Page 47 of Free Fall
Sejin
“He didn’t pickup the phone,” I say to Leenie, digging a spoon into the peanut butter jar, ignoring her glares because I know something she doesn’t: I bought her a new jar on the way home. All she has to do is check the cupboard for it. “I called, for the first time in forever, and he didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”
“Sejin, language,” she says, glancing at Jeremiah playing with trucks at our feet. He’s using the lines in the kitchen linoleum as roads, and the table legs as mountains. Apparently, these trucks can drive vertically and even upside down because he’s zooming them up the legs and underneath the tabletop.
“Sorry.” Apologizing for the f-bomb I dropped feels hollow, though, because I have a lot more of them locked up inside. “What am I supposed to do? Beg him for attention? Everyone blames me for whatever’s going on with him, I guess because I’m the one who left West Virginia. But he has a phone, Leenie. He can use it to call me or, I don’t know, he could pick up when I call him.”
“Verny says he’s been depressed since your mom died.”
“I know, but what am I supposed to do about that? Stay there? Suffocate in that tiny town forever?”
“I thought you loved home.”
“I love it when it’s in my memory. I hate it when I’m there. Especially since Mom died.”
“Do you think he might feel the same?”
“I don’t know. But, again, what am I supposed to do? I can barely afford to take care of myself—who am I kidding, Ican’tafford to take care of myself at all! I can’t bring him out here to join us. Your sofa isn’t big enough!”
She scoffs and ignores the last jab. “You could talk to him about it. He could probably afford the move, and it might be good for him. You two could get a place together, and—”
“What part of ‘he doesn’t pick up when I call’ did you miss, Leenie?”
I hate to sound so angry with her. It’s notherfault my dad is now even more determined than I am to run away from our feelings after Mom’s death. I just hadn’t expected that when I finally really needed him, like I’d needed him this afternoon, he wouldn’t be there.
“I’m sorry,” I say meekly. “You’ve done so much for me, and I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”
“You’re hurt. He should have picked up. Or texted. Or…maybe he’s out of range?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sure he’ll call. Just be patient, Sejin.”
“Meh. I hate patience.”
“I know you do.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump. Part of me wants it to be Dan, of all people, and part of me is certain it’s my dad. His ears have probably been burning. That’s the part of me that’s right.
“Hello? Dad?” I say, and Leenie leans back in her chair, self-satisfied relief playing over her features.
His voice is a pleasant, familiar rumble that settles my anxiety as soon as it hits my eardrums. “My phone says you called earlier. I didn’t hear it ring. Not sure why.”
“Do you have it set to Do Not Disturb maybe?” I wave at Leenie and stand up, abandoning the jar of peanut butter, the spoon still stuck in it, to walk out of the kitchen, through the front door, and out to the driveway. The reception is better there. Plus, there’s at least a modicum of privacy.
“Beats me, son. I’m just proud I can work the damn thing at all. Your mama made me get it, and I’m glad and all but, Lord, the way they change it every time I just got it all figured out. Took me near a week to re-learn how to close the internet pages after this last update.”
“It was confusing,” I agree.
“Anyways, you called, and I’m callin’ you back. You okay out there? Need me to come get you? Just say the word.”
I smile. God, what iswrongwith me? I’ve been convinced he doesn’t want me around and is avoiding me, or blaming me for his grief and pain, but here he is saying he’s here for me. In his own way, of course. Not in those words. But I know what he means.
“I’m still okay. What about you, though? The family’s worried.”
“Oh, bah. Those extroverts don’t know how to leave a body alone, I tell ya. They’re like your mama. Always getting together with each other and talkin’ up a storm. Dang if Verny didn’t come over last week, and I thought I was gonna have to just get up and go on to bed with him still yammering on the couch.”
I snort. Just hearing my father’s voice makes me long for West Virginia, even though I know it’s not the place for me. But there’s just something about that accent, that emotional warmth that persists even when I’m getting a scolding, and the friendly nosiness of every last neighbor, friend, and family member—all wanting the best for me, all prying way too much. That’s not even getting into how the mountains themselves hug you like a mama. They’re warm and curved, and don’t loom over you like snow-capped, luminescent, wrathful giants that might decide to come alive, march during the night, and take out the human race.