Page 72 of The Good Guy on My Porch

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dilly

“Why are you doing this?” Lance asked. “Does it have anything to do with you and Oscar breaking up?”

I stared out the windshield of Lance’s car as he drove over the mountains. Why did it still hurt so much to hear Oscar’s name? It had been four days since we’d broken up and I’d never been sad about any relationship more than twenty-four hours. That was my allotted allowed wallow time. I loved him, more than I’d ever loved anyone, but I’d made the right choice. I’d made the sacrifice, I’d given up what I wanted to protect both of us. Why did doing the right thing have to hurt so much? “Oscar and I weren’t that serious,” I said. I’d heard from Mary exactly what he’d said about our break up and it seemed like a good story to me. She’d said he’d looked great, happy, not broken up at all. I was happy for him. Really. It was better that he could forget me so easily. He deserved to be happy. “I just decided I’ve put off jumping out of a plane for long enough.”

He shook his head. “I don’t get why you do this stuff. I can see it terrifies you, and you don’t even look happy after. It’s not like you get a real charge from the adrenaline rush.”

And this was the other reason I didn’t like Lance. He was too perceptive and, when he thought he was onto something, he didn’t let it go. He was thoroughly obnoxious that way. “I’m a masochist. I’d totally be down with S & M, but there’s not a scene in Catalpa Creek.”

He laughed. “Bullshit. You cried last year when you fell and skinned your knee outside Philistine’s.”

“I’d had a drink too many. Everyone gets weepy when they’re drunk.”

“You were totally sober when you got that paper cut at Willow’s flipping through a romance book about BDSM. You insisted Willow bandage your paper cut and you didn’t buy the book. You told Carrie that paper cut was all the BDSM you could handle.”

Damn Carrie and her big mouth. She thought that story was hilarious and told it every time we all got together for drinks. “Fine, so I’m not a masochist. I just like to prove to myself I can do something that scares me.”

“I get that. Do you have to be so extreme about it, though? Carrie is going to kill me if you don’t make it safely to the ground.”

“Does that happen?” I asked, my heart pumping a bit harder. “I mean everyone survives, right?”

“Mostly everyone. Your chances of dying are about 1 in 100,000.”

“So, of every 100,000 people who skydive, one person dies?”

“That’s what it means, yes. Rethinking this?”

“Nope.” I would prove to Oscar and everyone else that I wasn’t afraid of anything. I wasn’t hiding. I was living, experiencing every moment to the fullest.

Before I was ready, I was being strapped into some sort of rigging I was too nervous to remember the name of and climbing into the plane behind Lance. I would be tandem jumping, holding onto someone else, which meant, if I freaked out, I’d take her down with me.

The plane flew way too quickly to the necessary altitude. I was connected to my partner, but my vision was going blurry, my mouth was dry, and my heart was pumping so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

I watched Lance and his partner leap from the plane, but I couldn’t see them falling, couldn’t see them over the lip of the plane floor. Then my instructor tried to step us toward the door, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Oscar was right. I was afraid. I was afraid of loving him, because that meant it would hurt to lose him. I couldn’t lose him, couldn’t lose anyone else I loved. I’d meant to never let myself care about anyone enough that losing them could really hurt me, but he’d slipped through my defenses. He’d lulled me into thinking he was just another guy, when he was everything. He was all I wanted and all I could never have and jumping out of a plane would prove nothing. It wouldn’t prove that I’d never become like my mother, wouldn’t give me the license to take a risk on Oscar when it would be his life I was risking. I never wanted to be a burden on anyone, I never wanted to trap anyone else the way my mother had trapped me. The thought stung in its harshness, but I couldn’t take it back. I loved my mother and I would do anything for her, but I didn’t love the restrictions her illness had put on my life especially since she was even more miserable than I was and nothing I did ever really helped her.

“It’s okay,” my instructor said in a soothing voice. “Just step to the door and we’ll jump through together.”

“No,” I said, my fear fading. “I don’t want to do this.” I really didn’t. And not just because I was scared, but because what sane person ever really wanted to jump out of a plane?

“It will be fine,” she said. “I promise.”

“I won’t ask for my money back. I just don’t want to do this.” Because it would prove nothing. Overcoming my fear of jumping out of a plane in no way improved my life on the ground. Oscar was right, I wasn’t living and I was afraid. Acknowledging my fear changed nothing. I couldn’t leave my mother, because what scared me most was losing her the way I’d lost my father, was letting her down and being the cause of her death. I couldn’t date Oscar because he deserved better, but I could accept I was afraid.

My tandem partner sighed, but she didn’t argue anymore. She unhooked us from each other and told the pilot to land the plane. I sighed with relief. I was so looking forward to getting back to the ground and safety, but I wasn’t looking forward to facing reality. I couldn’t fix my fear with bungee jumping or sky-diving, I could only fix it by letting people in, by letting someone close, and I would never do that to anyone I cared about. I just couldn’t drag them into my world.

The plane eventually landed, and I’d never been happier to get back on solid ground. Lance ran over to me, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face. “That was amazing,” he shouted. He wrapped his arms around me and jumped me up and down. “I am so high on adrenaline right now.”

I laughed with him, but I didn’t regret my choice. I was glad he’d had fun, but I had no desire to get back in that plane and jump. He set me down on my feet and sobered. “Why didn’t you jump?”

I shrugged. “I decided you were right. Jumping out of an airplane isn’t going to fix my problems and it isn’t going to prove anything that really matters. And I really, really didn’t want to do it.”

He beamed. “Can you say that again?”

I rolled my eyes. “You were right.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me tight against his side. “Whaddya say we go home and hit Pasta Warehouse for Mimosas and lunch?”

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