Page 66 of The Perils of Pretending
Hundreds of memories swirl through my mind. Choosing which one to share is difficult. “He was strict, but fun. When we did get in trouble, he’d give us our punishment followed by a hug and a reminder that we all make mistakes. I loved that about him. How forgiving he was. We would try and negotiate our way out of the consequences, but he never let us. Sunday mornings, he’d let my mom sleep in and make us pancakes with peanut butter and syrup on top. Then we’d go outside and play or, when it was cold, we’d go to the basement and build a blanket fort and play games for hours. He loved Alaska and talked about home often.”
“He sounds like an amazing man.”
“He was. I still get angry that Ricky Dickerson took him from us way too soon.” I rub the side of my nose, trying to keep the tears stinging my nostrils at bay. My heart is like a sponge that soaked up too much water.It’s heavy and sagging. I’m aware that Max knows this story because he was with Brody in college when it happened, but I need to talk about it. I want Max to hear why it’s so hard for me more than a decade later.
“Ricky Dickerson was being bullied for more than a year. According to the note Ricky left, he was sick of being teased his entire seventh grade year about his name and living in fear of what his bullies would do to him. When he started eighth grade and the same three boys were in his homeroom class, the bullying started right up again. In September, he stole his dad’s gun from his closet and came to school to ‘take care of the perps.’”
My throat clogs with emotion. Tears fill my eyes. I sniffle. “When Ricky got to school, he told his friend what his plans were. The friend went straight to my dad, hoping to stop the shooting from happening. From what witnesses said, the shooting started while my dad was running to the classroom Ricky and his bullies were in. I don’t know if something inside Ricky snapped or what, but instead of hurting his three bullies and then himself like he explained in his note to his family, Ricky opened fire on everyone in the class. My dad was yelling at the neighboring classrooms to lock down. I guess his voice triggered Ricky and he came out into the hall, shooting my dad before taking his own life.
“I hate that Dad died because he was trying to protect people in an atmosphere where they shouldn’t ever have to worry about their safety. I feel bad for Ricky for getting bullied. It shouldn’t have happened. Ricky needed to know who to turn to for help instead of taking multiple lives away. But most of all, I just miss my dad. He’ll never get to walk me down the aisle, give me advice on being a homeowner, or interrogate my fiancé. It sucks. Every day I miss him. Every day. Little things I’ll see remind me of him, like a certain brand of mint gum that he loved, or a rerun of his favorite TV show, and the pain gets stronger. ”
Max threads his fingers through mine. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I use the corner of the blanket to swipe tears off my cheeks. “Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that we lost him instead of twelve years ago, and other times it seems like I don’t even remember him.”
“How do you keep his memory alive?”
“I talk about him with my mom when I need to. Otherwise, we celebrate his birthday and visit his grave a few times a year, sharing memories about him.”
“I wish I had the opportunity to get to know him better.”
I nod. “I do too. I wonder what he’d say about us fake dating. I can’t decide if he’d find it funny or if he’d disapprove.”
“He met me when he helped Brody move into our dorm room our first week of college. He knew how amazing I am. I’m sure he’d be fine with it. Especially since you agreed to date someone who has the same career as him.”
My stomach contracts like Max punched me in the gut. I open my mouth to tell Max another fear of mine, but I close my mouth just as fast. Can I really tell Max another truth? Will he be offended? Will it change how we are?
I decide to go with honesty.
My voice is small as I share another vulnerability. “I’ve never wanted to date someone who works at a school because of what happened to my dad.” My anxiety creeps back in. I can’t protect myself and my future children if I’m stressed all the time about him coming home or not. I don’t want to live in fear every day, dreading every time my phone rings. I know Mom said I have plenty of time to decide, but the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to breathe.
“Oh.” Max sounds…sad.
I want to read into why he said it that way. But my mind is made up. I can’t fall for Max no matter how my pulse pounds when he’s nearby, or how he made my belly swoop and my heart combust when we kissed. Or how much I laugh around him. Our relationship is fake and it’s hightime I cling to that instead of exploring the newfound feelings I have for him.
“Do you want to talk about why you couldn’t sleep?” I ask Max, squeezing his palm.
He shakes his head. “Uh, no. It doesn’t really matter anymore.”
What? Why not? I bare my soul to him, and he doesn’t want to reciprocate? Besides, I genuinely want to know how I can help Max. He’s done so much for me and I don’t know that I’ve done anything to show him my gratitude. “I’d like to remind you of the time we were on a plane and you wouldn’t let me skip answering questions.”
His thumb taps the back of my hand he’s holding. “That was different.”
B.S. “How?”
“Those were simple get-to-know-you questions.”
“And me asking what’s keeping you from sleeping isn’t?”
He smirks at me. “No. That’s treading into highly classified territory and I’m not sure we’re there yet.”
I yank my hand out of his, shoving his shoulder. “I just spilled my guts to you. We’re absolutely at that level of sharing.”
Max laughs. “Hey, look at that!”
“Nice try,” I deadpan. There’s no way he’s getting me to fall for his silly distraction just to avoid telling me about himself.
“No, really. Is that the same moose from when we were picking berries?”
