Until the Stars Fall From the Sky (12 page)

Jeff gives a strangled gasp of frustration
as he declares, “That’s totally unfair!”

I smile at his instant defense of me. Despite his assertions that he is a world-class jerk, I know better. “Tell me about it. Stereotypes are rarely fair. I’m sure you face your own set of them. A relationship between us is going to be messy,” I offer. “Although it would be devastating for me because I really, really like you, I understand if you don’t feel like you’re ready for the level of commitment that it would take to be in a relationship with me. Unfortunately, I can’t just give you the good, happy parts and hide the ugly, painful side. I
can’t forget that we’ve got career issues to deal with too. You are working so hard in law school, and I don’t want to do anything to damage what you’ve got going on there. We haven’t even talked about race because it is a non-issue for me, but ultimately it may impact our relationship, so I think it needs to be something you think about when you decide whether I’m worth the risk.”

The corner of Jeff’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “
I am proud of my heritage, but I’m diverse enough to be whatever you need me to be” he quips. “I just don’t think it would be that big of a deal. If it is, we would just add it to the pile of issues we face. Planting his hands at my waist, he contemplates my face as he declares, “Seriously, Pip it never has been an issue of whether
you’re
worth it. It’s an issue of whether I can overcome my fears and be enough for you.”

“Jeff, I hope you do
— more than anything I’ve hoped for in a while. I’m not going anywhere in the foreseeable future. The decision is up to you. It sounds like you have some things to talk through with your family and friends. If you weigh the pros and cons and decide I come out on the plus side of the equation, you know where to find me,” I affirm softly as I brush a kiss across his cheek and ruffle my hand through his hair, Before I let my body override my brain’s better intentions, I turn and wheel down the hallway leaving Jeff standing there in the middle of my kitchen looking lost.

Funny, that’s exactly how I feel.

I go into my room and stick my ear-buds in, blasting my playlist on my iPhone so that I can’t hear what Jeff is doing in the living room. I am doing a reasonably good job of pretending to hold it together until Bryan Adams comes up in the rotation, and my mind is immediately transported back to our first slow dance. Tears start to stream down my face. This is what I’ve been afraid of all along. I am not good enough for him. He was really nice about putting it nice politically correct terms and all of that, but the problem boils down to the fact that I scare him. I understand completely. Some days I scare me too. Looking back on the situation, I know that I need to take lots of ownership of what went wrong. I didn’t warn Jeff about my fatigue level, didn’t tell him about my muscle spasms, and I didn’t tell him that people taking care of me is a “hot button issue” for me.
Geez Kiera, set the man up for failure much?
Well, when I screw it up, I screw it up in spectacular fashion. Now the issue is how do I fix it? I really don’t know the answer to that. Jeff might be ready to give up on what we’ve started, but I think we can work through whatever all of this is. To me, the problems seem to be external to the bond between us. It all seems solvable; I just have no earthy clue how.

Sometimes my lack of relationship experience really comes back to bite me in the asterisk, and this is one of them. As I go into the kitchen to get a cup of tea, I find a sticky note on the refrigerator printed in Jeff’s bold handwriting.

Pip,

I’m sorry.

Some of us butterflies

Are slow learners.

I know I’m going to

Regret my decision.

Please be patient.

--Y
our Sad PC

I smile at his use of my fake cuss words. For a self-professed jerk, he certainly has a well developed inner Boy Scout. It shatters me a little inside to know that I have brought sadness and additional stress into Jeff’s life. Law school has to be tough enough w
ithout me piling it on. I need to see what I can do to fix the mess that I’ve made.

I glance at the clock on my cell phone and pull up a number from my contact list.

“Daddy?”

“Hi,
Pipsqueak, my dad answers.

“Is this a good time to call? I inquire.

“Yeah, the race doesn't start until late today. Earnhardt Jr. doesn’t really like this track anyway,” he explains.

“Where’s your loyalty to Casey Kahne, Dad? He’s from our neck of the woods,” I tease.

“Well, you root for your favorite and I’ll root for mine. I know you didn’t call to talk about racing, what’s up?” he asks.

“Oh Daddy, it’s awful. I had a boyfriend for like twelve hours. But
, I’ve already screwed it up, and I don’t know if it’s fixable.” Saying it out loud makes it so much more real and I have to choke back tears.

My dad responds in a soothing voice, just like he used to when I skinned my elb
ow as a kid, “Come now, it can’t be as bad as all that. What happened?”

“You would love him, Daddy. He calls me Pip and he uses our pretend cuss words. I’m not really sure I understand all of what happened, but he has a really tragic background
and my medical issues kind of freaked him out. I don’t think I did a good enough job of warning him about what could happen and then I got pissy when he tried to help.”

“How long have you known this young man? Is he worth all of this boohooing?” he asks.

“I haven’t known him long. But, he is definitely worth it. Dad, I think he’s my version of what you found with Mom,” I announce softly.

I heard my Dad draw a startled breath, “Are you sure Pip? If he calls it quits on you so easy, he might not be worthy of my little girl.”

“First of all, I’m a big girl now, and I’m calling you for advice because I don’t think he really wants to walk away. He is just a little overwhelmed. How can I convince him to stay?” I ask, sniffling.

My dad gives a soft chuckle as he replies,
“Well, Pipsqueak, if I know you, you probably pulled some version of the same number that you’ve been doin’ since you were two. It goes a little something like this: ‘No! I can do it myself!’ Now, I know you well enough to know you don’t mean anything by it. But, your fella there may have taken it to mean that you don’t trust him enough to help you.”

“Oh Soufflé! I totally did that! Jeff has special training as an EMT too. Oh man, he must have been so insulted,” I answer in a horrified voice.

“Sweetie, guys like to solve problems and fix things. It makes us feel useful and provides a sense of accomplishment. It doesn’t have anything to do with you being needy. It’s just in our DNA,” my dad advises in a sage voice.

“So, that’s why he offered to tutor me in math? I thought he was joking,” I remark.

“If I were you, I would take him up on it. A slice or two of your fresh peach pie wouldn’t hurt your cause either,” he suggests.

“Okay, Daddy. It’s a plan. Why only a slice or two? You aren’t by any chance angling for the rest are you? How about if I make two whole pies and give one to each of you?” I tease.

“I suppose that would work too. By the way, a strategically placed ‘thank you’ and a heartfelt apology never hurts either. When am I going to meet Prince Charming?”

“Well, that depends on the success of my mission,” I say with a heavy sigh.

“I hope it works honey because I want to meet the man who thinks enough of my daughter to call her Pip,” my dad replies.

“I hope it works too
, Dad. I love you. Bye.”

I hang up the phone. Once again, I send a prayer of thanks heavenward for my Dad.
I’m grateful to have a plan.

I send a text to Heather.

Hi. Want to bake?

What r we baking?

Peach pie.

Oh Lord Child, What did U do 2 Ur Dad?

Nothing! Long Story.

I’m in. Just to hear the story. I’ll bring peaches from Sat. Market. Time?

10ish? Tara?

She has work.

:(

Ok, TTYL at 10.

~*~

Heather and I bake in a contented harmony. We have done this many times before, as I often help her with her catering business. At the moment, I’m peeling the peaches Heather has blanched.

“So, he didn’t bat an eyelash when you told him you were a virgin, but he freaked out when you had a cramp?” Heather ask
s.

“Well, I don’t think it’s quite that simple, but in a nutshell, yes,” I admit.

“How did you react to that? Did you go all bossy-pants on him in your big bad therapist's voice?” she inquires, raising an eyebrow.

I groan as I confess, “That’s precisely what I did. How did you know?”

“I’ve been your friend for a really long time,” Heather responds. “I’ve been on the receiving end of some of those ‘helpful’ conversations and they can be pretty intense. I know you always have the best intentions, but sometimes you get so focused on giving the perfect advice that you forget to listen to what’s really being said. Sometimes I want less social worker and more friend.”

I totally need to plead the fifth on this one. The irony of this is not lost on me as I just had a relationship crash and burn because I told him pretty much the same thin
g. If separating his occupation from his core values and personality are as hard for him as for me, I understand his waffling better now.

“What am I supposed to do about the health stuff? I can’t exactly change that,” I ask, starting to feel defensive.

“No, Sweet Pea, you can’t. I just don’t think you realize how gut wrenching it is for your support team every time you have a health crisis. Each time it happens, my heart drops and I wonder if this is the one you don’t come back from,” Heather admits.

I look at Heather in shock. We’ve been friends since college, and she has never breathed a word of this to me. “I’m sorry, Heather. I had no idea
— “, I whisper.

“I don’t blame you. It is just how it is. I can’t imagine how much worse it is for Jeff, having been on the front lines of medicine. Didn’t you tell me he almost lost his sister too? If those two things together don’t add up to a
slight case of PTSD, I’d be shocked,” she continues.

“What can I do?” I probe.

“Let him help if he offers. He is a man. He is going to want to take on your disability as if it’s an opponent in the gladiator ring. Don’t deny him that honor. For most of us, the guys are killing our spiders and removing garter snakes. He’s just facing down bigger monsters for you,” she suggests, like a 1950’s housewife.

“So, I need to sit back and be docile? What about Women’s Lib?” I ask, somewhat sarcastically.

“Trust me, you’ll be so distracted by your new extra-curricular activities that you won’t even have time to notice your newfound level of domesticity,” Heather drawls as she gives an exaggerated wink. “Seriously, I have to say from what I’ve seen, if I were to go to an online dating site and invent a fantasy guy for you, Jeff would come close to ticking off all the boxes.”

“What if math tutoring and peach pie don’t work?” I question
, as I practically tie my hair into knots. What a mess! I’ll never get it untangled. I really need to sit on my hands or something when I’m having an emotional crisis.

“We move on to pecan and print out wedding invitations,” Heather quips, “because my pecan pie can work miracles.”

Fu– French toast! It’s official. I can’t even cuss correctly anymore because Kiera occupies my every waking thought
. I can’t believe I was boneheaded enough to do what I just did. I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. Then, I felt stuck and acted like a bigger jerk. The sad part is that Kiera’s probably right and I need to just get over it and stop letting the past rule my life. I could have chosen
not
to be a jerk, I just didn’t. I need to sort out my crap so that I can invite Kiera back into my life where she belongs.

I take Kiera’s advice and start with a call to my mom. “Hi Mom,” I say tentatively, not yet sure I want to open this can of worms.

“Hello Jeffery,” she answers, sounding surprised to hear from me. I feel a twinge of guilt; I really should call more often.

“It’s Jeff now Mom,” I gently chide.

“I prefer to call you Jeffery — or would you rather be called Jefferson after your Grandfather?” she asks, pointedly.

“No thank you, ma’am.
Jeffery will work just fine in a pinch,” I say, feeling chastised. “Mom,” I continue awkwardly, “can I ask you some questions about Dad?”

“Of course you can!” my mom exclaims
. “I have been waiting for over two decades for you to ask me because the therapist said I should wait and let you ask on your own terms. Reluctantly, I agreed to wait, because she was a professional and all, but I didn’t know it was going to take 25 years,” she replies, sounding distressed.

“It’s okay, Mom we don’t have to talk about this,” I offer, feeling guilty for even broaching the subject.

“Jeff! Don’t be silly, I want to talk about him. He was my one true love. It makes me happy to remember the good times. Why do you ask?” she inquires.

I answer her carefully, “Kevin said something devastating to me as a child that I’ve always believed to be true,
until I met a woman who challenged those beliefs.”

“Why would this g
irl think that?” my mom demands. “She doesn’t know anything about us.”

“That’s just it Mom,” I explain, a touch of pride in my voice, “Kiera understands so much that it’s almost spooky. She told me to talk to you today. I need to know why Dad went jet skiing in the middle of the week. Was it because I was bad, like Kevin said? Did I kill my dad?” I exhale a shaky breath, feeling better having voiced my biggest fear out loud.

My mom let out an audible gasp as she exclaims, “Kevin told you that? I’m going to kill the rotten bastard.”

Butterfly.
I mentally correct her
. Man. I’m so far gone; there’s no hope now. I need Kiera back ASAP.

She continues, “Don’s death had nothing to do with you or your sister. Don and his friend Lewis had just received news that they had been accepted into the Air Force academy. They went to play on the lake to celebrate. In fact, he was supposed to take you kids to IHOP the next morning. You were looking forward to it, and you were so sad that you never got to go. It was years before you could look at a pancake without throwing up.”

“So, you don’t blame me for Donda’s stuff either?” I ask, needing to hear the affirmation once and for all.

“Heavens no!” my mom exclaims. “Where did you get such a stupid idea? Never mind — Donda is a big girl and has to take responsibility for her own choices. You have been nothing but admirable. You didn’t make her starve herself or do drugs. “

“I should have been able to fix her,” I argue, only to be interrupted by my mom.

“You and I both, but we
couldn’t
. That’s between Donda and God. Her battles are not our battles. We’re just the cheerleaders.”

That’s the missing puzzle piece for me. I don’t have to fix everything. I can just be still and
live
my
life.

“Thanks Mom!” I say barely able to contain my relief, “You’re a lifesaver.”

“But, I didn’t do anything,” my mom protests.

“Yes, you did. Someday soon, we’ll have coffee, and I’ll explain it all. But, you’ve just given me a second shot at life. I love you. Bye,” I reply in a rush to conclude the conversation.

“Goodbye Jeff. For the record, I think you should keep this Kiera around. It’s not like you to pay attention to anyone outside of your books,” she comments wryly.

“I’m trying M
om. I’m really trying,” I confess softly. I press END.

I send Kiera a text message.

You were right. I’m so sorry for being a jerk.

I am a Boy Scout, even when I don’t need 2 be.

There is a reason I don’t like pancakes. Who knew?

?? What’s the story?

Too long 4 text.

Can I have a do-over sleepover
where I don’t act like a butterfly?

Sure.
Does this Tuesday work?

Must bring vanilla ice cream + Red Box Movie + calculator

Unfortunately, math tutoring may be involved. :-(

Kissing is much preferred, but not required for Masters Degree.

OK, I can be there by 5:00.

It’s orientation for 1L’s this
week, and I’m helping out.

I’ll bring dinner too, just for blatant brownie points

LOL <3

<3 SWAK <3
:-)

I throw a fist pump in the air. That involved far less groveling than I
had expected. Maybe it won’t be so bad. One can only hope for small miracles.

~*~

As I head over to Kiera’s house, I’m a nervous wreck. Who knew that something as simple as vanilla ice cream could be so complicated. I finally elected to bring French vanilla, vanilla bean and plain old vanilla. Panera’s is going to be an easier stop because she mentioned to me on our coffee date which soup she preferred. I also know that she likes the peach smoothies.

As I’m standing outside of my truck in Kiera’s driveway, I examine the growing pile surrounding my feet and laugh out loud. I have brought so much stuff that it seriously looks like I’m moving into Kiera’s house. I find a large cardboard box in the back of my truck and carefully stack all of the items in the box, delicately placing one last treasure on the top. I wipe my suddenly damp hands on my jeans, knock on her door and wait anxiously.

As I’m about to knock on the door again, the door abruptly opens, and I come face-to-face with Kiera. Her eyes light up, and a smile flashes across her face as she sees me. “Did you bring your dog?” She asks looking around my legs to see if she can find Lucky.

“I see wher
e I rate! No, I didn’t bring him this time because I didn’t know the policy of your homeowner’s association. Lucky is really well behaved, and he would have been a bomb detection dog except he failed his hearing test. I’ll bring him next time if you don’t think it will be a problem.” I answer, still holding one of her presents behind my back.

“Everyone is pretty cool with animals as long as they don’t destroy property. Actually, that’s pretty much the policy about two legged guests too. You’re not planning to do anything to destroy my house are you?” Kiera looks up at me with a smirk on her face. It is then that she notices the odd placement of my arm. It’s quite adorable; she looks like a child who just discovered Santa Claus. “Is that for me?” I bow slightly at the waist and present her with a bouquet of flowers.

Kiera takes them from me with an expression of awe and reverence on her face. I wish my mom was here to see this because of the meticulous care she took putting the bouquet together. Kiera is wiping tears from her eyes as she says, “Oh My Gosh! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. I love them!” She is gently tracing the lavender and silver ribbons that are trailing from the bouquet. “I probably need to find a vase for these,” she muses.

“No, I’ve got that covered,” I reply as I pull out a frosted glass vase from the box behind me. “Allow me to explain the flowers, please. The purple roses are for love at first sight. The pink roses are for everlasting love and the purple hyacinth are to show that I’m sorry
— for very obvious reasons. I know that flowers can't undo what I said to you or how I made you feel, but hopefully they’ll brighten your day every time you see them and remind you how I feel about you and that I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea there was such an art to flower giving. That’s amazing!” Kiera exclaims as she grabs my necktie to angle my face down for a kiss. I take the flowers from her and lay them on the kitchen counter. I kneel beside her chair and cup her cheek as I gently return her kisses and subtly turn up the heat during each kiss. Kiera is matching me kiss for kiss. “Thank you. You may consider your apology accepted,” Kiera murmurs between kisses.

Suddenly, my stomach growls rudely, completely foiling my efforts at seduction. “Excuse me,” I mumble. At first, I’m embarrassed, but the humor of it all soon strikes me, and I start to laugh at my predicament.

Kiera chortles in surprise, and covers her mouth at her outburst, “Geez PC, have you had anything to eat all week besides the rubber chicken we had the other night?” she asks, her brow creasing with concern.

“Lucky for you I’m like an honorary Boy Scout and I brought food,” I say as I dig the Panera’s bags out of the box.

“It’s official, you have now been elevated to hero status,” Kiera states emphatically as she inhales the rich aroma of the soup. “I’m impressed. You even remembered the smoothie.”

“Well, they don’t carry peach anymore, so I had to go with mango. That was actually the easiest thing in the order to remember,” I confess.

“Why?” Kiera asks, her brow creasing in confusion.

I run my hand through her hair, bring a handful to my nose, and draw in a deep breath. “You always smell like a warm, spicy peach pie,” I clarify. “I never thought comfort food could be sexy, but you totally turn me on.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Kiera says coyly, “because if you agree to be slightly bad, I have a surprise for you.”

I smirk and raise my eyebrow, “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here tonight, Ms. Ashley?”

“Why, Mr. Whitaker, how do you think I got to my last semester of graduate school without spectacular math avoidance skills?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Maybe I should change the incentive package?” I suggest as I kiss her on her lips and then on the end of her nose. “No kisses unless you do your math?”

“No!” she exclaims loudly. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I see your point,” I concede graciously. “We’ll just have to operate on the reward system then. If you get your homework done, we can soak in your hot tub and I’ll give you a massage. After we finish, we can watch a movie if you’d like.”

Kiera’s shoulders slump as she whines, “You have no idea what you’re up against. There goes the date; we’ll be up all night doing homework.”

“Hey now! Where is your positive attitude, Pip?” I gently tease her.

“I am pretty positive this is going to
suck,
”
she grouses.

An hour and a half later, I’
ve come to the conclusion that Kiera’s issues with math stem from two sources. She has generalized panic when she encounters numbers and letters in the same equation. However, even a larger issue appears to be that someone taught her to solve equations from right to left. No wonder math has always frustrated her! I decide that she’s made great progress and deserves to be rewarded.

“I’ll get the hot tub ready,” I propose. “We had one in the Frat. So, I know where all the settings are.”

“Okay, that sounds wonderful.” Kiera replies, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension.

I turn the hot tub on to dissipate some of the chemical smell and throw in some vanilla anti foaming fragrance beads while I light the tea candles around the edge. I place Kiera’s phone in the docking station and turn the stereo on. A song
I’m not familiar with starts to play. It’s apparently called
Everything Has Changed
. I stop, transfixed by the lyrics. They could have been plucked right out of my brain, right down to Kiera’s green eyes and red hair. It’s freaking spooky. I’m a nerdy, science guy. I don’t wax poetic; I’m not the type, or at least I wasn’t until Pip.

“Isn’t this a perfect song for us?” Kiera asks as she enters the rustic gazebo, “
It sounds like Taylor is singing about us.”

“You’re right, it does,” I acknowledge. “I may actually be an accidental Taylor Swift fan. This is the third song I’ve heard in a week that I really like.” I turn around to face Kiera, and
I’m delighted to see that she has emerged as Pippi in her tie-dyed bikini.

“As much as I love
the formal version of you, there’s a whole lot to be said for this version too.”

Kier
a wrinkles her nose and shrugs her shoulders, as she glances down at herself. “You must be the only person to see it then, because I think I look like a dork. No one besides you has ever paid any attention to me,” she reveals as she adjusts the hair band on her pigtail.

“Well, I can’t speak for the intelligence of the other guys, but I’ve noticed a hundred little things about you every since I first laid eyes on you,” I respond as I kiss her forehead. “For example, when you’re trying to figure something out, you get a line between your eyebrows that looks like a perfect exclamation point and when you laugh, you get a dimple that looks like a period.” I lift her up to the edge of the hot tub and tenderly kiss the place where her dimple appears. I turn her face slightly to the side as I briefly touch my lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Kiera shivers and arches her back. “You have three freckles here that form a perfect triangle and some more freckles on your shoulder that form Orion’s belt”