Page 64 of Break Your Fall

“Well, you know what they say about sharing. . .”

She wants me to say the phrase; instead, I throw back, “Yeah, that it destroys friendships.”

Camille rolls her eyes as I feel something rub up against my ankle. I look down at Grumbles and immediately remember the sounds of Valerie’s mewing.

“What’s with the face?”

The question makes me realize I’ve made one and I shake it away. “Nothing,” I say, smiling down at Grumbles as her yellow eyes gaze up at me. “I need to wash my hands,” I say next, holding them out in front of me like Frankenstein as I head to the sink, Camille chuckling as she follows.

“Then you can pick up where Julian left off.”

“Yeah, no, thanks,” I say with feigned disgust as I soap my hands, smelling, then eyeing the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove.

She gives me an unamused look, then whips a wooden spoon in front of my face with a raised brow. “Start stirring.”

I walk through the main house on my way back home, hoping to run into my mom to give her the Tupperware of spaghetti I’m holding instead of just tossing it into the fridge. I need to check on her, find what she’s thinking after the confession I put into Dad’s head, which I know is now in hers. It wouldn’t be out of character for Dad to transfer whatever words he would’ve had for me to her, especially now. Create a source for another one of their arguments.

I find her in the kitchen, crying over the emptied sink. Her pain is more uninhibited now that I’m not around as much to see, her back caving and shoulders jerking with each sob. The ache in my chest at seeing the ache in Mom’s turns to my clenched fists around the Tupperware.

Where the fuck are you, Dad?He should be here for her, taking his wife in his arms as she breaks down because of him.

Because of me?

“Mom?” My voice is low enough not to startle, but she jerks anyway, sniffing in all of her emotion as she turns to me and wipes her face.

“Oh, hi, honey.” She turns back to the sink to run a wetted hand over her cheeks. “How long have you been there?” I slide the Tupperware along the counter, freeing my hands to wrap her into a hug. “Oh, I’m fine,” she says as she leans into my hold and holds me back. “Anyone ever tell you you give the best hugs?”

I smile and give her a squeeze, pulling back to point out the spaghetti, get that out of the way. “From Camille and Julian.”

Mom smiles at the Tupperware, but it fades as she wipes more tears.

“Is it me or Dad?” I ask, and her eyes spring up to mine, her deep inhale expelling in a sigh.

“It’s just life, Tommy.”

“But Dad told you what I told him?”

She gives me a slight nod, and prefaces the rest of this conversation with, “The last thing I want is to sound like Ashby.” This is where my refereeing comes from. Mom has been mine and Dad’s. “I’m just worried about your future. And so is your dad.”

“Dad’s worried about mybasketballfuture,” I clarify. “Particularly making sure that’s what it is.”

“And you’re not happy anymore? You don’t love basketball?” Mom’s eyes study me through concern. I see the worry, but there’s no judgment, which softens me and makes me say my next words.

“I love Reyna.” There’s a sad defeat in my voice that makes Mom squeeze one of my hands. My love for Reyna is the only thing I’m sure of and even she feels out of reach.

“Well, have you … I don’t know. Made a move?” Her words make me feel so low, like I have toconvinceReyna to be with me, and I laugh out loud through that pain. I know my mom is only trying to help, but a move, like, I don’t know, telling Reyna how I feel?

“What else am I going to do, throw myself at her? She knows,” I remind quickly so I don’t have to relive that moment again. “And she knows me. She knows everything.”

I had Reyna in my arms, I let her lead, andnothing happened. And she has a recent history of laying out all of her feelings—as Julian phrased it—when she’s drunk, which is made worse by the fact that she couldn’t even answer the most important question I’ve ever asked her.

I’ve never thought I have a chance with Reyna, no matter how right for her I feel I am, but her lack of an answer only confirmed that I don’t.

I know it was for the best, given the situation. I can’t be with her intoxicated, and she can’t have me that way, either. We both need to be sober, intoxicated on nothing but each other.

“I’m so in love with her, Mom,” I say, feeling that hole I felt when I had Reyna in my arms expanding. I don’t want it, but it’s there now. “I can’t fight and lose. I can’t.”

I wouldn’t survive that heartbreak.

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