Page 76 of The Fall Before Flight

Wow, Universe. Just wow.

“Do you like my dad?”

Focusing on Vincent’s face and the bright curiosity there, I nod. “He’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah. For an old guy. How old are you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

This freaking kid.

“I’m, uh, twenty-eight. And no.”

To my endless gratitude, the buzzer interrupts Vincent’s next, no-doubt-awkward question. The teams hit the ice, skating around the newly polished surface. I lose sight of #17, but not for long. A figure—familiar even through pads—stops at the glass opposite Vincent’s abandoned seat. Through the clear visor, I see Leo’s questioning look to the women.

All I can do is watch, a bystander to life’s hilarity, as the women turn and point up, as Leo’s gaze lifts, scanning, then lands like a blow on my face.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops open.

“There he is!” cries Vincent, standing and waving.

Leo recovers, grinning and waving at his son. My stomach does a little flip, then my ovaries join in with an irrepressible shimmy. Leo’s final glance is for me, and it’s so full of heat that my toes curl. All my excuses and defenses melt like smoke.

Just like that, I know—I’m getting on the train and riding it until it crashes.

The puck drops and it’s instant pandemonium on the ice. Tapping Vincent on the shoulder, I ask over the noise, “Do you think you can give me your dad’s phone number?”

“Sure! What for?”

I think fast. “I, um, want to talk to him about those surfing lessons.”

Vincent’s whole face lights up. “Awesome!”

The lie doesn’t sit well, but the truth isn’t an option. I only hope that when this bites me in the ass, it won’t hurt too badly. And won’t hurt anyone else at all.

Putting my guilt aside, I smile at Vincent as I enter Leo’s number in my phone, then promise I’ll do my best to convince his dad about the lessons. I doubt Leo will go for it, but at least it’s a promise I can keep.

34

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

On my couch with a glass of wine and a purring Ferdi, I reflect on the surreal night I’ve had. From the phone number that’s burning a hole in my phone, to seeing my dad and Jessica kiss for the first time, and finally to my frank, surprising conversation with Kevin after the game.

I almost didn’t talk to him. Vincent was right—Leo’s team wiped the ice with the Ice Holes. Leo himself scored four goals, basically making everyone else look like schmucks in ice skates. Vincent also confided in me that his dad played horribly the first two periods, and he’d secretly worried they’d lose. Although vain, I couldn’t help but wonder if his sudden change was due to knowing I was watching.

Experience told me Kevin took winning—and losing—very seriously, and I balked at the notion of making amends when he was in a crappy headspace. But the desire to get it over with won out, and after saying goodbye to Vincent and telling Jessica that Jameson would drive me home, I camped out by Kevin’s car and waited.

Dr. Wilson and I ran through different scenarios of what might happen when I told Kevin the truth, from good to really bad. In reality, it was somewhere in between. He was surprised to see me, glad I was doing well, and apologized multiple times for his infidelity.

I made amends for destroying his record collection and finally told him about the baby. He wasn’t angry that I kept it from him, more confused as to why I didn’t want his support—financially or otherwise. I tried to explain, but eventually realized the futility of articulating something I didn’t fully understand myself.

By the end of the conversation, we were laughing about the bonfire on the front lawn like two friends reliving wilder days. He waved off my offer to replace the records or give him money for them, then we laughed again when I joked that we’d both be dead by the time I paid him back, anyway. We hugged and that was that.

By the time I went looking for Jameson—and found him chatting up a blonde near the concessions stand—the parking lot was nearly empty and Leo and his family long gone.

Now, my phone sits like a lead weight in my hand. Nina Simone croons from my record player, and Ferdi is doing cat yoga to reach his belly with his tongue.

“Fuck it,” I mutter and gulp the remainder of my wine.

Hi, it’s Amelia. I’ve reconsidered your offer

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