Page 17 of Falling for You

Nate

To my surprise, I found Dad sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, holding his head in his hands.

‘Dad?’

He almost jumped out of his skin at my voice and immediately sat up straight.

‘Christ, Nate,’ he said, laughing a little. ‘What are you doing awake at this time?’

Have you ever wondered with your parents about whether you’re seeing the real them? They’re always acting strong for you, looking after you, protecting you from everything that they can. When do you see the real them? When do they let their guard down?

Well, right then I felt as though I’d walked into a moment where Dad had taken his mask off for a tiny breather. And then as soon as I walked in, he shoved it back on so fast that it made him catch his breath. I didn’t know whether to ask if he was okay or just run back upstairs immediately.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I said, after a beat. ‘It’s almost morning in London.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Of course it is.’

‘Why are you up?’

‘Oh,’ he said, gesturing down to his empty glass. I noticed that he’d been drinking. ‘I’m not. I’m going up now.’ He stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, hiding his eyes from me. ‘Night, son.’

I felt paralysed as I watched him leave. A part of me wanted to grab his arm and make him talk to me, but a bigger part of me knew that he wouldn’t want to do that. What would be the point? It’s not like it can fix anything.

I ended up sitting at the table for a few hours, leafing through an old copy of The Great Gatsby that was lying around. Dad must have been reading it to Mom, it’s her favourite book. She reads it every holiday, every year.

‘Is she okay?’

I’m pulled back into the moment as Stevie’s voice echoes down the phone. He rang me, croakily, as soon as he woke up and read my messages. It’s about seven in the morning now for him. It’s still just me sitting at the kitchen table.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, leaning my head against my palm. ‘I haven’t seen her. She’s been asleep since I arrived. Dad has seen her and says she’s okay, though.’

‘So she’s in hospital?’

I sigh. ‘Yeah. We’re planning to go and see her later.’

I hear Stevie exhale and I feel a pang of guilt.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and get you. I did try to find you,’ I say. ‘But I texted you, so you could have met me at the airport.’

As soon as I say it I want to kick myself. Talk about sticking your finger in the wound, Nate.

‘I was trolleyed, man.’

‘Trolleyed?’

‘It’s an English word. It means drunk.’ I can hear Stevie smiling. He’s trying to wind me up. ‘I thought it was quite fun.’

I roll my eyes. ‘That’s a weird one.’

‘When are you coming back? Are you coming back?’

I take a deep breath.

‘I’ve barely thought about it,’ I say honestly. ‘I mean, I’ve left my laptop at yours, but I could go back to work in the Manhattan office and ask you to ship it to me.’

‘You’re paying for that.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘You’ve got to come back though, right? I thought you were making a new life for yourself in London – you can’t give up after two weeks.’

God, he is such a pained artist. It’s like he’s about to burst into song.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It depends how Mom is.’

‘Okay, sure,’ Stevie sighs. ‘Well, tell her I say hi and send her my love.’

Irritation prickles at my skin. This is our mom. Why is he talking like a greetings card?

‘Tell her yourself.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you’re going to call her later, right?’

I hear Stevie puff. ‘Well, yeah, if I can! I’ve got a show tonight and with the time difference it isn’t the easiest thing.’

‘I managed to do it when I was in London,’ I say before I can stop myself. Even though he’s thousands of miles away, I can see the furious look he’ll be giving me right now. But I don’t care, he deserves it.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ he snaps. ‘I’ve got to go. Bye.’ Then he pauses. ‘Look after yourself too, Nate.’

The line goes dead and it’s back to sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the space where Mom normally sits. Just me and the silence of the night. Alone.

I’m not sure how much time passes with me sitting at the kitchen table staring into the distance. It’s enough time for my eyes to glaze over, making everything shift slightly out of focus and allowing me to dip into a state of meditation.

Eventually, when it’s starting to feel as if my head might fall off my shoulders from sheer exhaustion, Dad reappears.

He’s in his chequered shirt and jeans, a white T-shirt peeking out under the undone top button.

He’s tall and thin, with chestnut hair and olive skin, which has been carved with lines for as long as I can remember.

Mom once said he had ‘twinkly eyes’, which I never understood, but I do now.

He’s a man of few words, but when he smiles his eyes have a little sparkle to them. A small twinkle.

Mom was always the one that took charge in our family. Organised the holidays and the birthdays, decided on the dinner and made sure our clothes were ready for school. She’d even organise her own Mother’s Day if she had it her way. Dad is always right behind her, though, smiling. Twinkling.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, as he lifts a coffee pot in my direction. I go to shake my head, and then realise I desperately need something to keep me awake. ‘Actually, yeah. Thanks.’

He nods and starts to make the coffee. His jeans are high-waisted and his shirt is neatly tucked in. The brown belt he wears every day is tightened carefully in place, always one notch too tight in my opinion. I don’t know how it can be comfortable.

‘Have you heard from Stevie?’

I look down at my phone. I haven’t heard a peep from him since our call. He’ll be getting ready for the show now. I don’t even know where he’s performing today.

‘This morning,’ I say, taking the coffee off Dad gratefully. ‘He rang to check on Mom.’

Dad nods, sitting in the chair opposite. ‘Good guy.’

I try to squash down my anger, resisting the urge to challenge how Stevie could be the good guy when I’m the one who’s dropped everything to travel across the world to check on Mom. He can barely be bothered to pick up the phone to call her.

But that wouldn’t be helpful, so I keep my mouth shut.

‘Visiting hours start from eleven,’ Dad says. ‘So let’s get something to eat before we go. We don’t want to eat there,’ he smiles into his coffee, ‘the food is terrible.’

‘Have you been there before?’ I ask, surprised.

Dad glances up at me, and I can see him debating whether to lie to me or not.

‘A couple of times.’

‘For Mom?’ My heart rate starts to pick up again. Even though I know that she is safe, tucked up in a hospital bed surrounded by the best people to take care of her, I suddenly feel an immense panic that something else is going on.

‘Yeah,’ Dad nods sheepishly. ‘It’s not the first time she’s fallen, and she burnt herself just after you left.’

I gape at him. ‘Burnt herself? How?’

He gestures towards our electric cooker. ‘Stuck her hand on the hob ring. Didn’t realise it would be hot.’

We’ve had that cooker for years – fifteen years, easily. Mom uses it every day, she loves cooking. How could she forget that the hob ring is hot? That’s something you learn when you’re four years old.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Well, I’m worried,’ I say, running my fingers roughly through my hair.

We drift into silence, sipping our coffees. Well, Dad is sipping his coffee, his dark eyes gazing off into the distance. I’m picking at my nails angrily.

I take a deep breath. ‘How’s it been?’

He surfaces from his trance. ‘What’s that?’

‘How’s it all been? Here?’ I move my arm to gesture around the kitchen. ‘With Mom.’

‘Oh, you know.’ Dad gives me a lopsided smile. ‘Never a dull day.’

‘Dad …’

He sighs. ‘It’s hard, Nate. You know what it’s like. You’ve been with her for the past five years.’

‘I shouldn’t have gone,’ I say, my chest burning. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, but I’m back now.’

Dad looks at me, eyebrows raised. ‘You’re staying, are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your mom won’t have that.’

‘It’s not up to her,’ I say, gripping my coffee cup tightly so it singes the palms of my hands.

Dad goes to speak, and then looks up at the clock.

‘Come on then, son,’ he says. ‘Let’s get a sandwich and go see your mom. We might need to stop for another coffee too, you look like you need it.’

He gets to his feet and I frown. ‘Isn’t there coffee there?’

He laughs gruffly. ‘Yup. Terrible.’

We use up all our words on the way to the hospital – not that we shared many to begin with.

But Dad doesn’t need to say much, and to be honest I’m not sure how easily I could hold down a conversation either.

My head is spinning. I can’t believe this time yesterday I was getting ready to go to a ball without a care in the world, miles away from my life here.

I was wrapped up in Stevie’s world, the glitz and glamour of my new, exciting life in London.

I danced with strangers and even met the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

A jolt of anger shoots through me and I curse myself, not for the first time since I left the party last night.

Why didn’t I get her phone number?

It would have taken me seconds to get it. I could have explained to her that I had to go but that I’d call her the next day. What was I thinking?

But that’s the thing. I wasn’t really thinking, was I?

I look out of the window as we skirt past a parade of shops.

She was from London, that much I know, and she said that she made costumes. I wonder what she’s doing now. Maybe she’s spending the day with a guy who didn’t ditch her halfway through a conversation with no explanation.

I frown. No, it’s not worth thinking about.

Why do I care so much? The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. She probably doesn’t even remember me.

Is there a way I could find her when I get back to London? Just so I can explain and apologise for what happened? Or would she find that incredibly creepy?