britta said, motioning to portraits filled with big curls and the same smile. Britta as a smiling toddler in a bikini, sticking her belly out. Britta wearing braces and sporting a crooked smile, maybe from middle school. Britta in a bright orange dress standing next to a bride. She pointed to that one. “My sister’s wedding. No one who really loves her sister picks dresses that color.”

“I don’t know; it kind of suits you.” I knew nothing about fashion but knew that dress was ugly and fit Britta’s body poorly, but I hadn’t noticed that initially. I’d been drawn to her smile. “And it’s nice that your mom hangs on to so many memories.” Several years earlier, in the back of a drawer, I’d found a few Polaroids of Libby and me. I’d relocated them to my own nightstand. After so many months of silence, Libby had finally responded a few weeks earlier—just with an emoji and “I’m fine,” but it was something.

Britta motioned to the wall. “It’s nice, but it’s like a reminder of every awkward stage of my life every time I walk down this hall.” She pointed to, admittedly, a bad photo. Britta was maybe thirteen or fourteen, and her hair stuck out in all directions, large pimples dotting the tip of her nose and both cheeks in a connect-the-dots effect.

“Oh, wow,” I said with a laugh. “Your glasses . . .”

“Right? Lime green and the size of my entire face. I didn’t even need them; I just thought the frames looked cool.” She shook her head at the photo. “What if I was bringing an actual boyfriend home? Who would want me with this haunting image so nearby?”

“I’m sure he’d still want you.” How could he not?

“C’mon. Jon is probably lurking on the stairs to grab you.” She nodded her head into the door she opened, and we walked into a large bedroom with pale blue walls. An armchair sat next to a window that overlooked the front yard, and the room had its own adjacent bathroom. This room was bigger than most of the apartments I’d grown up in.

“Welcome to the blue room,” she said with a grand gesture at the pale-colored walls. She paused as her gesture returned to the bed, a king-sized mattress in white linens. Her face twisted. “I can’t believe my mom thought I was dating Del. I mean, I asked him to be my buffer because he never cares what other people think, but sleeping with him?” She made a face.

“So, just a friend, then? I was kind of wondering if he was the guy you were talking about having a thing for. The one you work with.”

Britta glanced away and toyed with her suitcase. “Uh, no. Not him. I’ve known Del since college. Don’t you think you’d know if I was dating someone? I spend all my free time with you.”

“I guess so. I was just curious.” I cleared my throat and took a step back when she looked up at me with those big eyes. “I haven’t seen much need for buffering yet. Your family seems kind of awesome.”

“Have no doubt, my mom is downstairs scheming.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “If I actually brought a boyfriend home, she’d immediately start planning a wedding.”

I was fairly certain my eagerness could be read from space, so I turned, inspecting some artwork on the wall. “You’ve never brought a boyfriend home?”

“Never felt right. They all ended up wanting to change me in some way. To be different physically, professionally, personality-wise. Never seemed worth the hassle to introduce them to my family.”

I ignored the painting and faced her again. “No one who deserves you would want you to be any different.”

“I know, Coach.” Her wry smile stirred the now-familiar feelings in my chest. “But thank you.”

I shrugged, like I hadn’t just been a millisecond from telling her she was perfect. The welcoming scent of her—the citrusy hair and something else that always seemed sweet—it was too much. I stepped back again and looked out the window, taking in the expanse of the yard filled with people. “So, what do I need to know?”



* * *





LUCKILY, I HAD gym shoes in the back of my car. Jon didn’t let me off the hook with throwing the ball, and I’d been drafted into the kids’ football game. As I closed the trunk, I heard Britta’s family in the back of the house—kids squealing, adults laughing, and the low hum of people having a good time. The entire scene was something from a movie—red-checked tablecloths under mountains of food, the Spades tournament in full swing, and everyone happy—it was weird, but there I was in the middle of it. A car pulling in behind mine shook me from my observation, and a guy dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt stepped out.

“Hey,” he said with a wave, which I returned as he neared. “Always a party at the Colby place, right?” He pointed to the side of the house where Britta’s family was scattered. He seemed familiar with the place.

“Yeah,” I said, noncommittal.

The guy laughed, seemingly unperturbed by my tone. “Seems like if there’s something going on in this town, it’s here.”

I nodded.

He reached his hand out. “I’m Calvin. My parents are their closest neighbors.”

I nearly stumbled and glanced around, as if Britta would be nearby giving me a nod. Apparently, I was chatting with the opposition. He wasn’t what I was expecting—from Britta’s description, I’d envisioned a mash-up of the main characters from The Big Bang Theory, but he was a good-looking guy.