Page 15 of About to Fall

Claire Alexander

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Seven years later

January

"What are you doing, my friend?" I answered the phone just before it went to my voicemail. I knew it was Micah. I could see his name on my screen. "I had to dig for my phone, sorry, hang on." I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I could adjust my purse. "I'm at the store right now."

"I can let you go," he said.

"No, no, I'm just wasting time. I'm at a kitchen store."

"Wasting time for what?" Micah asked.

"We're all going to dinner at Mom and Dad's. Isaac's girlfriend is here from Atlanta, and they're meeting the lady who wrote that book about them."

Micah knew the whole story about my brother, so I didn't have to explain. Isaac had met his dream girl in our family restaurant one day, but he lost touch with her, and then Jill Phillips, a famous author who was now a family friend, wrote a romance novel that brought them back together. We all had plans to eat at my parents' house tonight.

"Who's all going to be there?" Micah asked.

"I think Jill is bringing her husband and kids—I don’t know how many."

I adjusted and held the phone to my ear. There was no one even close to me in the store, and I didn't feel bad about standing there and talking to Micah. I zoned out, staring at a shelf with adorable pottery sugar and cream containers.

"Ryan will be there, too, and I think one of his friends. Cody, maybe. And Jake's coming with me, but that's really all of us—just our family. Of course, Isaac will be here with his lady from Atlanta. Ari. She's so cute. That's the whole point is for them to meet Jill."

"I was in Atlanta last week," Micah said.

"You're everywhere right now. I sent a box to Virginia Beach."

"I know. I'm here now. I got it. I just opened it."

"What did you think about those jeans?"

"They're perfect. You knew they would be. I love the shirt, too, and the jacket. You did amazing, as usual. Everything looks like stuff I already have, in a good way."

"Yeah, that's because I buy all of your clothes," I said, laughing. It was the truth. Micah had a certain style and I was the only one who knew it. Even stylists didn't know how to get it exactly right.

"That t-shirt with the moose on it. I love it. I have it on right now."

"I got that because of the story you told me about when you were in Canada."

"I know," he said. "I thought of that right when I saw it. So, that dude's meeting your parents?" he asked.

"Jake?" I said. "Yeah. I'm meeting him on campus in a little while and we're heading to my parents. You would love him, though, Micah. I know I told you he's a professor, but he's also a musician—as a hobby."

I absentmindedly picked up a little container that looked like it was for honey. It had a small clover flower etched and painted on the outside, and I opened it without even taking in what I was doing.

"Why would I care if he's a musician?" Micah asked.

"Whoa, don't get all mad. I thought you'd behappythat I was dating a musician."

"Well, if it's the first time you've mentioned it, then he's probably not that good."

"No, I heard him play. He's really good. Not as good as you, but I liked it. I was surprised at how much I liked it. It's a little more country sounding than your stuff."

Micah had a big career now. He lived in our building for almost two years, and things started happening for him just as he moved out. He deserved every bit of his success. He worked hard at staying clean, and he worked hard in general. He had a hit years ago with the song named Madeline, and that propelled him to years of touring and playing venues for a few thousand fans each night.

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