Page 238 of Falling Backwards
They call him their dad and he’s been in their lives in ways he hasn’t been in mine.I have memories of him arguing with my mom, only smiling in a mere handful of the many pictures we have from my childhood.I remember him spending time with me every now and then, only for me to try to impress him and feel like I fell short because I didn’t like fishing or hunting or playing sports andhedidn’t like video games or the shows I watched.He wasn’t proud of me for getting excellent grades in school because that’s not the kind of student I was.He didn’t joke with me and make me feel like he was someone I could go to about girls or problems or fears.
Is that why he likes Ryan and Wendy more than he likes me?Are they more interesting?Are they smarter and more fun?
God.
I could almost, almost scratch those questions out of my mind with logic like,‘Maybe things aren’t as great over there as I think they are.Maybe everyone puts on a show to hide that they’re unhappy,’or,‘Maybe the problem isn’t Ryan and Wendy being better than I am.Maybe it’s my dad just being an asshole for no reason,’or, honestly,I could even see the logic in him possibly having been going through something when he was with my mom and then he healed and improved once he got with Suzanna and now everythingisas great in their family as they act like it is.
Yeah, Icouldwork on letting go of how I feelifit weren’t for what he said in the voicemail he left me yesterday, shortly after I took Maggie to work.
As I blow out a slow breath, I hear it all over again.Feel all over again what it was like to stand in my kitchen and listen to him snarl, snap, rant, rage at me for not saying anything in the group chat, for not texting or calling Ryan to congratulate him privately—he knows I didn’t do that, he checked—and for never answering Wendy’s text on Thanksgiving.I stared at the wall and listened while he criticized and insulted me, uninterrupted because I hadn’t answered the phone and tuned in to his disappointment and ire in real time.
He said he can’t believe the way I’m behaving.He can’t believe my childishness, my drama, my conceit.
“You are not the center of everything!”I can still hear him booming.“How many times do I have to tell you to grow up before you consider doing it?You’re twenty-four years old, not a little kid like Reese!Don’t you know it makes your brothers and sister feel bad to be ignored by you?I’m sick of you acting so immaturely!”
Right now, I look out my windshield at the familiar bricks that make up Merritt’s.
And not for the first time, but for the sharpest time, what my dad said about me intertwines with something Maggie said last night.
I asked if she had even tried to understand the threads of friendship that hold me to tonight’s plan with Jayden, and she asked ifIhad considered how that plan would make her feel.
The truth is, I hadn’t.Not really.And not because I didn’t care—it was just that I didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect and when I thought too long on a bad one, I…
…Jesus Christ, Ihurt.
I hurt when I thought aboutherbeing hurt by my plan to hang out with him.
But I also felt that defensiveness of our friendship because, no, he’s not my favorite person—something I didn’t even know about myself until it fell out of my mouth—and yet he was the best friend I had for a long time.And maybe heisan ass, you know?I remember thinking to myself the other day that he isn’t one, he’s just Jayden, but maybe that’s bullshit.Still, I…I don’t know.Even though I’ve not been looking forward to drunk Jayden since he first mentioned coming to town, and even though I don’t get his sense of humor and I don’t appreciate him slighting my girlfriend even as a joke, and whatever else…I feel like I have to come see him.I told Maggie so because it’s true.
I keep staring at the building.
And…it’s weird: I didn’t think my rationalization about Jayden made atonof sense last night when I gave it to Maggie, but now I kind ofknowit doesn’t.
A dude passing in front of my car glances at me, then away, then back to me with a sharp, questioning look.
I mumble, “The hell are you looking at me like that for?”and then comprehend I’d been frowning in that direction, so he must’ve thought I was doing it at him.
Well, I don’t think my expression shifts any, but at least I’m able to give a slight wave of,‘It’s not you, it’s me,’before lowering my gaze and rubbing my eyes.
That deep, strong ache of missing Maggie comes up in me again.
It’s quickly followed by the feelings associated with her that I don’t like, but they’re a little different now from every other time.
I shouldn’t be here,that one part of me says again.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s time to head into the bar.
And a certain sense of resolve comes up in me, too, joining my I Don’t Want To Be Around Shitfaced Jayden and all of the Fuck, I Seriously Want To See Maggie Now and the crop-up of Am I Really Immature Like My Dad Said, Just Not In The Way He Meant?
I get out of the car.
Walking into the bar is a strange thing.I’m full of memories of coming here and being annoyed to see Maggie with her friends, even though I was never able to keep so much as mythoughtsto myself; every time, it was inevitable that I’d end up thinking about her, looking at her, making faces at her, straight-up going near her to tease or talk shit or whatever she had put me in the mood for.I couldn’t leave her alone regardless of how much she vexed me.And she couldn’t leave me alone either.I can’t count how many times I came through this double doorway and sensed a heavy or pointed or weary stare only to glance around the room and see her at a booth with Emma and Joy, having spotted me as soon as I arrived—and all the times throughout those nights when I’d find my eyes wandering to her, hers would always either wander to me, too, or already be on me for some reason.When I glared at her, she glared back.When I struck up an argumentative little chat, she participated instead of ignoring me.
There will be none of that here tonight, because I don’t get any sense of being stared at by her now.
Still catch myself looking at each booth, though, and each table, wondering if I’m going to see a perfect face and long brown hair and pretty bangs covering an eyebrow scar.
She’s truly not here, though.Neither are her friends.Neither is Paxton by any chance.Just random people and servers I recognize and familiar bartenders and the Merritts themselves.
