Page 12 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)
MAGGIE
“You can do it,”
I breathlessly tell myself even though I don’t feel like I can finish the last thirty seconds of this workout.
“Come on. It’s not gonna kill you, it’s just not easy. It’s supposed to be…hard….”
Thigh muscles burning and skin sticky with sweat, I focus on the encouragements of the instructor lady on YouTube, and on how this is the fourth day I’ve followed along with this video, and on how the timer in the corner is ticking down.
I can finish this squat-and-jump combo. I can do it. I—
“I can’t,”
I burst out.
My feet land out of a half-assed jump, and I fold forwards and drop my hands onto my knees. I rather feel like crumpling to the floor; my body wasn’t excited about this workout even before I started it, and now it really hates me.
“Ten more seconds!”
the peppy instructor calls out.
“Let’s go, guys!”
I close my eyes and listen to her cheer for the success of everyone who has ever finished the workout video with her.
Shame, disappointment, and frustration ripple through me as I try to catch my breath.
But I only allow that for a few moments. Then I shake my head at myself. I’m not a failure. This is the hardest I’ve done this workout since Emma, Joy, and I first tried it on Sunday morning. I thought I was ready to bump up my efforts, and I did all right for the most part. And this is the only time I haven’t gone to the very end.
Any amount of progress is important to me.
“Practice makes progress,”
I whisper weakly.
That’s what Joy told me yesterday when, indeed, she and Emma reluctantly broke the news to me that these HIIT workouts aren’t for them. Sweet Joy—she had looked near tears even as she smiled and lovingly patted my shoulders.
“Just ’cause we’re quitting after a few tries doesn’t mean you can’t keep going,”
she told me.
“Okay, girl? You got this. It’s hard, but you got it. Practice makes progress.”
Emma chuckled even though she, too, had apology in her soft brown eyes.
“True as that is, it sure makes us sound like hypocrites. ‘Practice? Nah, but thanks.’ That’s us.”
It did and also didn’t make them sound like hypocrites. I truly don’t mind them quitting. They’re in charge of their own bodies. I want them to be happy just like they want me to be happy. And in that vein, I’m glad they didn’t try to talk me out of the work, too, since they still don’t know why I’m doing it.
Damn, though. This sucks.
Does it really get easier, or am I going about it the wrong way?
A frustrating notion.
I straighten up and deal with the new video that has automatically started playing. No, sir, Mr. Muscles, I do not want to join you in your heavy-weight-lifting routine.
I’ve just turned the TV off when my phone starts vibrating on the coffee table. I try not to outright drop the remote to the table, too, in my exhaustion.
But exhaustion aside, I can’t help breaking into a smile when I see my mom is calling.
I answer with.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Hiiii, my love!”
she all but sings into my ear.
“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice! I know we text every couple days, but it’s just not the same as hearing your voice!”
I giggle and nod even though she can’t see me.
“I know! I miss your voice too. And all the rest of you.”
The sound she makes tells me she’s frowning affectionately. I’d bet she’s even pressing a hand to her heart.
I sigh to her.
“I wish I could hug you.”
She sighs back.
“So do I. How are you, honey? What’s new?”
I share the news of my exercise endeavor, though I don’t feel like getting into my motive with her either. She’s instantly supportive—she always approves of the search for happiness—and as much as I appreciate that, I also appreciate the idea she comes up with when I tell her how hard these workouts are. She suggests doing HIIT every other day and doing something easier on the days in between, like going for a jog or trying yoga.
“Maybe Emma and Joy would join in on yoga,”
she adds.
“You know, if you had your heart set on not exercising alone? You said they gave up on HIIT, but I think yoga would be a lot different.”
“Yeah, maybe,”
I say.
“I’m kind of liking the idea of outdoor walks, though.”
“They are nice, aren’t they?”
“Yep.”
Honestly, I’m so sweaty from my HIIT workout, I feel like my weary muscles would let it slide if I decided to go to the park and walk in the cold.
“Speaking of the girls,”
she says.
“what are you all doing for Thanksgiving? I’m so sorry again that your dad and I won’t get to see you!”
Even though her mention of it makes me miss them that much more, I have to smile.
“Mama, don’t be sorry. It’s so special that you get to go on a cruise for your anniversary. I’m happy for you both.”
“Aw, honey.”
Again with me being sure she’s got an affectionate look on her face.
“Besides, I’ll see you at Christmas!”
“True….”
“And since I have to work the days before and after Thanksgiving, I’ll be thinking of you and Daddy already.”
She says, “Aw,”
again.
“I love Lucent.”
Then she tsks.
“You’re only off work the day of, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m not upset about it, though. Lucent is our place.”
“It is our place. Not a bad one to be in around the holidays, I guess, since it’s pretty much a part of our family.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
After a beat, I add.
“I don’t know what Emma and Joy have planned. I expect Joy will have to work that Friday.”
“Oh, probably, if she’s still at that cute little clothing store.”
“She is. And today is her birthday, by the way!”
My mom gasps.
“I knew today’s date looked important for some reason! Tell her how much we love her and that we wish her a happy birthday! Are you three going out to eat or anything?”
I tell her about the plan to go to Merritt’s—it turned out that’s what Joy landed on the other day while I was in the Mellow Burger bathroom.
As excited as I am, I find myself cringing since both Mellow Burger and Merritt’s remind me of Kyle. God, I still can’t believe he was waiting for me after work last night. That was so damn creepy. My friends agreed when I got home and told them—they hugged me and we talked about how afraid I was both at the time and after the fact, when my anxious imagination took its own toll. We hope nothing like that encounter will happen again.
Currently, I try to shake it all off and focus on my mom saying our night sounds fun. She appreciates the reminder that my friends and I never drink and drive, and she’s interested in what I’m thinking of wearing.
And after we’ve discussed a couple of outfit options, she asks.
“Do you think Luke will be there too?”
It’s so surprising it makes my pulse skip.
I don’t know why he would show up since this isn’t a weekend night. Out of habit, I hope he won’t. Our shared shift yesterday didn’t improve after the cell phone argument. In fact, at one point I tripped on the way to seat someone in the bar area and he busted out laughing, so I went over and quietly busted him for something green being in his teeth, and things were extra sour from then on.
“I don’t know,”
I answer my mom honestly.
“Hmm.”
Am I imagining the weight in that little hum?
I’m not sure. Although I’ve told her about my encounters with him at work and at the bar, she doesn’t know he’s the guy who turned my life upside down when I was sixteen. At the time, I let her in on some of what happened—divulged that a boy I thought I’d found something special with had turned out not to like me after all—but I was too hurt and embarrassed to give all the details. Even my version of revenge hadn’t improved my mood enough to get me to tell her everything. I just wanted to move on the best I could.
But yes, she knows I see Luke at the bar more often than not, and she knows how much he irritates me.
Maybe her hum is just her way of silently adding hope to my hope that he won’t find a way to ruin my night.
I hear my dad’s jovial voice in the background, causing my thoughts to lift. She switches her end of the call to speakerphone and the topic of our conversation switches back to catching up.
After a few minutes, he asks.
“So you’re doing okay, baby girl? Happy? Safe?”
His check-in warms my heart.
“Yeah, I’m okay, Daddy. Even better now that I’ve talked to you and Mama. I love you both so much.”
“We love you!”
they say in unison.
My mom adds.
“Send us a picture of you and the girls later!”
“And a picture of whatever you eat,”
he tacks on.
We all laugh. I get my snacky ways from him.
“Will do and will do,”
I promise them.
It makes all of us a little sad to end the call after another minute, but I need a shower and they’ve got other stuff to get to. Definitely helps that they promptly text me a picture of them blowing me a kiss—I laugh and send one back, then ask why our goofy selves didn’t think to video chat during our call. My mom sends a bunch of the mind-blown emojis, which makes me laugh so much my tired back muscles start cramping in one spot.
It’s okay with me, though. Laughter is good for you.
I’m looking forward to laughing with my friends later on.
—
Something I love about the girls is that they are always unapologetically themselves.
Case in point: Joy is wearing a gold prom-looking gown and a tiara where she sits next to me in a booth at Merritt’s, and Emma has just stopped our enthusiastic sing-along t.
“Hands Down”
to look over and tell off a drunk woman at a nearby tall table, who has been loud the whole time we’ve been here and who has started mocking our bubbly friend’s outfit.
“And who goes around making rude comments about people’s clothes?”
Emma asks sharply.
“Pathetic people who need to mind their own business, that’s who. Mind your business, lady.”
The woman points at her with the hand already holding her drink. I watch the glass slip an inch.
“I’m not pathetic! I’m telling truth—telling the truth to your friend! Someone needs to say it!”
“What someone needs to do is get you a glass of water, ’cause—”
“You just look desperate for attention!”
the woman cuts over to Joy.
“Attention whore! Dress like a normal person!”
Emma sucks in a breath like she considers those to be fighting words. She moves, clearly about to get out of the booth, and I try not to spill my mojito from laughing.
“Aw, Em, it’s okay!”
Joy says easily.
“Don’t bother with her!”
“No, it’s not okay!”
Emma stops moving and tosses a frown across the table.
“Today is your birthday, and you’re not doing anything wrong by wearing that. You’re dressed up ’cause dressing up makes you happy. Who is she to make fun of you for it?”
“She is who she is.”
Joy raises her eyebrows at Emma and at me, then grabs for the straw in her raspberry margarita.
“I don’t care if she thinks I look stupid.”
I hold up a hand for a high-five.
“That’s it.”
She smacks her palm to mine and giggles.
Still scowling, Emma scoots back into her seat.
“You don’t look stupid. You look glamorous.”
Joy cutely hunches her shoulders.
“Thank you! That’s how I feel!”
“Yeah, so how ’bout this lady shuts the hell up?”
“Better yet,”
interjects the friendly yet firm voice of one of the bartenders.
“how about we see her off?”
All three of us watch him shuffle up to the lady, beckoning.
“You’ve been here a long time, ma’am, and I think you’ve had about enough now. Let’s go on and get you home.”
She doesn’t like that, of course, but he lowers his voice and at least gets her to listen to what he’s saying.
While they talk, Emma holds her drink out to Joy and me, and we clink ours against it.
“Glad that’s getting taken care of,”
she says.
“I wasn’t about to listen to her talk one more bit of shit about the birthday girl.”
Joy and I giggle even though we know how serious she is. She’s protective when it comes to us.
When we were sixteen, she even helped me get back at—
“Au revoir,”
Joy remarks breezily. I look where she’s looking and see the drunk woman is slowly being escorted away. She doesn’t even glance at us as she goes, as if we never meant a thing to her.
“Mmhmm,”
Emma mutters.
I just nod. It’s funny how the noise in this large room is suddenly more comfortable with the lady not being belligerent.
After I think about that for a second, I tsk and tell the girls.
“Sorry she interrupted our song.”
Emma scoffs. “I know!”
Joy shakes her head.
“We had it going, too, guys! We were nailing it!”
I say.
“We’ll just have to listen to it again when we get home.”
“Yes!”
Emma agrees.
“Dashboard Confessional is definitely best enjoyed somewhere we can freely belt it out. The apartment. The car.”
“Yep,”
I say.
“As much as we feel at ease in here, it’s not the right place for us to really let our inner emo kids shine.”
Emma and Joy burst into laughter, and I have to do the same.
“I love you both,”
Joy tells us.
“We love you!”
we say in unison.
I add.
“Got any birthday wishes for this year?”
She sighs and hums, a dreamy look on her face.
“Off the top of my head? That I’ll get better at cooking and meet a guy who isn’t disappointing.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders in a half-hug.
“Those are good ones.”
Emma says.
“Yeah, they are,”
even though we know how she really feels about love. And she knows we know how she feels, so she doesn’t go off on a tangent about relationships or heartache or Graham. She just clears her throat, sets her drink down, then extends her arms and starts scooting out of her seat.
“I need a hug too!”
Joy happily obliges while I glance around—and I unexpectedly lock eyes with Luke’s friend Paxton, who is grinning and approaching our table.
Aw, God.
“Well, well, well!”
he says cheerfully.
“What a good day I’m having! First a job promotion, then a winning scratch-off lottery ticket, and now coming across you lovely ladies! What’s the occasion?”
Half of my brain listens to Joy greeting him with equal cheer. The other half wonders if Luke is about to show up after all.
I have no time to decide whether I should ask before Paxton says.
“Oh, hey, happy birthday! I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one celebrating something tonight. Once Luke gets here, I’ll buy all of us a round and we can do a toast!”
And here’s the twist, leap, and fall of my stomach.
I don’t want anything to dampen this evening. Is that too much to ask for?
My friends don’t seem to be concerned about that happening. Joy is telling Paxton how nice his offer is and Emma is sipping her margarita while she scans her eyes over him in a way I recognize.
Maybe it won’t be so bad, part of me holds out hope.
Another part counters, Or maybe Luke will see I’m wearing heels and intentionally make me trip so he can laugh at me again.
The latter sounds like something he’d do.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
“What?” Joy asks.
I catch up to the moment and see Paxton walking away. It’s just us girls again.
Sighing, I say.
“This is a special day and we’re having a good time and I don’t want a certain someone to mess it up.”
“Refuse to let him,”
Emma replies.
“Yes!”
Joy agrees.
Mild dread aside, I have to smile.
“But,”
Joy goes on.
“I gotta say I don’t know if Luke even would try to ruin it. You told us how he acted when he had that headache at work, and now I kind of think there might be a regular guy hiding in there somewhere.”
I’m not sure how the mention of that situation makes me feel, just like I didn’t know how to feel when I was in the middle of it. I do, however, realize I never mentioned the cell phone argument or our bar area friction to the girls, so they don’t know my last encounter with Luke didn’t see him being mature whatsoever.
Emma tells me.
“We also know your history, so we’ve got your back no matter what. Just see what happens.”
Joy snickers.
“Yeah, but hey, Em? Speaking of seeing what happens….”
I watch her point at where Paxton is talking to a bartender.
Amusement overtakes me as well.
“Ooooh, that’s right. I noticed how you were looking at him a minute ago.”
Emma’s lips curve into a half-smile that’s both cute and sly.
“I’ve always found him good-looking.”
Joy nods.
“I bet he thinks the same about you.”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes shift between us.
“Either of you calling dibs?”
I shake my head while Joy chirps.
“Not a single one!”
She leans over the table.
“Oh my gosh. Later when he buys us those drinks, you should be like, ‘Hey, wanna buy me some dinner this weekend too?’”
I laugh along with them.
Love these girls so much.
And they’re right: if I want to have fun tonight, that’s the bottom line. I don’t have to cross my fingers that Luke will act right, nor do I have to worry he won’t.
I finish my mojito, then tap the back of my hand against Joy’s arm.
“Can you let me out? Need to go to the bathroom.”
“But of course!”
Her glitzy gold self scoots out of the booth.
“If our person stops by to check on us, do you need a refill?”
“I’ll take one of those half-price margaritas, actually. Original flavor on the rocks.”
Emma says.
“Good choice!”
as she holds up her glass. I shoot her a finger-gun and she winks at me.
On my way to the bathroom, I multitask. I’m not sure if Luke is here and watching me or if my brain has latched onto the mere idea of it, but I walk carefully in my heels just in case. My hands fidget first with the hem of my gray sweater and then with my hair hanging down my chest. My eyes peek around the familiar room to check if he’s nearby. My ears pick up on laughs and snippets of conversations from the other Wednesday-night patrons.
They also pick up on someone clearing their throat from close behind me. It gets a little jump out of me, and I roll my eyes at how Luke is undoubtedly trying to scare me like he did the other night. I turn my head to look behind me—
—and, fully startled, I nearly turn an ankle as my feet stumble to a graceless halt.
Kyle?
Laughing, Kyle grabs tightly to my arms as if to help me steady myself.
“Whoa, easy, beautiful! You’ve only had a couple drinks, right? How strong were they?”
What the—? Kyle is here now? What?
I work to get some air into my surprised lungs. Then, after an eternal few seconds, I pull away and stare at him, my arms aching a little from where he’d been holding on to me. I’m afraid about last night all over again and I’m displeased with him having been walking so close behind me here and I’m unamused by the joke he just tried to make. It’s not landing the way he intended it to, especially with his unwelcome touch lingering. It’s landing in a very, ‘What the hell?’ kind of way, on top of him being here at all.
Heavy unease buzzes through me now.
It weighs on my shoulders, in my chest, in the pit of my stomach.
How is he where I am again?
“Kyle,”
I barely get out at last, glancing around.
“What are you…?”
“Oh, I’m just here for a mid-week drink.”
He smiles as those intense brown eyes shift over me. After a moment, he gives a lighter laugh.
“But I have to admit it’s because I thought you might be here.”
What?
My ears are buzzing a little bit, too, now.
I ask.
“Why did you think that?”
He gestures back towards my table, giving yet another little laugh.
“The truth? The other day when I saw you and your friends at Mellow Burger, I thought I heard you all making plans to come celebrate….”
As I lose focus on his words, my unease shifts into straight-up anxiety. A wave of clammy heat rolls over me.
Oh my God.
He’s here because he thought I’d be here? Because…he was listening to me and my friends talk about where to go for Joy’s birthday?
That’s what he just said.
And he’s been watching me long enough tonight to know how many drinks I’ve had.
And he’s only approaching me now that I’m walking off by myself.
At least I’m around people this time, unlike last night, but—
“Are you okay?”
I blink out of my increasingly worried thoughts and see that somehow, despite everything he’s saying and doing, he’s looking at me with mild concern like I’m the one acting strangely.
Yeah, no, I’m not okay.
I don’t know how to say that, though. I don’t know how respond at all because I can’t wrap my mind around what I appear to be in the middle of.
I mean, seriously, what’s going on? Am I losing my marbles or is he really acting like some kind of—of—?
“Hey,”
he says, holding up his hands.
“I hope I’m not coming across the wrong way. I just wanna get to know you. You seem so sweet and I think we’d have a good time together. I’d love for us to have a drink. Or dinner sometime, like I said last night.”
That unnerving sense of being exposed around him is settling on me like it did the other day at my job. It leaves me feeling hot and cold at the same time.
I cross my arms as I look at him, unsure of what to say to get myself out of this.
Do I have to say anything? Should I just walk away again?
But he might follow me, and then what would I do? He’s slightly bigger than I am. But does that matter? I’m around other people, and maybe he really is an okay guy and is simply going about this all wrong. But what if that’s not true? Or what if it is true and I freak out and cause a scene for no reason? I don’t want to do that.
All I know is I don’t like how he makes me feel, especially after last night.
Would a nice guy really approach a girl who’s alone in a dark parking lot like that? Would he really keep showing up where I am like this?
I hate it when his hand moves onto one of my arms again before I can react—he’s already gotten a quick squeeze in before I figure out how to move away.
“Don’t touch me,”
I say in a weaker voice than I want to.
He laughs again and rubs at his face.
“Ah, shit. Can we…uh…okay, can we go back in time so I can redo this from the start?”
Now he holds out a hand.
“Hi, I’m Kyle. I’ve thought for a while that you’re super interesting and pretty, and I’d love to go out with you sometime.”
“No.”
He blinks.
I try my damnedest not to let my stare waver from his, because I am so serious about this word I’ve finally let out.
Momentarily, his extended hand drops away…as does whatever this mood of his is.
“No?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He goes on staring at me, too, before his eyes lower to study the rest of me, his jaw working.
I don’t know if the feeling it leaves me with is rooted in truth or just more anxiety, but either way, I worry my answer isn’t one he’s prepared to accept.
More deliberately, he asks.
“You won’t give me a chance? Why not?”
The lie hits my brain and falls straight out of my mouth.
“I have a boyfriend.”
It hangs between us as he looks me in the eyes again.
In a way, I’m mad about being made to feel like I have to say something like that to get rid of him. In another way, I’m proud of myself for coming up with such an excuse. It should make him leave me alone, right? He wouldn’t want to potentially upset a guy I’m with, would he?
Except he’s frowning deeply, and displeasure isn’t the only thing I can read in his expression.
The skepticism is in his tone, too, when he states.
“You have a boyfriend.”
Skepticism. Doubt. As if he….
It slams into me that if he really has been watching me lately, he might not be fooled by my lie after all. And if I have a boyfriend, why didn’t I say that last night?
Oh…God.
God, what do I do?
But I’m nodding like it’s not a lie, like I’m not scared on the inside about last night and how much of my life he has noted, like I totally believe he’s a nice person who doesn’t know how to be smooth around the ladies and it’s understandable and I don’t feel threatened at all.
Trying not to let my voice shake, I drive home the fib.
“I do have one, and we’re serious, so I’m not interested in anyone else. I should’ve mentioned it sooner. You’ll have to forget about me.”
Yes, whatever lighthearted thing he had going on before is gone now. In its place are the skepticism and sharp displeasure that are only heightening my discomfort.
And along with another girl walking towards the bathroom, I’m gone, too, my legs feeling like jelly.
Please don’t follow me. Please don’t. Please take a hint already and go away.
A glance over my shoulder tells me he isn’t walking after me, but he is still watching me.
I almost wish I hadn’t checked.
Thankfully, being in the bathroom doesn’t add to my fear; I’m not the only person occupying a stall. Once I’m done and my trembling hands are clean, I snag a different girl who is about to leave and ask her to locate my glowing friend Joy and discreetly tell her to come here so I can talk to her.
While I wait, I try to figure out what to say. What do I even want to do? I barely know what to think. My resolve to have fun no matter what has been shaken something fierce in a way I wasn’t expecting, and it’s hard to make sense of which moves are smart and which are stupid. Do I stay at the bar? Do I try to leave? Would Kyle follow me?
I can’t calm myself with hope that he has heeded my words and decided to give up on me. This nervousness seems to be bone-deep.
I’m pacing when Joy comes through the door with curiosity on her pretty face.
“Hey, my love,”
she says.
“You all right?”
Bless her for standing here and listening while I babble about what just happened, how I felt when Kyle showed up at my job both times, what I remember not liking about the Mellow Burger encounter, and even my first impression of him the last time we were all here at the bar.
And bless her for putting her hands on my shoulders and saying.
“Ew, okay, we’ll leave. If he’s still out there, we’ll take this party somewhere else. This is not okay. Emma will agree.”
I know that last part is right. I specifically called for Joy, though, because Emma is confrontational and I have a feeling that’s not what this situation needs.
Unfortunately, that’s all I have a feeling about as far as responses go.
I pat her hands.
“But that’s just it: I don’t know if leaving right now is what we should do. It’s not fair for him to have the power to make us pack up our party, but I really don’t like how he’s acting, but what if we do leave and we think he isn’t following us when really he is? He’s apparently good at watching me without me noticing.”
My blood runs cold.
“What if he ends up knowing where we live?”
Or what if he already does know?
Oh, Jesus.
I can’t—I can’t even think about that.
Suddenly feeling like crying, I whimper and press my hands to my cheeks.
“What’s the right move?”
How is this even a problem? I wish this wasn’t a problem.
Joy sighs, then lets go of my shoulders and starts lightly twisting her hips back and forth in a distracted decision dance. Her arms swing and her dress swishes as she appears to think about it all.
“We could call the police,”
she suggests. Then she tsks.
“Except I don’t know if they would do much. He hasn’t outright tried to hurt you.”
“I don’t know if they would help either. I don’t know if it’s worth bothering them over, or if calling them might make him angry. All I know is I’m anxious.”
“And I don’t blame you, girl. The thought of it creeps me out so much too.”
She shudders.
“I can’t believe he eavesdropped on us that day. Looking back, it’s so much more gross than even when he introduced himself and said he overheard what your name is. That could’ve been a coincidence, you know? Him learning your name like that? But listening to our whole conversation and deciding to copy our plans…. And then how did he know you were at work last night? How was he even there to find you in the parking lot?”
It all makes me shudder too.
“Yeah. I don’t know anymore how many of these encounters have been coincidental.”
“Same.”
She looks at me for a few long, quiet moments before letting her eyes drift around us.
Then she stops dancing and perks up like a lightbulb has gone off in her head.
Then her brow furrows, and she crosses her arms as she regards me thoughtfully once again.
My hopes and heart rate have lifted and dropped right along with her expression. “What?”
“I have an idea.”
“But you were only excited about it for a second?”
The crease between her eyebrows softens as her eyes go over my face.
“It’s…well, to say the least, it’s shaky.”
“So is my entire body, Joy, so I’m happy to hear any suggestion you’ve got.”
Her smile is tiny. She puts her hands back on my shoulders and blows a raspberry.
“Okay, keep an open mind.”