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Fallin’ For You – Colbie Caillat

Addie

“W hat vegetable do you want to eat this week?”

Nora darts around the produce area, weaving around the cart to look at the selection of veggies with thinly veiled disgust. The vegetable section is packed with people, and Nora continues to run off and look at different fruits, asking what each is and how they taste.

She skids to a stop in front of my cart, and I rip back the metal before it hits her in the gut.

By some miracle, she’s chosen to wear pants and a pink T-shirt rather than the princess dress that’s starting to emit a sour scent. I washed it twice this morning, and the odor still lingers, no matter how much detergent I throw at it.

“Zucchini.”

Did my daughter just say she wanted zucchini?

“You want to eat zucchini for dinner this week?” I repeat, just to make sure I’m hearing her correctly.

After her two scoops of ice cream last night, she came home and ate her vegetables without any complaint, but I thought it was a one-off. She was tired, her energy spent telling everyone about her stickers and her date to Olive Garden with Decy.

I have no idea where she came up with the nickname, but he beams every time she calls him that, and something in my chest warms at the sight.

“Jack likes zucchini,” she hums, turning to face the display where the zucchini lives.

“He does.”

“Well, I like it, too.”

I am not looking a gift-horse in the mouth, and if it means Nora will eat her vegetables because Jack does, I’m not going to argue with her logic.

Before she changes her mind, I open a reusable produce bag and she selects a few and gently places them inside. Her small hand holds the side as we move along the aisles.

As we move past the fruit, she sneakily drops a container of caramel sauce into the cart, eyes moving around to see if I noticed. I begin to say something, but let her win when she adds a few apples.

“Do you like Decy?” she asks, halfway through the pasta aisle.

The cart, once again, comes to a screeching halt.

“He’s very nice,” I say.

I laser my focus on a bag of farfalle. If I don’t add anything else, maybe she’ll let the conversation end. It’s a perfect, diplomatic response.

Regardless, my heart thumps behind my ribcage. Fortunately for me, she doesn’t recognize the physical response her words create.

“But do you like him? How princesses like princes?”

Gah, I think I do. My cheeks flame as I think of the way he held me against his chest, and how he holds my hand with absolute strength, as if he lets go, I’ll fly away like a balloon. I’ve re-read his text about kissing me a thousand times, and each time, my body reacts the same way it did the first time: like there are a million little fish swimming around my belly.

“Maybe.”

I should not be talking to my daughter about my workplace crush, especially not when she’s also beginning to grow attached to him.

“I like him. He’s nice.” Nora spins in the aisle, then adds, “And he likes you like you’re a princess.”

Instead of acknowledging her statement or the heat creeping down my back, I busy myself with collecting what I need from the shelves. My arms are full of cans when Nora asks another hard-hitting question. “Is Decy your boyfriend?”

She’ll have a long, wonderful career in journalism if she chooses.

“No.”

“Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s not an answer,” she says, lips pursing.

We engage in a quiet staredown. She’s using my words against me. God, she’s so smart. I don’t know whether to be proud or pissed off. A combination, maybe.

“It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

Ugh. This is what I get for always answering her questions.

There’s nowhere to escape as my daughter doubles down and asks again. Right now, I’m not above bribing her to forget the conversation if I agree to buy Pizza Rolls.

It’s one thing to admit to yourself your forming feelings for someone, it’s very different to admit it to your five-year-old. In another world, she wouldn’t know I went on a date with Declan, but the universe had different plans, and now she’s very invested.

I can’t tell Nora I spend every night thinking about him after she goes to bed, and I want him to kiss me so badly I might combust. Not to mention all the other things I want him to do to me.

“Addie?”

A soft voice filters from behind me. Thank you, universe!

I spin and launch myself at Nathalie, forcing her into a brutal hug, but she quickly returns the embrace. “You are an angel sent from the gods.”

She laughs. “Thank you?”

“Nora was asking me questions I didn’t have answers for,” I whisper when I pull away.

Nora rams into her leg, wrapping her small arms around Nathalie. “Ms. Nathalie! Where’s Deon?”

My daughter searches the aisle, looking for the quarterback.

“He’s at home,” Nathalie says, “Putting together his new grill for a family barbecue next week.” She gestures at her cart, full of meat and salads. “He was grumbling quite a bit when I left.”

She laughs, and Nora tugs at her shirt. “What’s family barbecue?”

“My parents usually host a family dinner every week,” Nathalie explains, “but this time, I’m having it at my house since they’re going on vacation.”

“Is your family big?”

Oh no, I know where this is going, and it’s going to be a spear to my heart.

“I have a brother and a sister, and my two parents. But my friends are also my family, so they’ll be there, too.” Nathalie pauses, then asks, “Would you two like to join?”

“Oh, I—”

“No pressure. It’s casual, and just a way to make sure we all see each other. I know Declan would love it if you two came.”

“Decy will be there?”

She has Nora’s attention now. This is not good for me. Nora will ask to go, and I won’t have the mental fortitude to tell her no, because I want to see the man as much as she does.

“Yes.”

“Mom?” Nora spins to me. “Do you think Decy would like it if I made him a drawing?”

“He would love that very much,” Nathalie says, her gaze softening. She looks between Nora and me, and though it seems like there’s more she wants to say, she just smiles and pulls out her phone. “I can send you my address.”

I put my number into her phone and she quickly sends her address. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

She says goodbye to Nora, and then we’re alone again in the aisle.

Declan’s friends are kind and compassionate. So much more than only teammates. They cheer each other on and make an effort to spend time with one another. I’ve watched as they help in times of difficulty, and it’s obvious they love each other deeply.

It’s hard not to be jealous.

I love my daughter, and I don’t regret a single decision I’ve made, but I ache for community. It’s something I had in college with my teammates, but it wasn’t built and nurtured like Declan and his friends. It was situational—we were friends because we were on the same team.

No other reason.

And when I got pregnant and dropped from the team, they no longer reached out, even when I tried. It’s not just a lack of community for me, but for Nora, too. No grandparents to spoil her or aunts and uncles to dote on. We have each other, and it’s been enough, but will it be enough forever? Or will she begin to resent our little world?

I’ve been alone for so long, it became easy to compartmentalize the debilitating loneliness. But Declan and his friends have ripped off the bandage I’ve used to cover the open wound.

What would life look like if we had a village?

It’s a quiet shopping trip, and an even quieter afternoon.

Nora spends all day working on drawings for Declan, and I have to rub away the discomfort in my chest. She puts all of her effort into her work, offering me updates periodically. After I put her to bed, tidy up her craft area, and settle into bed myself, I pull out my phone.

Outside of the message Declan sent in the nutrition room, he’s never texted me.

And it’s bothersome.

Me: Why don’t you ever text me?

Mistake. The text was a mistake. I’m staring down the proof of my idiotic choices when a response appears.

Declan: I wasn’t sure I could.

Me: Why?

Declan: Truthfully?

Me: No. Lie to me.

That was sarcasm. I want the truth.

Declan: Picked up on that.

I can’t tell what you want.

But also, you make me nervous, and I’m not used to that.

Me: What?

I make him nervous?

Declan: We went on a date, and I had a great time. You and Nora are incredible. But I don’t want to push or cross boundaries or make any assumptions.

Why don’t you text me?

He reverses the question, and all it does is show we’re in the same boat—two people with no idea what’s happening.

Me: I didn’t know if I could.

Declan: You can.

Me: Can I ask you something?

I roll over in bed, burrowing deeper into the covers and allowing the giddy sensation to wash over me. Texting him like this feels like a silly high school crush.

Declan: Anything.

Me: What’s your favorite color?

Declan: Purple. Why?

Me: It feels like something I should know.

Can I tell you something?

Declan: Always.

Me: Our date at Olive Garden was the best date I’ve ever been on. S

Sure, I was wearing an insane outfit, and I could barely speak because I was so nervous, but I had fun. Nora did, too. And it was because of him.

Declan: Oh, my sweet Adeline, the bar is so low. I witnessed your last date.

My sweet Adeline. Shit, I do not like how those words make my heart flutter.

Declan: And it will be your last bad date.

Me: Is that a promise?

Declan: It can be.

If he makes the promise, I know he would keep it, and a large part of me wants him to.