Page 43 of Fall Wherever They May

Ivan cuts her off. “Yeah, like that time you retaliated for the shampoo prank. It was about a week later, and I should have known to sleep with one eye open. This woman . . .” He points a finger at Evie. “Took a set of her dad’s clippers right up the middle of my head while I was sleeping. She gave me a reverse mohawk.”

I imagine Ivan with a two-inch-wide bald strip down the center of his white head and bark out a laugh.

Evie stands up, walks to Ivan, and sits on his lap, running her fingers through his long, wavy hair. “He had to completely shave those beautiful brown locks right off. Went to school with a bald head that Monday. He was so traumatized, that to thisday he still hates getting his hair cut.” She giggles. “Somewhere along the way our feelings morphed from hate into love. It took five years of rivalry for us to admit we’d always had a thing for each other. I guess his pranks were his way of flirting. We were in college by the time we called a truce. Now, I’m not comparing you and Cal to us; your situation is completely different. I will say there was a lot of tension. You two really went at each other when you first met; so much so, I’m not sure which surprises me most: that you’re both still alive or that you haven’t jumped in the sack with each other.” They all laugh in unison.

Ivan points at me. “For the first time since I’ve known him, he’s happy, and he gets out of the house. Granted, it’s only for hockey or for you and Tucker, but I see a significant difference in him. Six months ago, you would’ve never caught him in a club. Aspen, you and Tucker have changed him.”

“I think Tucker has more to do with it than me,” I counter.

Evie shakes her head. “Tucker may have been a conductor, but you were the catalyst.”

I thought I was losing him, but I don’t want to voice that to my friends. “He acted more like a jealous boyfriend than my friend last night, and I don’t know what to make of that.”

River rolls her eyes and makes a pfft sound at me. “Oh puhleez. What was that little performance at the bar? You don’t own the nickname Hotshot, you know? Like you weren’t acting like a jealous girlfriend.”

I let her words wash over me. Iwasjealous over that blonde bartender. She’s insanely gorgeous, and it hit me wrong when she called him by the nickname I gave him. A possessive feeling I don’t understand washes over me at the thought. Ugh. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Just go talk to him. Maybe you will understand each other better.” Ivan pipes in.

Evie pulls me into a hug that feels so motherly. “It will all work out how it’s supposed to.”

After we arrive home, have dinner, and watch recaps of last night’s hockey game on T.T.S.N., I help Tucker into bed. I call Teagan to fill her in on last night's debacle—in case she needs to do damage control. Knowing it’s probably time to clear the air, I make the decision to walk over to Cal’s house so we can talk. I haven’t heard from him at all today, but if he is feeling like I’ve been feeling, it’s unsurprising.

“Hey.” I knock on River’s door and crack it. “I’m going to Cal’s. Are you okay to watch Tucker?”

“Go get your man.” She giggles, and I roll my eyes at her.

“You know that isn’t what this is.” I shoot her a pointed look. Though I want it to be, but the thought of putting my trust in another man and allowing him the chance to walk away from me—from Tucker—is terrifying.

Once I cross the street and make my way to Cal’s house, I knock on the door, but there’s no answer. The lights are on, and his car is in the driveway. I ring the doorbell and wait for a few minutes before knocking again. Still nothing. I jiggle the door handle, and it’s unlocked, so I peek in.

“Cal?” I call out. No answer.

Looking around the house, I make my way inside and call again, “Cal?” Still no answer.

I pluck my phone out of my back pocket to call him but catch movement in the backyard as he plops down in a lounger by the pool. I grab a blanket from the blanket rack beside his couch, open the French door, then close it behind me with a soft click.

Cal

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

I startle in surprise at the sound of Aspen’s voice. I didn’t hear anyone walk up. I crane my neck to find her walking towards me with one of my blankets wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s not freezing; it’s fifty degrees out here. Actually, it’s really warm for an October night.”

She invades my space, drops her ass down next to me in my oversized lounger, and stares up at the sky. “Look, I’m from Oklahoma, where the temperature is set on hell from May to November. Seventy degrees is freezing to me.” Aspen wraps herself tighter in the blanket as we sit in silence for a few long minutes. She looks into the night sky. “Do you believe in extraterrestrials?” She finally asks, breaking the silence.

The question is so out there, no pun intended, that it forces a laugh out of me. “That’s a random question. Are you trying to say I must be an alien because I like sitting outside when it’s fifty degrees?”

She chuckles. “Maybe.” She sighs. “No. I’m genuinely curious.”

I think about the question. “Which kind of extraterrestrials are we talking about? The kind fromET,Men in Black,Alien, orX-Files?” I ask with my head tilted back, staring out into the dark sky. From my periphery, I can see the lights of my pool reflect a turquoise glow on her skin. I turn my head towards her, awaiting her answer.

“I guess more likeX-Filesor, oh, maybe evenRoswell.” A smile lights up her face. The sight of her causes my stomachto dip in a weird way, and my heart begins to pound out of my chest.

I turn back, staring into the endless night. “I mean, part of me is a realist. I don’t know if I believe there are aliens walking around on earth in skin suits. But then again, I think about all the galaxies in space, and it’s kind of hard to believe we are the only living beings in the entire universe.”

“Same.” Aspen shifts her body to face me, lying on her side. I turn my body to mirror her. Her emerald eyes dance across my face. My eyes fall to her lips as they move; I want to know what it would be like to kiss those lips. What would they taste like?

“Sometimes I wonder what the purpose of all of this is, you know? Like, why are we here? Why do bad things happen to us? But then I look at my son, and realize I don’t need all the answers; I’m just glad to be here and to simply have him. Perhaps my purpose here is to be his mom, or maybe it’s just to be, who knows? Or, maybe, just maybe, the reason for everything crappy that happens in our lives is a juxtaposition—it’s there so we can find joy. It’s like yin and yang. How would you know peace if there was no chaos?”

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