This Is Falling (29 page)

Motherfucker. I just said sex
. I said
sex
…to Rowe’s dad! And there is no mistaking it, and he
knows it’s what I said, and Rowe’s eyebrows could not possibly be
any higher on her forehead. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I pull
the mask down—thank god I’m a catcher—and turn around like I did
nothing wrong. Maybe he’ll think it’s all in his head. Either way,
that was easily the worst win-over-the-dad move ever. I better play
well today for this man, otherwise I might as well just hand over
the bat and let him hit me with it at our sex-o’clock dinner.

One walk and three doubles against one of the
best teams in the country is a pretty decent showing—I just hope it
was good enough to erase my blunder. We lost by two, but Florida
State is coming off of a College World Series year, so I feel
pretty satisfied.

I shower and pack up my stuff, then head out
to catch up with Ty. My only saving grace is the fact that he
wasn’t there to witness while I put my foot in my mouth.

“Nice game, yo. Burgers? Sally’s?” he
asks.

I pull my phone from my pocket to check the
time and notice a message from Rowe. “Yeah, that works. I wanna eat
light though. I’m going to dinner with Rowe’s parents tonight,” I
say, keeping my phone in my hand so I can remember to read Rowe’s
text.

“So, what does
light
mean? You gonna
order some salad or shit?” Ty asks; his brow all furrowed like I
just told him I wanted to eat dirt.

“No, I’m just saying let’s eat now, early.
And I’ll skip the fries,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“Ah, okay. Order fries anyway. I’ll eat your
fries,” he says, pushing ahead of me to the crosswalk. “Oh, and
hey. What’s
this
shit?”

Ty hands me his phone while we cross the
street, and I swipe the message screen open to see a picture of
Cookie with a ransom message. I almost bust a gut with laughter
right then and there, but I manage to hold it together.

It reads:
If you want to see me ever
again, you’ll be sure to wear the tutu waiting for you in your
mailbox on Halloween.

Rowe…is a genius. What she doesn’t know,
though, is that my brother will totally wear that tutu. He’ll
fucking own that tutu and rock it with a full on ballerina leotard
to prove a point. But either way, I’m going to
love
watching
it all play out.

“Beats me,” I say, handing the phone back to
him.

“It’s Cass. And Rowe, I bet. Those two better
be sure they’re ready. I’m going to
rock
this ballerina
shit! And when I get Cookie back, I’m going to pay them back
so
hard.”

He can’t see me laughing behind him, but my
brother is dead serious. To see a twenty-two year old deliver a
message so earnestly—and utter the word
cookie
in the same
breath—is something only Ty Preeter can pull off and still look
like a man. Barely—but still like a man.

I trail behind him a few more steps so I can
check my message from Rowe.

Rowe:
Sex?

I wince at first, but then grin.

Me:
Is that an offer?

Rowe:
No, dumbass! It’s the very last word
you said to my father.

Me:
Yeah…about that.

Rowe:
You were free and clear! What the
hell happened?

Me:
Do you think he noticed?

Rowe:
Let me play the scene out for you
after you walked away. Dad: Did he just say sex? Me: Uh, I don’t
think so. Mom: No, I’m pretty sure he did. He said sex. Dad: Yeah,
that’s what I thought I heard, too, but I wasn’t sure. I’m glad you
heard it. Me: *dying, looking under seats, hoping there is enough
room for my body.* Mom: I can see where you could make that
mistake. Six, sex, six, sex, six-sex. Yeah, it’s a tricky slip…
shall I go on?

Me:
Sorry.

She doesn’t write back right away this time,
and now I start to feel like an even bigger asshole. I am
single-handedly self-destructing this whole damn thing—I’ll be
lucky to make it to dinner. Ty and I exit the elevator and head to
our room when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I pull it back
out, hoping like hell it’s Rowe with some witty comeback.

Rowe:
Waiting.

Huh?

It buzzes again, this time with a photo, and
I can tell she’s not wearing anything because I can see her bare
shoulders, the smooth skin of her neck and her lips, which are
seriously sucking on her finger? Oh. Hell.

“Hey, I’m gonna go hang with Rowe instead,” I
say, turning away from Ty without even looking.

“Dude! I’m hungry!” he says.

“Then go eat,” I say, knowing my brother
would do the same damn thing to me in this situation.

Thank god for baseball. I’m sure I’m not the
first to think those very words, but I truly mean it right now
because for the last thirty minutes, I have been absorbed in an
intense baseball discussion with Rowe’s father, and he seems to be
rapt by everything I say. If I can just stay on the topic of
baseball for the rest of their time here, I should be able to come
through this thing with Tom Stanton having a good opinion of
me—despite my very serious attempts at self-sabotage.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing how you
all handle LSU tomorrow. We should be able to watch most of the
game before we have to leave,” Tom says. I feel Rowe’s hand squeeze
mine under the table, and when I turn to her, she smiles—that soft,
reassuring, proud kind. I’ve somehow come back out on top. “Curious
why you didn’t decide to attend LSU…being from Louisiana and
all?”

“I almost did,” I admit, and I feel Rowe’s
hand tense up against mine. It’s amazing how close I was to not
coming to McConnell, and then I never would have met Rowe. “But I
was really interested in finding a good fit for both me and my
brother. Ty, well…he’s my best friend really. We don’t act like it
sometimes…”

“Oh no, you definitely act like best
friends,” Rowe inserts with a laugh, and I reciprocate.

“Yeah, most of the time we do,” I say with a
fond smile. “Ty’s always been there for me. He’s my
number-one
guy
. We sort of have this crazy fantasy of being in business
together—baseball of course. If things go just right, he’ll be my
agent. Or if I don’t make it…”

“You’re going to make it,” Rowe interrupts,
and I love her—the way she looks at me. Like I really am something
special.

“But
if
I don’t make it,” I smile, “we
sort of have this crazy dream of going into sports management on
our own. Preeter Brothers Sports Management, or something like
that. I don’t know…it just sounds like pipe dreams when I say it
out loud. But Ty—he’s so smart, a real head for the business side
of things. Me, I’m more of the PR, the talking-to-people part.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Rowe says
with a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say. For a brief
second, I forget we’re here with her parents, and I lean in and
kiss her cheek quickly. When I sit back, I realize what I just did
and my eyes flash wide and I mouth
sorry
to her.

“Nate, it has been…” Rowe’s mom, Karen,
begins to talk, but she sits back and looks at her husband for a
few seconds mid-sentence, taking a deep breath. The smile on her
face is the kind that looks like it could switch to tears at the
drop of a hat, but she manages to hold it in place when she looks
back to me again. “It has just been truly a pleasure to meet you.
Tom and I are
really
glad you and Rowe…well, we’re just glad
she has someone
here.
”

Rowe looks embarrassed by her mom’s
statement, but I appreciate the sentiment. I don’t know how much
they know
I know
, but there’s a sort of feeling I get from
her parents—I can’t put it into words, but I get a sense that they
trust me. And they should. I would walk through fire for their
daughter. Hell and back—without even questioning it.

“Well, there’s been something on my mind…our
mind, actually,” Tom begins, and Rowe sits forward on her seat, her
face covered in concern. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”

He smiles back at his wife, and they both
look nervous, like this is something they’ve rehearsed.

“Rowe, your mother and I. Well…we
haven’t…gosh, I’m not sure how to say this,” he says, looking to
Karen for help, and she just squeezes his hand on the table and
nods with a smile. “Well, since you’ve been gone to college, that’s
really been the first
alone time
we’ve had…in a couple of
years.”

Her dad is doing his best to dance around the
reason Rowe has been home, probably at their side, for the last two
years. It makes me wonder how often, if ever, they have talked
about the shooting and what it did to their daughter.

“Are you guys getting a divorce?” Rowe
interjects suddenly, her palm sweating instantly in mine.

“Oh, honey! God no. No,” Karen pipes in, once
again exchanging that strange, nervous glance with her husband.
“It’s…oh boy. There’s no easy way to say this, so—your dad was
given a
huge
promotion at work. It’s a good thing. It’s…it’s
a
great
thing actually. But, it means we’re moving. To San
Diego.”

“We’re moving to San Diego?” Rowe asks.

“Yes. And you’ll love it there—you know, over
the summer? And I was able to pick up a contract with San Diego
State, teaching economics.” Her mom looks nervous, the way she’s
sitting perched at the edge of her seat, just waiting for her
daughter to smile, congratulate her, and tell her she’s excited.
But Rowe’s fidgeting in her lap—and I can tell she’s lost.

“But, what about our house…in Arizona?” What
she means to ask is what about Josh, and her memories—however
tragic they may be. And I know this is what has them concerned the
most.

“Well, that’s the thing. Your dad starts at
his new position the first of the year, so we’ll be getting the
house ready to sell, and hopefully it will go quickly. And part of
the promotion was also a vacation—your dad sort of won this trip…to
the Bahamas. And, well, we have to go, over Thanksgiving.”

Rowe looks like she wants to throw up, and I
don’t know if it’s all of the change being thrown at her at once,
fear of having to travel to a place like the Bahamas over
Thanksgiving, in a plane, over water, or the fact that she will
lose one more connection to Josh. “Can Rowe come home with me?” I
hear myself saying it before I even have time to think it through,
but when I feel her hand thread even tighter through my fingers, I
know I have to keep going. I’m her life raft right now. “I mean,
for the holiday. Like you said, you guys haven’t had much alone
time. And…it might be nice to have a vacation, you know…on your
own? And well, my parents really would love to have her come. And
we don’t do anything very formal. I’d like her to come. I…I’d like
it a lot.”

I don’t know who looks happier about my
idea—Rowe or her mother, who has actual tears developing in her
eyes. She looks at Tom and nods, signaling her approval, and Tom
turns to his daughter with his shoulders scrunched and his brow
pinched.

“Rowe? Would you be okay with that? I mean,
we don’t really do anything formal either, and your grandparents
aren’t coming over this year. It would just be the three of us
anyhow,” he asks.

Rowe looks from her parents to me and then to
her lap, her lip tucked between her teeth before she finally looks
up at me, her eyes reaching inside to my heart and squeezing. “Are
you sure it’s okay? I mean, that your family would
want
me?”

“We want you,” I say, leaning a little closer
and whispering the rest. “I want you. Please, come home with
me.”

“Okay,” she says, a slow smile taking over
and dispelling the nerves and worry that were just battling against
her. Then she turns quickly to her mom. “But, can I see the house?
One last time—before you sell it? I mean, if someone buys it before
my semester’s done, can I come home just once to say goodbye?” Rowe
swallows hard, and her mom reaches across the table to take her
daughter’s hand while she nods
yes.

Rowe

My home is gone. My home is gone. My home is
gone. I have said this in my head, over and over, all night. I
don’t know what it means other than the fact that I can never go
back. And I don’t really want to go back…do I?

There’s a part of me that feels like I have
been in a fantasy world, playing dress up like I did when I was a
little girl. I’m
playing
college. And when I’m done with
this, I’ll go back to what I was before. Except that was never the
point, was it? I suppose what I’m going through is no different
from the other thousands of students walking to classes, living in
apartments and dorms, and calling their parents on the phone less
and less as months turn into semesters and then into years.

But those
other
students don’t have
pasts like mine, with scars covering their bodies and their
hearts—and a first love that has dominated their every thought for
almost a thousand days.

“Are you okay?” Nate asks, his thumb gently
tugging at my chin while we lie in each other’s arms in his pink
bedroom—just one more scene in my fantasyland.

“Yes. No…I’m not sure. Is that…bad?” I ask,
tucking my head under his chin to feel safe.

“Yes. No. I’m not sure,” he says with a light
chuckle. I don’t know if he really understands, but he pretends
well enough. “I’m glad you’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving.
I’m selfish.”

“I’m glad I’m coming home with you, too,” I
say, and most of me
is
truly glad.

“San Diego really is nice. They have
beaches,” he says, and I smile against his skin.

“I love beaches. Or, I think I do. I don’t
know. I’ve never actually seen one,” I say almost laughing.