E. Blair - Falling

“I’m as happy as I can be, I guess.”

Tori never knew about my father, that he was a dick who used to pound his fists into his wife and son. Black eyes, broken ribs, bruises, and concussions. We kept it hidden well, my mother and I. They knew he drank, maybe not as heavily as he did, but that much they knew. Everything else, we never spoke about. Once he died, Mom was determined to start a new life. A life that had nothing to do with our past.

“Do you ever think about settling down?” she asks.

“No,” I respond with forced ease.

“So you’re happy? Having a different girl in your bed every night?”

I laugh. “Every night is an exaggeration, and those chicks aren’t in my bed either. They stay downstairs.”

“How is it that you haven’t gotten the shit beat out of you yet?” she jokes in disgust.

My laughter grows as I say, “Lucky, I guess.”

We sit for a minute or two when I finally ask the kicker, “Are you not happy with Trevor?”

It doesn’t take but a second for her eyes to gloss over as she admits, “I don’t know.” When the tears fall, she reveals, “Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. Maybe what I was expecting just isn’t reality. My reality is . . . I’ve lost myself along the way somehow. Between two kids and not working, I’m just lost. I don’t know of any other word to describe what I feel.”

“What does Trevor say? Does he even know?”

“He doesn’t want to hear me complain after he’s been at work all day.”

“Talk to him, Tor. Whatever is going on with you, he loves you and the kids. Maybe it’s time for you to get out of the house. Go back to work.”

She wipes her face and laughs softly. “The thought of not being with my kids kills me. I know you’re right, but mommy guilt is a bitch.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that,” I chuckle. Shifting, I lie down on my board and say, “Come on. Let’s drink,” before paddling back in.

After dinner, I walk into the kitchen to grab a beer and check my phone while Tori and my mom talk in the living room. Popping the cap off the bottle, I take a long sip before picking up my phone. I scan through some new emails that have come through and forward a couple to Michael.

Setting my phone back down, I lean against the counter and take another swig when my eye catches the cracked wood in the corner of the kitchen island.

“What the hell is your problem, kid?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

Quickly grabbing a towel to clean up the juice I spilled that is now pooling under his briefcase, large hands grab my neck and shoulder. He abruptly throws me onto the floor, and the force of his strength sends me flying into the center island. The sharp corner pierces my back and sends a fire of pain up my spine as my head ricochets hard against the wood. I hear the crack and start crying. I’m scared he’s gonna get more upset with me if he sees the damage.

I lie on the floor, avoiding eye contact, and grip the back of my head. I can already feel the bump growing.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” he sneers, throwing my words back at me as he slings a dishtowel at me. “Clean this shit up.”

That crack has been there since I was seven years old. It’s such a faint line that I doubt my mother has ever noticed it.

“I’m calling it a night,” Tori announces as she walks in and gives me a hug, pulling me out of my past.

“Early morning. Let’s try and head out around seven.”

“Sounds good,” she says before she turns back to the living room to tell my mother goodnight and then heads upstairs.

My eyes shift back to the crack briefly as I turn to go into the other room. I walk over and sit down with my mom on the couch.

“How are you doing, darling?” she asks, patting my knee as I get comfortable.

Thinking back to my conversation with Tori in the water, I ask, “Are you happy, Mom?”

“Where is this coming from?” she questions, and I mindlessly find myself rubbing the back of my head where that bump from twenty-one years ago doesn’t exist anymore, but the memory still does.

“You’re all alone here in this house. I worry.”

“I’ve always been alone in this house.”

She never remarried after my dad died. I haven’t even known her to date. We’ve never talked about it, but I just figured she was too scared.

“Can I ask you something?” I say as I turn to her.

“Anything.”

“How come you never sold this house?” I wonder if the past still haunts her like it does me.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s filled with so many bad memories.”

“But it’s filled with so many good ones too, dear.” She smiles when she continues, “I remember holding you in my arms when I brought you home from the hospital. This is our home. It always has been. The one thing that bastardized this place is gone.” She pats my knee as she says this. Nervous reflex. She isn’t convinced of her own words. I’m good at reading people, especially her. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy?”

I dig my thumbnail under the damp label on my beer bottle. Nervous reflex. I’m sure she sees it too. We are good at reading each other like that.

“I worry about you,” she says softly.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m good. Business is good,” I assure her.

She leans back on the couch and lets out a sigh as she says, “I don’t doubt that work is good, but I wonder how much longer you plan on keeping up like you are. I wonder when you’ll decide to slow down and settle.”

“You know why I don’t settle, Mom.” This is no secret between us. She has always known why I’ve never gotten involved with anyone. She knows my fears. I tell my mother nearly everything.

“You’re nothing like him,” she affirms sternly, and when I look at her, I deny her words.

“I’m a lot like him.”

She doesn’t respond, and I feel bad for cheapening her words. “Sorry.”

“It hurts me to know this is how you think of yourself. I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to find someone that you can be happy with.”

“I want the same for you,” I tell her.

“I know you do, but you’re young. You have time on your side.”

I can’t help but laugh. “God, Mom, you act like you’re a blue-haired lady at the bingo hall.”

She laughs with me and says, “You know what I mean.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep yawn, I take the last swallow of my beer and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m gonna hit the sack. Tor and I are headed to Indian in the morning.”

“What time will you guys be back?”

“Around ten or so.”

“I’ll cook you kids breakfast.”

I smile at her referring to us as kids and say, “I love you, Mom,” as I stand up and look down at her.

“Love you, too.”

Before the water gets too busy, Tori and I decide to call it and head back to shore. Tossing our boards aside, we sit and take a breather. The morning is cool, and the sun rising behind us casts a glow across the water. People filter in, trying to get as much of the sun as they can before the season changes and the rain and grey haze finds its home for the rest of the year. Personally, I love the darkness.

“I gotta head back tomorrow,” Tori tells me as she unzips her wetsuit and tugs her arms out of it.

I start doing the same, saying, “I thought you were gonna stay for a few days.”

“I was, but Trevor called late last night, and he just got a big case, so he has to go in this weekend.” She digs her feet into the packed sand and shrugs, “Life of an attorney.”

“You gonna talk to him?” I question.

She looks over at me and nods. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good.”

“So when are you coming back home?”

“I don’t really know. Whenever. For sure Thanksgiving though.”

“Connor was asking if you were going to take him trick-or-treating this year.”

I love her kids. Although they are my cousin’s children, we’ve always just referred to them as my nieces and nephews. I have a lot; three nieces and four nephews. Being an uncle is great, and I take pride in spoiling them rotten despite their parents. “You know it’s always a busy night at the bar, but I’ll see what I can do. Don’t say anything to him though because if I can’t make it back here, I don’t want him to be let down.”

She smiles and says, “I won’t.”

“How is Bailey doing?” I ask about her one-year-old daughter.

“Crazy,” she laughs. “She’s a tiny diva. I look at her, and I know I’m in for trouble in about fourteen years.”

“Well, if she’s anything like you were . . .”

“God, don’t even say it!” she whines.

We both laugh, knowing all too well how much of a partier she used to be when we were in high school.

Recalling a memory, I mention, “I will never forget seeing you hanging over the docks and puking into the water.”

“Ugh! That was awful. I was trying to be cool in front of that guy, Shawn, so that he would notice me.”

“Oh, he noticed you,” I joke, laughing harder. We used to get together in Astoria, where she’s from. We’d meet up with friends late at night and drink on the docks. Every now and then we’d get busted, but it never stopped us from going back.

“You ready?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m starved,” I respond as I stand up and grab my board. We head up the stairs, off the beach, and to my jeep. Loading everything up, we make the drive out of Ecola Park and back home.

The smell of coffee and bacon fills the house as we walk through the front door. We toss our gear into the laundry room then head into the kitchen where my mom is scrambling eggs.