Page 8 of The Risk of Falling

“Sebastian, I told you. . . ” I begin to say.

“Abbey, don’t,” Seb says.

What else can I do but agree. Nodding, I lean over and give him a light hug before turning and opening the car door. “You know I care about you, right? And that you are the one person I really trust, with exception of Rosie.” I confess, feeling guilty.

“Yeah, I know you care about me. There was never a doubt. I care about you, too. But Abs— let’s be honest. You don’t trust anyone with your heart, and that’s something I accepted a long time ago,” he pauses. “Abbey, you may not normally lose yourself in love but open your eyes because there is something different about the way you look at this guy, and there is most definitely something in the way he watches you. I just want to make sure your denial doesn’t get you hurt in the end.”

I don’t respond or even look back at Seb because if I do, I’m afraid he will see that he just might be right, and I’m not ready to acknowledge there is something different about Parker.

“Thanks, Seb, for being my date and for always understanding me.”

“Anytime, Abs. Anytime,” his words colored with sincerity. He truly is a good guy.

I close the car door and lift my hand in one final wave as he pulls away. I watch the car until it disappears around the corner and out of sight. My mind and heart feel exhausted from all the unfamiliar, overwhelming emotions tonight.

I stroll up to my apartment, hoping sleep will come quickly so I can avoid any more thinking about Parker Nallen or the way he makes me feel.

When I walk through the door of my one-bedroom apartment, I immediately hang my purse on the hook next to the entrance. Slipping my heels off, I notice a couple of missed calls on my phone from earlier in the day. All of them are from Carol, better known as my mother.

I walk through my boho-chic decorated living room into my bedroom, place my phone on my dresser, and hit the speakerphone button as I play back the messages.“Hi, Darling, it’s me. Your mother. Why haven’t you called me to check in? Abbey, it’s been a week. Well, I was wondering if you’re bringing a date to Rosie’s engagement party. You know, Abbey…”I roll my eyes as I hit delete before her message ends. I already know where her message is going. My mom loves me but she’s ridiculous when it comes to my dating life. If she knows about a party or event I’m attending, she wants to know about my date or if I plan on having one. I step out of my dress as the next message begins.“Hi, Darling. It’s me again. Your mother. Just wanted to see what you’re wearing tonight to Rosie’s engagement party and if you received my other message. I mean, if you have a date, I hope you found something flattering and not too revealing. Maybe you don’t have a date, and you will find one there…did you find a date? You know, Abbey…”Delete. I debate if I should even listen to her last message, but as usual, I feel guilty if I don’t at least give her the benefit of the doubt. What if this message is an emergency? I guess it would be too late, but what if I need to know something or she needs me to call her back. Hopefully it will be more than her wanting to see if I’m eating enough or dressing nice enough or if I found someone to date…or love…or marry…or anything other than asking me about a man. So, I let the next message play as I pull my favorite sleep tank over my head. As I pull my hair up into a messy bun, her voice sings through the speakerphone.“Abbey, it’s me. Your mother. Again. I’m pretty sure the party has started. You never called me back after my last two messages. I don’t understand why you always ignore me.”I sit slowly on the end of my bed. Uh oh, there’s that guilt creeping in. There’s a long pause before she continues,“Well, call me darling. I love you.”I hear a quiet sniffle before she ends the call.

I fall back on my bed, guilt washing over me completely. I love my mom. I really do. When my dad left us, it broke her. She always tried her best to show me love, pouring herself into me completely. Sometimes she gave more love than I knew how to handle. Or even deserved. We only had each other, so I was her sole focus. And even at the age of nine, I could see that she lost her light when he left. She became different. Less confident. Less superwoman. Just less somehow.

Mom was so focused on figuring out what she did wrong to cause him to leave without any explanation. She became so consumed by perfection. For herself. For me.Be witty, Abbey. That’s how you get a good man. Always look your best, Abbey. That’s how you keep a good man. Be happy and tidy, Abbey. That’s the kind of girl a good man wants to marry.And that is exactly why Carol fell in love and got married four more times between my ninth and eighteen birthdays. I guess all those things weren’t enough to keep a man. And neither was her love. Yet, no matter how many times they left her, she never gave up on love and still held on to her idea of how to keep a good man.

Exhausted from the emotions of the night and my mother’s helicopter ways, I crawl under my comforter and fall into a deep sleep.

Seven

ABBEY

“Can you pass me the grapes?” Rosie asks without even looking up. All her focus is on the iPad resting in her lap. She’s smiling down at a photo on the screen in front of her—a picture of the perfect pink gerbera daisy. We’ve been busy looking at countless images of flowers, dresses, cakes, and random photos of all things wedding. We decided to gather our favorites ideas from different sites, pinning them to her Pinterest board. Rosie hopes it will help her piece together the dreams for her special day. So far, we’ve saved about a billion and one photos of daisies.

“You realize that looks exactly like the last pink daisy you had me pin,” I tell her as I fulfill her request. Rosie looks up at me briefly and rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to the photo that mesmerized her.

I pick up my “wedding” notebook, as we deemed it, and begin jotting down some notes about a few bridal shops nearby, bakeries for the cake, and caterers’ for the reception.

Rosie’s phone rings, playing the most sickening love anthem I can imagine—Can You Feel the Love Tonight? Really? Barf.

As she sings hello into the phone, I make a gagging sound, which she ignores, as usual. I continue writing as Rosie explains to Drew where to find the sample invitations in her apartment. “Yep, that’s all. Thanks again, and love you, too. See you soon. Bye.” She hangs up the phone and looks directly at me. I raise an eyebrow in question. “Abbey, one day, you will find the person who makes your heart race so fast and all the barriers you put up around it won’t be able to protect you.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” my tone sounding a little angrier than I intend.

“What’s gotten into you anyway? You’ve been even weirder about all this love stuff since the engagement party,” she accuses, the light in her eyes slightly dimming.

“Oh, come on, Rose, I can’t be any more cynical than I already am, so you are just imagining the impossible,” I joke, hoping to change the subject. I’m not normally one to discuss my feelings, and I’m confident this topic should be avoided entirely because I haven’t stopped thinking of her future brother-in-law since that night. I can’t tell Rosie that—I don’t want to tell Rosie that—because if I did, she would keep pushing the issue until I revealed I’m so attracted to Parker that I wake up at night sweating.

“I’m not imaging anything, but I won’t push it. I just want you to know you can tell me anything. Say anything. Tell me how you think love is stupid, and you think Drew and I are living a fantasy because I realize that’s your opinion. And I respect your feelings even if I disagree because I know you are doing the same for me by being a part of this ‘lovefest,’ as you call it.”

I let her speak without interrupting her because she is so right and so wrong all at the same time. Shit. I’m so confused because I have no idea what I’m thinking or feeling, I only know I’m uncomfortable.

I need ice cream. Chunky Monkey, if I’m going to be specific.

“I need Chunky Monkey.” I stand up abruptly. “I’m getting us Chunky Monkey.” When I make eye contact with Rosie, I can see her disappointment, and it kills me. But, right now, I can’t have this conversation. I can’t think about all the things she just said. Or about how I’ve been feeling. Or any of the reasons why. So, I ignore the look and grab my purse from the hook by the door. “Be back in fifteen, and we will get this planning party started!” I don’t even look back at her or wait for a response. Over the years, I’ve perfected the art of avoidance.

Making my way down the breezeway outside my apartment, I can’t help thinking about the look on Rosie’s face. She doesn’t deserve to be left hanging. I hate that she believes I think she’s stupid for believing in love. For trusting Drew. For trusting love. She is the furthest thing from stupid. She is smart and beautiful. If anything, I’m envious of how she is so carefree and trusting, even when she has been hurt in the past. Rosie is lucky she found Drew. I don’t hate love, I just don’t know if I can trust it. Love has never equaled trust in my experience.

The moment I walk through the building’s doors and into the bright afternoon, Drew is pulling up to the curb. I smile when we make eye contact, and I give him a tiny wave before stopping dead in my tracks. He isn’t alone, and my smile quickly fades into a look of trepidation. Parker is with him, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. Trying to recover so Drew doesn’t notice my change in demeanor, I put one foot in front of the other, keeping my eyes forward on Drew’s approaching figure and ignoring his brother leaning against the car behind him.

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