How to Keep Rolling After a Fall (15 page)

“You're being unnecessarily dramatic.” My mom tilts her head and studies me, eyes narrowed and confused. “How can you care so much about a boy you just met?”

“This boy is one of the only people in the world who still see me as a person.” I can't stop crying, and my words come out broken and raw. “He's one of the few people who will still look me in the eye. He forgave me instantly.” I manage to lift my chin, batting tears away with the back of my hand. “You've had months. I don't think anyone around here is ever going to forgive me. All you guys want to do is just keep condemning people for making mistakes.”

“Nicole—”

The overwhelming sadness of it all cripples me. “I don't want it to feel like this,” I admit. I find myself collapsing in a pile in the entranceway, hands coming up to cover my eyes. “I don't want him to be the only person who cares about me, but that's how you make me feel. And something's gotta change,” I whimper, then repeat, “Something's gotta change.”

All I can see is their feet. My parents don't seem to be moving, still and dumbfounded.

After several minutes, my mom gives me an instruction: “Get yourself together, Nicole. Go upstairs and wash your face. We'll discuss this in the morning.”

Exhausted and spent, I wrap my fingers around my shoes and pull myself to my feet, refusing to look at their faces. I move toward the stairwell and then drag my body to the second floor. I do as my mom says, my shoulders still quaking as I wash my puffy, red face with cold water and stare forlornly into my watery eyes.

When I curl up on my bed, I scan my text messages until I find the picture Pax sent me the night we went to the boardwalk—the one of him smiling. I stare and stare, wanting that image to erase the past fifteen minutes, wanting it to transport me back to the swimming pool. I picture his eyes when we said good night, how peaceful and happy they were.

I told my parents I refuse to lose him, but what if they have the power to make it happen anyway? What if they destroy the only peace and happiness I have anymore?

*   *   *

On Saturday morning, I hide in my room. I'm exhausted from the fight and the lack of sleep that followed. I lie in my bed like a lump, stomach growling more persistently as the hours pass. But there's no way in hell I'm going down to the kitchen.

I keep hearing my mom's voice in my head.
“Absolutely not. Absolutely not.”

The words make me tear up. Fate couldn't possibly be so cruel, could it? To play the horrid joke of pulling Pax away only hours after he finally let himself get close?

I couldn't have just one night when he felt like … mine. I just couldn't. My crying becomes audible, and I bury my face in my pillow to mute it.

On the bed beside me, my phone vibrates. Pax's name lights up the screen. Wiping my face on the pillow cover, I grab the phone and manage to say hello.

“Hey.”

“What's up?”

“I just woke up.” His voice is low and husky, making me miss him in a new, more intimate way. “Still in bed. But I started thinking about you right away.”

Pain constricts my chest, and I feel my throat tighten with a new crop of tears. I say nothing.

“Nik?”

I still can't speak, closing my eyes and shaking my head back and forth.

“Nikki. What's wrong?”

“I missed my curfew,” I manage to whisper, trying to keep my voice from wobbling. But I'm unsuccessful, and the tears are evident in my voice as I continue. “They're going to take everything away again. And they're trying to act like you … They're trying to say…”

I can't replay the exchange from last night. Instead, I end up crying in his ear for about two minutes straight. “I'm so sad. I'm just so, so sad today, and I'm tired of feeling—”

“Nikki, I gotta go,” Pax interrupts me, his voice firm. “I'm sorry, but … I really need to go.”

The screen goes blank in my hand, and I stare down at it, confused and forlorn. I lie there, half-stunned, for ten minutes, thinking he's going to call me back any second. But he doesn't, and as time creeps by I start feeling worse, even though I didn't think such a thing was possible.

But Pax is a guy, after all, and guys don't really do emotional overload all that well. He's always been incredibly patient with mine, but maybe enough was enough. Maybe he's decided it isn't worth it.

Maybe he regrets last night.

I roll back onto my stomach, pressing my face back into the pillow and hiding the phone underneath it. I don't want to look at it. Half of me is hopeful, certain he'll call back any second, and half of me is chastising that hopeful half for being
so stupid
about guys. Did he really just hang up on me like that? When I was bawling my eyes out?

I've stopped counting the minutes, but it must be another twenty minutes before I hear voices, and some commotion, at the front door. My mother calls for my father, and then there's a shuffle as they hurry from the front of the house to the back and open the sliding patio door.

As they move from the foyer to the kitchen, I hear my parents' voices, surprised and slightly frantic, but I can't make out their words. I start to pick up on an exchange coming from the kitchen, and curiosity gets the better of me, so I creep out to the hallway and peer around the corner and down the stairs. Still I can't see to the kitchen, but I'm close enough to make out the voice.

“I'm sorry for showing up like this, but I felt like I had to.”

Pax.

My breath gets stuck in my throat, and I drop onto the top step, wrapping my arms around the banister and leaning forward.

My mother stumbles over an apology about the front steps being difficult to navigate, and I draw back and into the shadows as the three of them appear in the living room.

Pax must've left immediately after hanging up the phone. He's wearing the same pink shirt from last night, and it's beyond wrinkled. His hair is disheveled, probably from falling asleep on it when it was still damp, and maybe a little bit from my pawing at him in the front seat of his car.

“I need to apologize for last night,” Pax tells my parents. “Nikki never even would have left the house if it wasn't for me, and I didn't give her advance warning that I was going to show up.” He shakes his head. “I didn't really think through the situation I was putting her in.”

“No, you didn't,” my father agrees.

Even so, Pax manages to look him in the eye. “I was just excited because I got an idea about getting
her
excited again, about her future. I know she's given up on the idea of a performing-arts school, but every time she talks about it, I can tell she's still got the desire somewhere inside.”

I press my forehead against the banister and cringe. Pax doesn't know about my mom's disdain for the idea in general, and I'm not surprised when she tells him.

“It's nice that you care about her,” my mom says, “but to be honest, we seem to be on a different page about what ‘getting her excited' for her future looks like. Especially at this stage in the game, Nikki needs to focus on more traditional options for college.” She pauses and crosses her arms. “Furthermore, I'm concerned that getting involved in a relationship is the last thing that will motivate her to think about where she's going next year. It's nothing personal, but I'm not thrilled about the prospect of your presence in her life factoring into her future plans.”

Pax is quiet a minute and stares at his lap. “I think you're overestimating the part I'm going to end up playing in Nikki's college decisions,” he mumbles.

An icy feeling of fear coats my stomach. What does he mean? Why does he think he's not going to be a factor?

Where's he going?

“And look … I know it's probably not my place to say,” he continues, “but I've seen Nikki with a microphone in her hand now, and there's something so natural and obvious about her being up on a stage like that. I get that it's not the traditional, or safest, college plan, but … it just sort of sucks to think about her giving up that really amazing part of herself.”

My dad
hates
the word
sucks
. Even from this distance, I can detect my father's nostrils flaring and see his spine stiffen. “I'm struggling with this,” he says, voice grim.

“I don't want to off—”

“I'm really struggling with this,” he repeats. “Because I barely know my daughter anymore, and I'm having a really hard time with some boy she's known for a few weeks showing up at my door and acting like he does. I knew her for seventeen years before I started feeling like I didn't, and you'll
forgive
me if I haven't quite recovered from that enough to be able to appreciate your perspective on her life.”

There is a long pause. “With all due respect, sir,” Pax begins quietly, maintaining eye contact all the while, “did you love her because she was flawless, or did you love her because you loved her?”

My heart stops in my chest.

He puts one hand out in front of him. “Look. I've probably said too much. I really didn't want to come over here and make anything worse for Nikki. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for taking her out last night, because I really didn't give her much choice in the matter and I don't want her to be punished because of that.” Pax turns his wheelchair so that he's angled toward the kitchen and then starts turning the wheels to go. He does a double take in the direction of the stairwell, and although he doesn't let on to my parents, I know he's spotted me.

He looks in my direction as he shares a final thought with my parents. “There's still so much good in her,” he tells them. Then Pax looks back at my parents one final time before leaving my house. “And you know, it's a damn shame that some boy she's known for a few weeks gets to see it and appreciate it, while the people who created her don't.”

 

Chapter 11

Saturday afternoon through Tuesday night, I exert a lot of energy dodging my parents. I grab meals at off times, pick up an extra shift at the rehab center, and do more studying than I'm used to. It doesn't seem that they're eager to start the next battle round with me, either, and there's little follow-up to my dramatics from Friday night and Pax's passionate plea from Saturday morning.

Then Wednesday morning dawns.

I'm tucking my polo shirt into my kilt when my mom knocks on my door and pokes her head inside my room. I become very concerned with making sure my shirt is even and don't bother to turn around. “I'm almost ready. I'll be down in a minute.” It's seven eleven, and she's probably having a coronary.

She surprises me by coming into my room instead of retreating, slowly walking over to my bed and sitting down on the end. “Please sit down,” she quietly instructs me.

“Aren't you going to be late?” I hedge, bending over and tugging at my kneesocks. It's really too early to do this.

“I called my secretary. I told her I might be a few minutes late this morning.”

Crap. This can't be good. I take my time making my way over to the bed and sit down on the side, my back to her, and wait.

“This relationship with Matthew … I assume it's a romantic one?”

“His name is Pax,” I can't help mumbling.

She twists her head around and gives me a warning look. “Just answer the question, Nicole.”

Staring out the window, I suck in a breath. “Yes.”

My mom nods and digests this information. “What happened Friday night is certainly not forgotten. But we're not going to try to forbid you from seeing him.”

“What?” My head whips around in surprise, and I angle my body back toward hers. “Why?”

My mom doesn't say anything for a few minutes, anxiously spinning her engagement ring and staring at her lap. “Something occurred to me yesterday morning. It's October now.”

“And that means…?”

She lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine. They are tinged with unfamiliar uncertainty. “It means you are going to be eighteen years old at the end of this month. When that happens, the reality is, you will no longer be under any obligation to stay here. If we don't get this on the right track…”

I can't help rolling my eyes. “It's hardly like I'm going to run off and marry Pax or something.”

“I know that. All the same … it was a wake-up call for me. As were other things.” My mom pauses again. “Matthew … he was rather compelling. Sort of charming with his … candor.”

I'm shocked as hell that she's capable of recognizing and admitting this, and I can't think of a single thing to say.

“His little speech on Saturday—well, it got to me. Look at me, Nikki.” I look her in the eye and wait. “I'd be lying if I sat here and told you that right now I'm able to forgive you for what happened this past year. You impacted this entire family in a way we haven't recovered from.” She shakes her head. “So I can't authentically say it's okay, nor can I say I'm not still fairly livid about your choices on Friday night.” My mom exhales a huge breath, and for a second I think her eyes might even look a little glassy. “But I can say that I know I don't want to lose you, not entirely, and if we keep letting time pass without trying to get this family back on some kind of good path…”

There is a tremble in her final words, and she waits, eventually clearing her throat and starting over again, focusing on something concrete, something not quite so hard. “On that note, I'd like to at least try to find a way to get on the same page, about something productive. You know I've never endorsed the idea of your running off to Manhattan to focus all your attention on the theater, but there are local, more balanced options for building performance into a typical college experience.”