Page 33 of Falling for You
Have you ever wondered with your parents about whether you’re seeing the real them? They’re always actingstrong for you, looking after you, protecting you from everything that they can. When do you see the real them? When do they let their guard down?
Well, right then I felt as though I’d walked into a moment where Dad had taken his mask off for a tiny breather. And then as soon as I walked in, he shoved it back on so fast that it made him catch his breath. I didn’t know whether to ask if he was okay or just run back upstairs immediately.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I said, after a beat. ‘It’s almost morning in London.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Of course it is.’
‘Why are you up?’
‘Oh,’ he said, gesturing down to his empty glass. I noticed that he’d been drinking. ‘I’m not. I’m going up now.’ He stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, hiding his eyes from me. ‘Night, son.’
I felt paralysed as I watched him leave. A part of me wanted to grab his arm and make him talk to me, but a bigger part of me knew that he wouldn’t want to do that. What would be the point? It’s not like it can fix anything.
I ended up sitting at the table for a few hours, leafing through an old copy ofThe Great Gatsbythat was lying around. Dad must have been reading it to Mom, it’s her favourite book. She reads it every holiday, every year.
‘Is she okay?’
I’m pulled back into the moment as Stevie’s voice echoes down the phone. He rang me, croakily, as soon as he woke up and read my messages. It’s about seven in the morning now for him. It’s still just me sitting at the kitchen table.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, leaning my head against my palm. ‘I haven’t seen her. She’s been asleep since I arrived. Dad has seen her and says she’s okay, though.’
‘So she’s in hospital?’
I sigh. ‘Yeah. We’re planning to go and see her later.’
I hear Stevie exhale and I feel a pang of guilt.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and get you. I did try to find you,’ I say. ‘But I texted you, so you could have met me at the airport.’
As soon as I say it I want to kick myself. Talk about sticking your finger in the wound, Nate.
‘I was trolleyed, man.’
‘Trolleyed?’
‘It’s an English word. It means drunk.’ I can hear Stevie smiling. He’s trying to wind me up. ‘I thought it was quite fun.’
I roll my eyes. ‘That’s a weird one.’
‘When are you coming back?Areyou coming back?’
I take a deep breath.
‘I’ve barely thought about it,’ I say honestly. ‘I mean, I’ve left my laptop at yours, but I could go back to work in the Manhattan office and ask you to ship it to me.’
‘You’re paying for that.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘You’ve got to come back though, right? I thought you were making a new life for yourself in London – you can’t give up after two weeks.’
God, he is such a pained artist. It’s like he’s about to burst into song.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It depends how Mom is.’
‘Okay, sure,’ Stevie sighs. ‘Well, tell her I say hi and send her my love.’
Irritation prickles at my skin. This is our mom. Why is he talking like a greetings card?
