Page 136 of Falling Backwards
“Of course you’re intelligent,” I say softly.
For the first time today, his little laugh is wry.“No, I’m not.I’m just some dude.”
“I disagree.”
“How?If you really look at me, I’m not very impressive, Maggie.I never have been.”
Something about that one hits my heart.
“I got average grades in school and I only got the basics done in college ’cause I couldn’t figure out what to be when I grow up.The longest I’ve ever dated a girl is a few months ’cause nothing ever seems right, like I can’t figure out how to fit with anyone.I’ve never had lots of friends and I basically have just Paxton that I talk to anymore, and my mom is the only family I’ve been talking to—it probably makes me an asshole that I haven’t spoken to my aunt since the other day, but I’m still not happy with her.And I’ve never traveled farther than one state over or done anything to make a difference in the world.”As he scoffs, I get the feeling that he’s shrugging.“I’ll be twenty-five before much longer, and I’m still just….You know?”
I hadn’t expected my job question to take us in this direction, nor had I expected it to end up putting a lump in my throat.
I feel like I don’t know what to say.
Briefly, that is—as the moments tick by and stretch out between us, I feel more and more like I do know what to say.It’s just not what bitter Maggie would’ve ever said.
That’s not the only Maggie I am anymore.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Luke,” I tell him.“You’re okay.”
His scoff is weaker this time, almost like a sigh.
“I mean it,” I go on.“I didn’t ask if you wanna tend bar forever because I think it’s a stupid job.To tell the truth, I think it’s a reallycooljob—one I don’t thinkI’dbe good at.I just wondered about your interests.But it’s okay if you don’t know what else interests you enough to try to make a career out of it.Plenty of people don’t know that.Ihada career set up for me with my family’s accounting firm, and I was fine at the work, but something about it depressed me.I didn’t wanna do it every single day, so I went on to something else.You can do that, too, if you ever realize you want to.”After a beat, I laugh a little.“Some people don’t realize what they wanna be until they’re in their sixties.It happens.You aren’t hopeless or anything.”
Am I imagining that he’s let out a tiny laugh of his own?I hope I’m not.
I keep talking.“And you’re allowed to feel however you need to feel about your family.And if you wish you had more friends, go make some—you’re charming and funny and kind-hearted.And if you feel annoyed that you haven’t traveled much, then pick somewhere to go and make a plan.And don’t forgetwemade charity plans, too, so that’s a difference you’re working on making.Andthere are different kinds of intelligence, and they’re all valuable, so don’t beat yourself up about never being a straight-A student.”
He makes a contemplative noise that, even just being a noise, sounds calmer than his tone from before did.
It fades into quietude, leaving me with the room to think about how there’s only one more thing to address, and how it doesn’t makemefeel calm.
In fact, I find myself trying to figure out how to bring it up without my voice coming out breathily or shakily or—
“What about, uh…?”He speaks deliberately, like he’s trying to steady his voice too.“What about my sad love life?”
While I take a couple breaths, I work not to let these moments reach into me too deeply.
We can talk about love lives without there being an underlying current ofus.Right?We can do that, can’t we?We’ve talked about Marcus a little bit, I know.
I nod reassuringly to myself.
Whywouldn’twe be able to talk about that kind of stuff?How uncomfortable could it really be?Even in our best times, we never said we loved each other.We may have felt perfect together, felt as if we’d found missing pieces of ourselves in each other, but it didn’t last, and we were kids.
Yeah.Right.
I try not to focus on how shallow my next breath feels.
Then I measure out too, “Your love life doesn’t sound sad, just…not quite right yet.When you find the right person, you’ll know, and you’ll be able to figure out how to keep them.It’ll make sense because it’ll finally be right.”
I’m not talking about me,I tell my skipping pulse, my fluttering stomach, my trembling hands.I’m not talking about us.He and I are over.Our chance is gone.
Like my lungs, they don’t seem to believe me.
His voice is a murmur around the word, “Okay,” but I still hear that it isn’t as even as when he last spoke.
I wonder if he’s trying to talk his body out of reading into all this too.
