13. Fallon

“Are we mad at her?” Lexie asks as we pull up to my parents’ house. It’s Wednesday, which makes it Family Game Night. I know, without clarifying, she’s referring to my mom.

“I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh. “I can’t believe she knew Tobias was dating Chrissy and didn’t tell me.” My mom had to leave early on Saturday because she couldn’t get the entire weekend off. After fifteen years of working for the utility company, she only has three weeks of vacation each year, which she carefully schedules for holidays and birthdays. That reminder is enough to steal most of the hot air from my sails. My mom’s the least selfish person I know. “I’m sure she was just trying to avoid confrontation, but a heads up would’ve been nice, so I knew what I was walking into.”

“I say we forgive her on the grounds that it led to you meeting Daddario’s twin.”

I scoff. “I’m not giving her credit for that. I don’t need another complex.” I slip out of my Accord and face my childhood house. Growing up, I was always a little jealous of Lexie’s house, which is twice the size of ours and has a large pool with a water fountain and pizza oven in the backyard, as well as a huge playhouse that was the heart of my envy for the first decade of my life. Their house is sleek, modern, always clean, and constantly updated with the latest decorating and appliance trends. But that jealousy has never dimmed the love I have for our house. Our porch currently boasts several large hanging baskets overflowing with different colors and textures of flowers and plants. Come autumn, Dad will move the flowers to the backyard, and Mom will add mums in varying fall shades. Pumpkins will crowd the steps, and scarecrows and corn stalks will stand proud, waiting for trick-or-treaters who never come down our mile-long driveway. In late November, we’ll wrap garland and brightly colored lights around the banister and put a giant wreath on the front door. I love this house. Love how welcoming it is. And I love the inside even more.

“Lasagna,” Lexie says with a sigh as we step inside. “Your mom’s definitely pulling out the big guns.”

It’s my favorite dinner.

“Hey, you two are early,” Mom says from where she’s standing at the sink, washing the gazillion dishes required to make her homemade vegetable lasagna. She glances at me, and I sense her unspoken apology instantly.

Lexie exchanges a silent look with me before nodding toward the living room. “I’m going to go find Uncle James.”

I pull in a breath and grab a clean dishtowel to join Mom at the sink.

Her shoulders slump as she turns to face me. “I’m sorry, Fallon. I know I messed up. I wanted to tell you about Chrissy but wanted to do it in person so it would sting a little less. We’ve both been so busy that when Janice heard Chrissy might not go,

I cashed in my chips before I should’ve and counted on her not showing up.”

“I was completely blindsided.”

Mom nods, and a crease between her brow tells me her guilt and regret rival the mess of emotions I’ve been struggling with. “I know.”

I release a heavy sigh that has Mom wrapping her arms around me.

“You were way too good for him. He was always intimidated by how good of an athlete you are. Let Chrissy have him. She couldn’t celebrate your successes, either.”

“Chrissy hates me,” I admit, just above a whisper. As a people-pleaser, these words feel like defeat.

Mom holds me even tighter. “She just hates that she doesn’t stand a chance of winning without you.” She pulls away before I’m ready. “Becca Cabot’s a way better midfielder.”

Becca Cabot is my new captain at Camden and one hell of a midfielder, but Mom’s minimizing Chrissy’s abilities.

I want to continue discussing this upheaval in my life, tell her how strange it is that Tobias is dating my ex-teammate, how I want to know who pursued who, and if they started before or after me, but before I can untangle my thoughts, my brothers Mason, Gunnar, and Charlie step into the kitchen, knee deep in a conversation that they pull Mom into.

Gunnar, my youngest brother, who’s two years older than me and a dedicated gamer who wishes he could make a career out of the hobby, joins me at the sink while poking holes in everyone’s points and opinions. It’s his role to play devil’s advocate, one he takes seriously.

Once we complete the dishes, I drift outside, leaving them to argue and jest with each other. Ginger, our family’s golden retriever, follows on my heels. Slowly, my thoughts fade from Tobias and Chrissy to the dark-haired stranger. I haven’t heard from him today, and a part of me wonders if he’s grown bored or has had a better and easier alternative present itself.

Me: What’s your favorite food?

Dark-Haired Stranger: I assumed you were at game night.

My heart twirls, far too pleased that he remembers this important detail of my life.

Me: It doesn’t start for another hour. I’m currently avoiding a heated discussion about controlled burning and its impact on nature, people, and the economy—and which factor should be considered most important.

Dark-Haired Stranger: Sounds like my family events.

Me: My brothers sometimes argue just to see how far they can push each other.

Me: The weather is kind of crazy today. It feels like July already. Is it hot in your corner of NC?

I’m fishing. Pathetically searching for details of where he might be without outwardly admitting it, so I don’t have to share my own details.

Dark-Haired Stranger: I’m actually in Colorado.

Me: For the summer?

Dark-Haired Stranger: I’m not sure yet.

I don’t know if he’s being vague or flirting. I quietly growl and lean back on the tire swing I’m swaying on. I hate the gaps and holes in our conversation that allow too many questioning and self-deprecating thoughts to fill the blank spaces.

Me: Why’d you leave me your number?

Dark-Haired Stranger: I was hoping you’d reach out.

Me: To hook up again?

Dark-Haired Stranger: I wanted to know more than your name.

Dark-Haired Stranger: Did you start texting me to hook up again?

Me: Morbid curiosity originally. I wanted you to think the earth is flat and hate puppies so I’d have a good reason to forget about you and that night.

Dark-Haired Stranger: And now?

Me: I still don’t know if you think the earth is flat or if you hate puppies.

Dark-Haired Stranger: Who hates puppies?

Me: People I don’t want to tell my last name or where I live to.

Dark-Haired Stranger: We need to work on this. Your criteria is both too broad and brief.

Dark-Haired Stranger: I have to get going. I’ll talk to you later.

Ginger’s ears perk then, and she darts toward the back door, alerting me that more people have arrived. I try to pocket my disappointment that our conversation was so short.

I head inside and try to paste on a smile as game night begins.

The doctor’s office is too familiar, though I’ve never stepped foot in this particular building; they all began looking the same years before when Anna had frequent appointments.

I lean against the wall, allowing my mom and Anna to take the two seats. My clothes feel scratchy, my skin too tight. Everything feels foreign and uncomfortable down to my own breaths. I hate being here, but I try to mask that as I look at my sister. She’s nervous but valiantly working to hide it, wearing a smile she’s had pinned to her expression all goddamn morning.

Vic must recognize it, too, because he places a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezes. “Are you cold?”

“I’m okay,” she says, pulling her sweatshirt a little tighter. It triggers a flashback from years before when she was so gaunt her shoulders looked like sharp points.

Dread ties around my stomach like a lead weight.

Mom sits with her hands primly folded over her purse as though afraid to touch anything. It’s not out of manners, but her disgust of being here. She began hating Western medicine soon after Anna started receiving chemo, and the drugs made her considerably sicker, making us fear the chemo nearly as much as the cancer, for months.

Dad stands near the door with his attention glued to his phone. He hasn’t looked up since we arrived.

The desire to take his phone and throw it at the wall is so consuming I have to fist my hands.

The doctor steps into the room then, taking us all in with just a glance before she turns to the computer and begins discussing the nodule found and her concerns, prompting the surgery to remove it. She goes on to discuss the procedure and vaguely glosses over the next steps before we’re ushered out.

My phone rings as Vic pulls into their driveway. I silence it without looking at the number.

“Who was that?” Anna asks.

“No one.”

“Babe, we’ll meet you inside,” Anna tells Vic.

He looks reluctant to leave. He hates being away from her—always has —but over the past few days, he’s barely left her side. However, Anna gives a reassuring nod, and he opens the driver’s door and heads for the house.

Anna turns to me. “Corey, you’re freaking out, and it’s starting to freak me out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“This is the fourth call you’ve ignored today, and that doesn’t account for the dozen from yesterday or the day before.”

I shake my head. “It’s just one of the guys.”

“Just? Core, they’re your best friends. Your teammates. Why are you ignoring them? What am I supposed to call it? Ghosting?” She smirks. Anna has the soul and vocabulary of someone decades older.

I run a hand over my face, exhaustion still a heavy weight on my shoulders. “Because I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”

“We talked about this,” Anna says. “The chances of you staying here are as likely as me moving to New York this year. We aren’t allowing this—whatever it is—to rule our lives. Especially when we don’t know anything.”

I start to respond, but my words tangle into a harsh exhale. I don’t know how to verbalize my concerns without making her feel guilty or responsible.

“You heard what the doctor said. Everything’s going to be great. At worst, it’s going to be a couple of tough months. Six at the most.”

Every time I close my eyes, I see Anna in a hospital bed. I’ve spent the past three days steeped in memories of her being too cold, too sick, and too thin. “I won’t be able to focus.”

“It’s not like the last time.” She reaches forward and sets her hand on mine. Her assurance does little to pacify my memories because her hand is too cold. “I’ll hate myself if you stay here and miss this opportunity because you feel obligated to babysit me.”

“I don’t feel obligated.”

I barely get the words out before she continues. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are, Corey, and this time I have Vic.”

Emotions wash over me, picking apart all the other words except for this time. I hate that she has to go through this again, and I hate that I have to decide between staying here to help her through another nightmare and my potential future.

“Corey, you can’t stay.” Anna shakes her head, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I will literally escort you onto the plane if I have to.”

“What about Mom?”

“What about her?”

I scoff. “She wants you to eat peach pits in lieu of chemo if you need treatment.”

Anna’s returning smirk grows into a smile. “I think Vic was ready to boob punch her.” She laughs. “I swear, I won’t eat any peach pits. I’ve gotten better about establishing boundaries with her.”

“I could help keep her and Dad off your back.”

“Who’s going to keep him off your back regarding your role post-graduation?” she teases.

I don’t fall for her distraction, though, because my thoughts are still riddled with the past, recalling how our father, who had always been frequently absent, became a stranger during the years of her treatments, sending gifts in place of his presence. I don’t know if it was his nonattendance or Anna’s illness that sparked our mom into becoming so obsessive. She’d always been vain, but she became obsessive about her weight and appearance, working out and following unlicensed doctors on social media who promised healing methods they claimed others were actively suppressing. She became insufferably selfish, putting herself first in all situations, likely because our father never had. Though she was around more, she was a constant point of toxicity.

“Please don’t make me regret telling you,” Anna says, her voice low and full of emotion.

I lean back in my seat and release another long sigh, hating this corner I’ve been painted into. “Promise me that you’ll call if you need help.”

Anna nods and lifts her pinky. “I promise.”

“Hey,” I reprimand Maverick, Anna and Vic’s two-hundred-pound Saint Bernard, as he practically knocks me over in an attempt to get the box of cereal from my hands. Scooter, the giant tortoise that was abandoned at the vet clinic, slowly makes his way by. I still look every time he moves, but Maverick and the other animals barely pay him any attention.

I shake my head and fill a bowl as I unlock my phone and scroll to Fallon’s message. It arrived over three hours ago.

Fallon: What sport do you play?

Me: Are you nocturnal, or do you wake up early?

Fallon: Both, it seems. I’ve been practicing in the mornings before Lexie wakes up. I only have a few more days here, so I’m trying to soak up as much time as possible before soccer begins.

A softness covers my foot, and I glance down to find Winnie, the dog Diego and I pulled off the side of the ravine. She got to come home a couple of days ago. She’s gained some weight back, and her fur is clean and free of debris, but she is still nervous around the other animals and Vic.

I scoop her up, careful of her casted leg, and deposit her in my lap where she shakes as she curls into me. I peel my banana, giving her several small pieces before Maverick barks in jealousy. I toss him a bite that he swallows without chewing, and turn my attention back to my phone.

Me: A few more days? Are you on vacation?

Fallon: I’m moving, but just a few miles away. It’s obligatory.

Me: You play soccer?

Fallon: I didn’t tell you? I’m a little surprised it hasn’t come up. Soccer is kind of my defining factor.

Me: Are you playing for the college you transferred to?

Fallon: Depends. Are you going to try Googling me and break the rules?

Me: When was that made into a rule?

Fallon: About twenty seconds ago. The ink has already dried.

“Who has you smiling like that?” Anna asks, pausing in front of Scooter, who has come to a stop. Anna rubs his shell, which has Scooter extending his head, prompting her to squat down and rub his chin.

I shake my head. “It’s no one.”

“Liar.” Anna stands and turns to the sink to wash her hands and pour coffee.

Me: I won’t look online if you tell me.

Fallon: I play forward, and since I transferred, I’ve been doing extra conditioning so I can hopefully make a good first impression.

Me: Those aren’t the details I was going to search for.

“Who is she?” Anna asks, sitting across from me.

I glance up as I set my phone down, debating the best way to evade specifics. “A friend.”

Anna rolls her eyes. “You’re not sixteen. I’m not going to tease you about having a crush. Who is she? What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Fallon. I met her a couple of days before flying here, and we’ve been texting. It’s nothing serious.”

Anna stares at me over the rim of her coffee mug. “I disagree. Texting requires more effort than relationships in person. You have to make a conscious effort to keep a conversation going and more than just physical attraction.”

“She doesn’t make it feel like effort.”

A grin claims my sister’s face. “That’s how it’s supposed to feel.”