Page 99 of The Fall Before Flight

I think back to the amends list I made at Oasis with Dr. Reynolds—may she suffer an incurable yeast infection—and my progress. The list itself was shockingly short. Seven names. It would have been eight, but I’d already apologized to Declan for ghosting him.

Amends to my father and brother are done, at least in the sense of formal apologies. I’m still making up for a lifetime of assholery, rebuilding trust, et cetera. Kevin is also handled. I even called Jill, my dad’s ex-wife; she was stunned to hear from me, initially suspicious, but in the end surprisingly receptive.

The next two were more random—I owed an old friend two hundred dollars that I borrowed years ago and never paid back, and I unknowingly slept with my college roommate’s boyfriend in a drunken blackout. She caught us in the act and was devastated. That one was by far the hardest, the shame deepest. After sending her a message on Facebook asking if she’d like to meet for coffee, she responded she’d rather light herself on fire. I finally typed out the amends and sent them, but never heard back.

Only one name is left on the list. One I’ve ignored until now.

Amelia Sloan.

Mine.

I don’t end up borrowing Jessica’s car, though I do fantasize overlong about showing up at Leo’s in a blaze of Christmas presents and glory. He’d atone, tell me he loves me, and beg convincingly for me to forgive him. Because I’m such an awesome person, I’d accept. But not before giving him a piece of my mind—as long as Vince wasn’t around, of course.

Instead, Jameson drops me off at home late that evening. I work early in the morning but more importantly, I need to feed Ferdi. Leo or no Leo, life goes on.

Kinsey and Nix come over for a while to exchange gifts and drop off my phone. Their effort to act like nothing’s wrong is more appreciated than irritating. They go apeshit over the gift certificate I got them to go skydiving together, and I almost faint when they give me a brand-new wetsuit I can only afford in my dreams.

When they finally leave, it’s past eleven. I get ready for bed, then curl up under the comforter with a purring Ferdi. And finally, I power up my phone.

Thirteen text messages.

Six calls.

Three voicemails.

Some of the texts are from friends wishing me a merry Christmas. Most of the calls and voicemails are from Jameson. There’s only one missed call from Leo and no voicemails. My heart beating a staccato rhythm in my chest, I open Leo’s texts. After the initial burst of It’s not what you think and Please, let me explain lines, he sent one more.

When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.

46

ONE STEP FORWARD

Eight days later, the plan for my amends to myself comes—as arguably all good ideas do—in the shower. The prior moments aren’t a high point in my life, comprised of me sitting with my knees to my chest, sobbing my guts out, while the hot water slowly turns cold. Only after the picturesque experience of nearly choking on snot do I take a breather and drag myself to my feet.

Leaning on the wall, I stare sightlessly at the frosted-glass shower doors. I’m not thinking of anything in particular, my brain and body exhausted from running in ceaseless circles since Christmas. I’ve done everything in my power to keep busy, working as much overtime as possible and spending downtime with friends and family.

As I told Dr. Wilson yesterday, I’m not avoiding the unfinished business between Leo and me so much as waiting for a sign. Some internal ah-ha! moment that means I’m ready to face him. To face the truth. Even though each day is glazed with the ache of missing Leo and Vince, the last thing I want is to act impulsively. There’s a child in the mix, and things are no doubt already confusing for him.

Whatever move I make next, I want to be sure. I want to be free of the last emotional baggage I have—the final chains linking me to my past. Until that happens, no matter what Leo tells me, I won’t be in the right mind frame to hear it. Forgiving myself has to come before forgiving him.

That’s when the idea comes. An idea so random, so totally unlike me, that I know it’s the real deal. The key to letting go of who I was once and for all and embracing who I want to be.

With a surge of newfound energy, I scramble from the shower and throw on clothes. I’m out the door twenty minutes later, a beanie on my wet hair and an oversized hoodie over jeans. I hop into Jessica’s black Mini Cooper and start the engine. I have yet to think of the car as mine, even though it is.

Dad bought Jessica a new Lexus for Christmas. He did the whole deal—shiny sedan in the driveway Christmas morning with a big red bow on top. Poor woman almost had her own heart attack and nearly abandoned the Sloan-ship. Only after Jameson and I assured her we’d never seen our dad so bonkers for a woman since our mom did she accept the gift. And a few days later, after she assured me she’d never been so bonkers for a man, I accepted the keys to her old car.

Win-win.

I drive straight to my dad’s, surprising him and Jessica in the middle of dinner. Waving off an invitation to grab a plate, I take an empty seat at the kitchen table and spill the beans.

My dad is ecstatic.

“That sounds perfect, Mia. Absolutely perfect for you.” He and Jessica share a grin.

My idea is small, a tender-skinned infant I’m not quite sure what to do with, how to feed or care for. “I might need some help,” I say haltingly. “I don’t mean with money—I’ve wasted too much of yours already. With other stuff. Shit, I don’t even know what I’m saying. Just…”

“Moral support?” offers Jessica.

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