Page 11 of Forever to Fall
“Beckett, honey,” his mom started, licking her lips and keeping her tone light. “Roger and I are going to move up to Boston. You know Boston, right?”
At seven years old, all Beckett knew about Boston was the Red Sox, baked beans, and lobster rolls. “Yeah?” he asked, although his mother likely wasn’t looking for more questions.
His mother’s cool hands reached out, pulling him closer until she met his gaze through his crooked glasses. “How would you feel about moving up north with us?”
Not even allowing Beckett ten seconds to absorb the invitation, his father soldiered on. “Now come on, son. Wouldn’t it be more fun to go out to California with me? We can ride horses and swim in the ocean.”
Beckett had horrible allergies and didn’t know how to swim, so the notion of doing either of those things caused him to grimace. “I don’t like to swim,” he said quietly, too afraid to disappoint or upset his father. It was easy to fail his old man, and Beckett loathed being the source of his father’s disappointment.
For a moment, no one spoke. The old clock on his grandparents’ mantle kept time of their racing hearts; counting down the last moments as a familial unit. Not realizing it at the time, Beckett’s childhood was evaporating into the ether. Carefree days with his whole family would soon be a distant memory; a source of heartbreak for years to come.
Finally, Gram spoke up. “Richard and I had a thought,” she offered, her eyes meeting Beckett’s. Her expression was warm, caring. The delicate skin around her mouth stretched into a smile. “Why doesn’t Beckett stay here with us? We can keep him in school for the rest of the year and decide over summer break.”
The suggestion was the right one, as everyone let out an exhale and fell back into their seats. “That sounds good to me, Mom.”
Beckett’s dad shifted on his seat before awkwardly patting his son on the shoulder. “Gives Beckett time to take swimming lessons.” His joke fell flat and the room shifted back to uncomfortable silence.
Summer break arrived and no one came back for Beckett. His mother and Roger had married, announcing they were pregnant before Beckett turned eight. While out in California, his father reconnected with a college friend and moved to a ranch on the central coast. Whether because of his son’s allergies or not, an invitation was never extended beyond the occasional holiday break.
Beckett didn’t really mind, as his grandparents were always enough. They were there when he needed help with his homework, they took him to the sporting supply store when he needed a new baseball glove, Gram taught him how to bake with the apples from their farm, and they always made time for his doctor’s appointments. He couldn’t have been more cared for, and he appreciated all their sacrifices.
The Lawsons were kind to him, too. Their family always inviting him to dinner and summer picnics. Evan welcomed the break from all the girliness his sisters brought into the home, and Mr. Lawson liked having someone else to talk sports with over the dinner table. He never was alone, except for now.
The only thing more uncomfortable than that memory was his stilted interaction with Mallory in the parking lot, and it didn’t sit right with him. He and Mallory were thick as thieves, or at least they used to be. He couldn’t understand how they’d gotten to where they were now, but he knew he was to blame. A few careless words said in jest, and everything he shared with Mallory shriveled up faster than a discarded apple core.
His parents leaving shaped Beckett in ways he only now was coming to understand, thanks to copious amounts of therapy. When he thought about the important people in his life, it was always his grandparents, Evan, and Mallory. It was one of the reasons he always kept Mallory at arm’s length, even though he wanted herinhis arms. If things went south, not only would he lose Mallory, but he’d lose Evan. He couldn’t stand the notion. The Lawsons were the only people he had left.
Back at his apartment, Beckett decided he needed to do something or he’d crawl out of his skin. After kicking the same box over for the third time that day, he went to work. Three hours, ten boxes, and a million dust motes later, Beckett had the living room almost unpacked.
His collection of sci-fi paperbacks filled the shelves, and his PS5 was plugged in and connected to the router. If he finally washed the sheets and made the bed, he’d practically be ready for a housewarming party. Which, if he were honest, he wasn’t in the mood for. Chuckling at Evan’s suggestion, Beckett went in search of dinner. Even through his musings at the market, he’d managed to pick up the fixings for one of his childhood comfort foods—French bread pizza.
As Beckett retrieved the bread knife from the block, he heard footsteps outside his apartment. He lived on the first floor of a low-rise outside Buckeye Falls’ downtown. It wasn’t where he wanted to stay permanently, but he couldn’t handle living at the farm house on his own. There were too many memories that weren’t ready to be unpacked.
Tiptoeing to the peep hole, Beckett saw a figure in shadow. It was clearly a woman judging from the puff of hair visible in the fading sunlight—or perhaps a hipster barista who made house calls?
“Hello?” he said through the door.
He heard a squeak before “Um, hi.”
Mallory.
Beckett flung the door open and found her standing there, a box in her hand and an anxious expression marring her lovely face. “Mal, what are you doing here?”
Mallory held up the box and shook it, the sounds of metal and plastic scraping together. “I’m bringing a few odds and ends to help you move in. Ev said you might not have a tool box yet.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Beckett felt his muscles relax at her presence. Mallory had this amazing ability to calm him down while simultaneously causing him to burn with lust. “Oh yeah, he’s right. All the tools are still at the farm.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of cicadas in the night air surrounded them, their nightly song echoing through Buckeye Falls. Mallory finally cleared her throat and gestured with the box toward the door. “Can I come in?”
“Erm, yeah.” Beckett stepped back and held the door open for her, catching a whiff of her perfume as she slunk inside. Mallory always smelled like summertime: sweet and tangy like a handful of blackberries.
Mallory took a few paces inside and looked around. Beckett said a silent prayer of thanks that he had the forethought to start unpacking. It was a mess, but at least it looked like his mess. “Cute.” She said the word with a small smile, plopping the box on top of the coffee table.
She turned like she was going to leave, her presence not required beyond the delivery. Instinctively, Beckett blocked the way, letting the door close behind him on a soft click. “Where are you going?” he asked, his pulse kicking up at the idea that he wouldn’t see her for more than another moment.
Shrugging, Mallory pointed to the door. “Home?”
Before he could think better of it, Beckett blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Stay. Have dinner with me.”
