Catch My Fall (32 page)

Are we new?

The thought stopped me cold. I’d slept with him – something that in my past had always meant ‘relationship,’ but did it mean that to him? And if it did, was I happy?

I stared at Stellan’s name. I knew my answer.

I opened a new text message and typed.

Breezy ‘Let’s-Pretend-It-Hasn’t-Been-Super-Weird- For-Three-Weeks’ Me -
Is the Ødegård brood coming for dessert Thursday? Anything specific you want?

Then like a trained rat pulling a lever, I sat there staring at my phone, waiting for a response. I’d say five minutes passed before I realized my tea was getting cold, and my arm was falling asleep from leaning on the windowsill. I turned for the sink and the phone fired off in my hand; Stellan’s ringtone. The sound of it made my heart pound.

Swedish Apple. Always.

Done,
I responded and set the phone down. I wiped my hand across my eyes and watched the birds.

CHAPTER Sixteen

J
ackie came by on Wednesday night to help me with the baking. Despite her culinary prowess, we had a long understanding that when it came to my baking, she was NOT to interfere. No helping unless asked, no advice, no suggestions, just sit there and look pretty and keep me company while I work. The one year she tried to step in and advise me on my pie crusts, I snapped at her that my Grandmother had done a fine job of teaching me once, I didn’t need to be taught again. She never overstepped again.

“So is he coming tomorrow?”

I tossed flour across the counter to roll out another crust. “No. I didn’t invite him.”

“But you’ve seen him again, yes?”

I nodded. She was referring to Cole.

My phone buzzed on the counter. Jackie glanced at it and raised an eyebrow. It was Cole. Again. He’d been texting all day.

“He’s a chatty guy these days, I see,” she said.

I shrugged. He was. He was at work, calling me sweetheart and such. I responded as often as I had reason, but being elbows deep in pie crust made the act a little inconvenient at the moment.

“Are you two officially back together then?”

I pushed the rolling pin across the dough one last time and paused. I feared the response. “Yes. A kinda trial thing.”

Jackie drew her finger through the flour on the counter drawing a heart, and smiled at me. “That’s wonderful.”

I felt small in her gaze, like a patronized child showing terrible artwork. She continued to search my face; I kept my eyes to the crust.

“It sounds like he is making a sincere effort. That’s a good sign.”

It was. It was a big difference from the aloof way he’d been before. Now, I was the one being aloof. I didn’t mean to be, but I simply didn’t have a response to his texts about the man in traffic talking to himself, or the bar customer who left his dentures in the bathroom. Part of me felt unkind, given that I had once been the one to send these random texts in search of connection, but I simply didn’t have anything to say. I was giving myself time.

It was going to take time.

I shaped the crust into the pie pan, mixed and poured the pecans and corn syrup, then tossed in chocolate chips, eating more of them than I would like to admit. I tossed it in the oven while ‘letting’ Jackie cut apples to help with the second pie. I hated cutting apples. It made my teeth sweat.

I started the Kitchenaid Mixer whirring away at the batter for the Swedish Apple Pie and took a moment to respond to Cole. Instead, the phone buzzed in my hand, followed by a familiar, but rarely heard ringtone - Stellan.

Two guesses how my stomach reacted.

You getting your Swedish on?

I smiled with every inch of my being.

Me -
Not as well as you.

I stood there clutching my phone, the mixer grinding away at the now whipped concoction of butter, flour and sugar.

Jackie set the apple wheel cutter on the counter with a firm thonk and said, “What now?”

I met her gaze. Her brow was furrowed, but she was smirking. I set the phone down, shut off the mixer and returned to my work. With every moment that passed, my stomach tightened.

Stellan wasn’t responding. He wasn’t responding. He still wasn’t responding.

This naturally translated into - He hates you. It was a mistext, he can’t stand you. He’s ignoring you.

I flustered with the mixer, trying to yank the beater free to wash it.

The phone buzzed – Cole.

My heart sank.

Yeah, it was going to take time.

My mother and I cooked a small bird, mashed potatoes, corn, and stuffing, and I made my grandmother’s green bean casserole and gravy. We sat and chatted about things, mainly museum news, details about a current student exhibition with a painting she was contemplating splurging on by a young man named Bertrand Fuller. She mentioned how his technique and pallet and eye for light reminded her so much of my father’s work, and I shut down completely. I let her go on, I even nodded and mhm-ed a couple times to be an active listener, but I didn’t hear a word of it.

We finished around 2:30PM, just enough time to clear the table, start the coffee and set out the dessert plates and utensils. The Hodges would always be first, and they would bring the brownie tree from the Concord Bakery; then the Fallons would come from up the road, potentially bringing a teenager or two with them; the Merle-Witts had RSVP’d this year, a first since the two women had moved in next door; and finally Jackie and Kevin and the Ødegårds, who walked down from their house in the center. At 2:55PM the doorbell rang, and I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and dashed down the hall to answer it, still in my grandmother’s blue striped apron.

“What up, sexy?”

I gasped at the sight of him. Evan stood on the doorstep in a black pea coat, navy blue scarf and a pair of, I could only assume, five thousand dollar leather shoes. He had a bottle of dessert wine in his hand and his collar up against the light flurries of snow that had started coming down. I launched myself at him, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing his ear. He locked his wrists behind my back and squeezed.

Behind me I could hear my mother preening at the sight of him as well. She hadn’t seen him in at least ten years, so I could understand her being a little star struck to have him back at the house. Evan came in and kissed my mother on the cheek and let me take his coat. Before I could steal him away to the kitchen for asinine conversation, the doorbell rang again, and the Hodges family filtered in with Caroline sending Bethany running to the chairside cabinet where my grandmother kept coloring books and crayons. My mother once suggested turning it into a magazine cabinet, but I refused. Even if only used one day a year, it stayed as Grammy left it.

I gathered coats and took orders for coffee. I quickly introduced Evan to Caroline and Jason, who realized the developer of their favorite game was in the room. This led to Mr. Hodges swooping in for a long talk on investments. That was before the Merle-Witts arrived, leaving their daughter Chloe with Bethany at the cabinet of coloring books and insisting they follow me into the kitchen to help retrieve desserts. I sent them into the living room with the pecan and last minute blueberry pie I’d whipped up.

They were off in the living room when I heard further entries, the stomping of feet on the porch and the tell-tale giggling of young teenage girls betrayed the arrivals of the Fallons.

I grabbed the ice cream out of the freezer and retrieved the Swedish Apple from the oven. There was a cool draft coming from the front door as I hit the living room. I stalled halfway down the hallway.

Stellan held the door for his parents as he leaned down to kiss my mother on the cheek. He slipped his ski cap off to show his recently buzzed hair was growing out, and unzipped his jacket. He noticed me then and smiled, then raised his eyebrows appreciatively at what I had in my hands. It took every ounce of will I had to take a step forward.

He met me at the table, reached for the Casserole dish in my hands to help me, but when I relinquished it, he hunched down and tip toed a few feet toward my office as though to hunker down with the whole pie by himself. I knew him well, he would if I let him. He flashed me a big grin before returning the pie to the dessert table, and I did my best to stifle some strange burble of longing.

What was I, fourteen?

No, but I’d missed him. I’d missed the shit out of him.

I fled back into the kitchen, giving a quick hello to Linda and Lennart. I’d used the excuse of checking the coffee, but really I just couldn’t be near Stellan. He made my heart race.

God, how would I get through today?

I heard a few more stomping feet and the guilt of being a bad host began to set in. I grabbed the last of the dessert plates and brought them to the table. Jackie was there with her cannolis, setting them beside the big fruit display of chocolate dipped strawberries and melons that the Merle-Witts provided. I felt a presence at my shoulder as Stellan leaned toward my ear.

“So that’s what lesbians eat?”

I snorted.

Evan appeared on my right. “Among other things. Know what I’m sayin? Knoohohooow what I’m sayin?”

Stellan and Evan bumped fists as I turned to smack them. I was grateful to have them both rather than attempt a Stellan encounter solo. Evan was wearing a blue button down shirt with a fresh wine spot just below his collar. I kept Evan’s gaze, working up the courage to meet Stellan’s and not betray how miniscule I felt. The clank of plates drew them both away with a low groan of “Foooood.”

“Anyone want tea or milk or coffee?” I asked the room, receiving a few orders in response. I sauntered off into the kitchen happy for the open space.

There was nothing quite like a gathering in an old house like this. The sound of conversation and laughter and silverware hitting plates – it was one of those moments when people who might otherwise never speak to one another suddenly have endless amounts to talk about. I loved seeing Mr. Hodges talking to Lennart, or Caroline and Terry Merle-Witt (the short-haired, wire rim glasses wearing lesbian with salt and pepper hair) sharing tales of Chloe’s adoption from Korea and Bethany’s 36 hour birth.

I set the coffee and tea pots on the table and scanned to find everyone eating, some on the couch or in chairs, others standing. I followed familiar voices to find Jackie and Kevin had snuck into the dining room with Stellan and Evan.

Stellan looked up to see me and groaned his appreciation. Evan nodded and grumbled in agreement as I sat down.

“You going to have some?” Jackie asked. I noticed both Evan and Stellan’s piled up plates were both void of cannolis, one of which Jackie now pushed toward me on her plate.

I shook my head. “I’m waiting for a little while.”

Kevin tapped his fork to his plate. “This Apple Pie is phenomenal, Faye. I’ve never had this kind before.”

I beamed at him. “It’s Swedish.”

“Which makes it exceptional,” Stellan said with a mouthful.

I snorted. “Yes, which makes it exceptional.”

“Would you mind my taking a slice to my parents? We head there after this.”

Stellan grunted like a caveman and hammered his fist on the table.

Kevin gave me a sheepish look. “Just a small slice?”

“Hush up, Stell. There’s plenty for you to take home.”

He grunted again, glared at Kevin who smiled back, then returned to his plate. Evan quickly punctuated the moment by grabbing the can of whipped cream on the table and spraying it directly into his mouth. Stellan gestured for Evan to hit him next, but I jumped up from the table and took the can away before they could continue.

The conversation picked up, and I left them to it, giving a quick run through the living room to make sure everyone was fed, hydrated and comfortable. There I ended up settling in for a good talk with Jill Merle-Witt about the age of my house and the architecture of the neighborhood.

A moment later, Mr. Hodges was telling me how nice it was to see me around again.

Finally Linda wanted me to know how impressed she was with my sketches. She’d always thought I was so very talented, she said.

It was a lovely thing to hear, but not the easiest. I can’t say I am at my best when someone showers me with praise. I turn into a bit of a gargoyle – frozen in some awkward facial expression.

Conversation has a way of passing time – well, good conversation. The first group to head out was Caroline and Jason, taking Bethany home before the munchkin got too tired. Then Jackie and Kevin followed with a plate full of pie and a glaring Stellan watching them out the door. I expected Evan to head out, but he assured me he had no intention of spending more time with his family than was absolutely necessary. He was soon sitting with my mother on the couch drinking wine, listening to her acclaim for the same Bertrand Fuller she’d been so happy to regale me with earlier.

I started my rounds of the living room, taking empty plates and drink cups to the kitchen. As I walked down the hallway, I found someone following close behind – Stellan, with a pile of plates himself. We silently filled the dishwasher and piled the excess into the sink, his arm brushing mine a few times. Believe me, I was well aware of each time. Finally, the last round was done, and I said farewell to the Fallons as their teenage daughter and her friends wordlessly lead the way out the door.

I gathered the last few mugs and brought them into the kitchen to find Stellan standing at the sink, the sleeves of his red flannel shirt rolled up, and the water running. He was washing dishes.

That bastard.

I put my hand on his arm. “Stell, let me do that.”

He shook his head. “You did the cooking, woman. Relax a bit.”

I stood at his side a moment, knowing that further protest could result in him grunting at me, spraying the sink hose at me, or worse, he’d once picked me up and relocated me to another part of the house when I argued, though that was before I’d gained twenty pounds.

I futzed around, organizing and wiping down the counters, piling the dirty dishes neatly by the sink for him, and tucking leftovers in the fridge. We worked in silence, but I was trying not to dwell on that. Still, it became more apparent now that the sink was off.