Page 52 of Falling for You

Nate

I drum my fingers on the side of the plastic chair, eyeing Stevie as he saunters over to me, holding two Costa coffee cups, expertly dodging the swarms of people rushing for their flights.

‘Here you are,’ he says. ‘I got us a scone to share, too. Have you even had one of these since you’ve been here?’

I wrinkle my nose as he pulls open the brown paper bag and I see a squat, white circular baked good.

‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Never heard of it.’

He starts sawing it in two with his plastic knife. ‘God. You’re going back to New York and you’ve barely done anything British. Did you have fish and chips?’

‘Nope.’

‘Pie and mash?’

I shake my head.

‘A roast dinner?’

I snap my fingers. ‘That I have had.’

‘Where?’

‘At the pub with Remy.’

Stevie seems to accept this. He pulls out his phone and my eyes flit back up to the announcement board.

Our flight is in four hours. Stevie insisted on us getting here early so he could ‘comfortably’ make his way through the airport. He said he wanted a coffee and a giraffe in peace, which I later found out was a fast-food restaurant.

‘Ah,’ Stevie says, leaning back into his seat and flicking his sunglasses onto his face, ‘I’m looking forward to a holiday.’

‘You do remember what New York is like this time of year, don’t you?’ I raise an eyebrow at him.

Stevie ignores me. ‘Do you think Mom will recreate a thanksgiving dinner for us?’

I shrug. ‘Probably.’

‘And I’d like to go to Target. Oh, and Pottery Barn!’

I give him a look. ‘Target?’

‘You miss these things when you’re away for a long time,’ he says. I turn my phone in my hands.

‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.

‘Tired,’ Stevie says at once. ‘But hopefully I’ll perk up after this.’ He holds up his coffee and takes a sip.

‘No,’ I press on. ‘How are you feeling about going home?’

I keep looking at Stevie, waiting for him to push me aside or pull out his phone in a defensive huff, but he doesn’t. Since our chat last week, he finally seems willing to talk to me. It’s a miracle really.

‘I feel … okay,’ he says. ‘I’ve actually been doing some research.’

He unzips his carry-on bag and waves a bunch of Post-it notes in my face.

‘What are they for?’

‘To help!’ he says happily. ‘I read a great blog about a woman with dementia and how she decided that it wasn’t going to define her. She was just going to live with it. And that’s how I think Mom feels about it.’

I nod, taking a sip of my coffee. ‘I agree.’

‘She had loads of tips on there, and one of them was sticking Post-it notes with reminders of appointments, tasks, that sort of thing. I thought it could be something we do together this week.’

‘That’s a great idea.’ I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a shake.

He shrugs me off, embarrassed. ‘I just want to be helpful.’

‘I get that.’

We slip back into silence, staring at the throng of people zipping through the airport. They weave in and out, manically looking over their shoulders to check they haven’t lost anyone from their party as their wheeled suitcases drag loudly across the marble floors.

‘So, why are you going back?’

I break from my stare, his question catching me off guard.

‘Is it because of Annie?’

I frown, shaking my head. ‘Of course not,’ I say, a bit more tartly than I’d meant to. ‘I didn’t even know her six weeks ago.’

‘Why, then?’

I sink further into my seat, hoping that Stevie will catch on that I don’t want to get into it all. Unfortunately, he does the opposite.

‘Look, we’ve got another four hours before our flight. You might as well tell me the truth,’ he says, his voice all light and superior. It makes my toes curl.

‘Why do you care?’

‘Because you’re my brother.’

I huff, snatching the paper bag from Stevie and taking a bite of scone. It sticks to the roof of my mouth like a claggy chunk of bread and Stevie looks at me in horror.

‘You’re supposed to have jam and cream on it, you lunatic.’

I force myself to swallow the congealed ball of stodge and take another sip of my coffee to try and wash it down.

‘I’m going back because I don’t like it here,’ I say, coughing slightly as the scone sticks to my windpipe.

‘Right …’ Stevie says slowly. ‘And why’s that? Because it isn’t all sunshine and roses like the films make it out to be?’

‘Yes, actually.’

‘That can’t be the reason you’re going back to New York,’ Stevie scoffs. ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. What are you, six years old?’

I glare at him. ‘It’s not just that.’

‘Well, what is it, then?’

I roll my eyes, debating whether to do what I always do, stuff this part down further inside me and pretend it doesn’t exist. But I’m so tired of fighting with myself, I don’t know if I have the energy.

‘Ever since I got here, I feel like I’m being punished,’ I say eventually.

Stevie turns to face me, but he doesn’t say anything.

‘Back home was really rough, looking after Mom,’ I continue.

‘I’d just moved out when she started to be …

well, when she started acting different.

I tried to go with the flow, but then it got worse, Stevie.

You know you said she didn’t recognise you?

She used to do that to me, only once or twice, but enough to make you feel like the worst person in the world.

And the thing is, she always had an excuse for it after.

She’d say that she hadn’t slept well, or it was the lighting.

A lot of it was easy to explain away. Like, we all lose our keys or forget our pin numbers.

But when it started getting really bad, well, that’s when I gave up more of my time to be with her and to help Dad.

I only came here because Mom overheard me telling Dad about it, when I had the idea that Aunt Tell might make things better for her.

Mom was desperate for me to go, and she was so excited that I let myself get wrapped up in her idea of it all.

How I’d move here, live with you, find this amazing, exciting life, fall in love …

just do all the things everyone around me seemed to be doing while I was stuck at my parents’ house, following Mom around, ready to catch her and piece her back together.

I felt so bad about coming here, man. And then when I arrived and everything started being shit, it just felt like one big punishment for being selfish in the first place.

Then I met Annie and everything was great, like, it was so amazing, and I finally thought that this is what I’d come to London for.

But that fucked up too. You know, she asked if I’d fight for us on Saturday, and I just left.

It felt like the final nail in the coffin.

I needed to grow up and come home, take care of Mom, do what I needed to do. ’

‘I think Dad does a pretty good job of taking care of Mom,’ Stevie says in a small voice.

‘Well, what about Dad, then?’ I cry, finding it hard not to explode. ‘Who is taking care of him?’

‘Nate …’ Stevie says. ‘You know it’s not your job to take care of everyone, right? I mean, you do a good job of it. But you need to take care of yourself, too.’

I shake my head, running my hand roughly through my hair. We both look forward, the clock flicking over to seven thirty.

‘Annie’s so talented,’ Stevie says eventually. ‘You know she made my costume for Saturday? I only asked her to mend it, but she transformed it.’

‘Yeah,’ I sigh, ‘she’s really talented. I think she’s going to do it as a business, so you should use her again.’

Stevie pulls out his phone. ‘Nah. She said my costume was the last she was making. My friend asked if she’d do a commission for him and she said no.’

‘What?’ My eyes snap up from my coffee. ‘She’s giving it up? She can’t do that!’

Stevie looks at me. ‘And why’s that?’

‘Because she’s incredible!’ I cry, throwing my arms in the air. ‘I mean … she just can’t do that.’

To my annoyance, I notice Stevie start to laugh.

‘What?’ I snap hotly. He holds his hands up defensively.

‘It’s just all so mad to me!’ he says. ‘I mean, fuck, you’re a better person than I am, but all the drama . You think you’re cursed because you’ve had a few bad weeks in London?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘And you do know that you’re proper into Annie, don’t you?

And she asked you to stay and fight for her but you’re here, sat with me, waiting to go back home so you can, what?

Live in our parents’ spare bedroom for the rest of your life?

’ I shoot him daggers but he’s still grinning at me.

‘You’re the one always harping on about the universe and luck and all that bullshit.

Are you really going to leave it like this? ’

‘Well, what do you expect me to do?’ I demand.

‘I don’t know.’ Stevie shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Tell her how you feel. Call her, at least.’

‘She’s blocked my number.’

‘Ooohh … romance.’ I glare at him and he laughs again. ‘Go find her, then!’ he says, exasperated. ‘Who cares if she tells you to go to hell or it all fucks up? You can’t leave without properly telling her how you feel. Otherwise, what is the point in all of this?’

I open and close my mouth, emotions flying around my body like wild birds.

‘I have her number.’ He holds up his phone. I go to grab it but he snatches it away. ‘But I think you should go and find her instead. We both know you want to. It’s far more romantic.’

‘I can’t … how would I even find her?’

Stevie sighs. ‘Well … she’s going to her parents tonight.’

I gape at him. ‘How do you know that?’

‘She told me,’ he shrugs. ‘I asked her about payment and she said she’d message me when she was back from visiting her parents.’

I stand up clumsily. ‘Do you … do you really think I should?’

Stevie nods, smirking at me. ‘Go and tell her how you feel? Yes. Go on.’ He waves a hand at me. ‘Go live out your best Hugh Grant fantasy. I know you’ve been desperate to since the moment you got to England.’

‘But, our flight …’ I say, spinning around to look at the announcement board. Stevie looks down at his phone.

‘She was only going this evening … you might be able to catch her at the station.’

‘Paddington!’ I gabble. ‘The train goes from Paddington.’

‘Go get her then, Nate,’ Stevie grins at me.

He gets to his feet and we clap hands together.

‘And Nate?’

‘What?’

‘You deserve the world. Don’t fuck this up.’