Page 8 of Falling Backwards
But on the whole, she works my nerves.
I only realize I’ve drifted a look back over to her when her attention idly drifts up to me in return.The calmness with which she was eating her mozzarella stick instantly gives way to paused chewing and narrowed eyes.
I mime spilling my drink all over myself.
Her jaw goes slack in disbelief.She looks like she has half a mind to flip me off—but of course the other half stops her.All she ends up doing is sweeping her free fingers beneath her bangs and swinging her gaze to whatever her friend Joy is chattering about.
Still no shoulder drop.
I take my eyes off her again.Think about the harsh scar I know is on her eyebrow beneath those bangs.Suddenly remember the first time I saw her up close when I was sixteen and realized she was even prettier than I’d thought before.
And as easily as I breathe, remembering that makes me remember how I ended up hurting her.
A low sigh slips out of me.
I hadn’t meant for things to go that way.I was just….
I take a deep chug of my rum and ginger ale, but old guilt is what’s filling me up.
Until I remember how sixteen-year-old Maggie responded to what I did, that is.Then I feel old, familiar humiliation.
And then in comes the resolve I’ve been clinging to since then: shedidknow her actions would hurt me, but that didn’t stop her, which made her a little bit more of an asshole than I was.
Plus, even though she’s only gotten easier on the eyes as we’ve aged, working at the same place these last many months has put her and her fussy nature in my face way more often than I appreciate.The years we spent apart between high school and her first day at Lucent did a lot in the way of numbing me to my history with her—she only crossed my mind if I was starkly reminded of her or happened to see her somewhere.Since her first day at work, though?Oh, she’s been on my mind, all right.It’s like I live by railroad tracks and she’s the train that keeps blaring through my easy peace and quiet.Any numbness has disappeared.
My guilt can tote its ass away, if you ask me.
“So,” Paxton sighs, “your dad.”
Just like that, my stomach is knotting up.
I pull a slow breath in through my nose, try not to clench my jaw like I’ve already done most of the day, try not to grip my glass too tightly.
My dad.That bastard.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him.After years of arguing with each other, my mom caught him cheating when I was twelve and again when I was fifteen.That time, he left us for the other woman and her two kids, who were right around my age.In the nine years since, his marriage to her has stayed happy and they’ve had a son together, who has apparently joined my stepsiblings in being my dad and Suzanna’s pride and joy.
My dad called me at seven this morning, and it wasn’t a friendly conversation.He insisted I attend a family reunion happening soon—just me, not Mom, even though she was part of his family for longer than the other woman has been.I already heard about the reunion last week from his sister Joni, who is the only nice person on his side of the bloodline and with whom I haven’t minded keeping in touch.But I told him the same thing I told her: I’m not interested in traveling for hours to not only catch up with a bunch of relatives I never felt love from, but also to‘get to know’the people he traded me and Mom in for.And that made him mad.
All I say back to Paxton is, “Yeah.”
“Sorry about him, man.”
“Don’t be.”Literally.Because I’m not.All I am is done with him.
Paxton is nodding.“Yeah….I get it.”
I nod, too, because I value his support, but…well, he doesn’treallyget it.I impulsively griped about my dad to him today, but I haven’t told him enough about my family for him to really understand.I’ve basically only said my parents are divorced and my dad isn’t my favorite person.Paxton and I became friends a couple years ago when he was still a server at Lucent, but dwelling on my family drama isn’t something I like to do.And my mom is a living, breathing angel, so even though I haven’t had heart-to-hearts with her about this either, I’ve still had good help with learning to keep my dad’s shit out of my life.
In fact, as crazy as it sounds, the only person who knows how hard I was hit by my dad’s old actions?Maggie Moss.
Not that I’ll bother cluing her in on him trying to talk to me.To this day, I resent teenage-me feeling comfortable enough to tell teenage-her about the weight I felt because of him.I hadn’t spoken of it to anyone else and hadn’t planned on letting her change that—and sure, she genuinely cared back then—if I think about it, I can still feel exactly how gently she—
No.
I pop my neck, then my knuckles.
None of our good times matter.We don’t have gentleness or comfort or up-close moments with each other anymore.Maybeshe’d understand about my dad more than Paxton if I told her…or maybe she’d find a way to use it against me again.
