Page 44 of Feels Like Falling
“Apparently.”
Pulling into the parking lot of Boots On Bar and Grill, Cal turns off the ignition and we both get out of the car and head up the walkway. He holds the door, and I thank him before grabbing a high top off to the side. It’s still early, and we have the place mostly to ourselves.
Jude Rhodes is behind the bar, and I give him a small wave which he returns even though I’m not entirely sure he remembers me. Not sure it matters.
Everyone who walks in is a neighbor and friend, and Mr. Rhodes always makes you feel right at home. He has run this place for as long as I’ve been alive, with Jude and his brother popping in from time to time to work busing tables or filling orders in the kitchen.
Mr. Rhodes would stop by our table to shake my father’s hand and ask how the food was, catching up on a whole lot of nothing during the times we could sneak away. Besides being with Montana, being here was some of the happiest times of my childhood.
Cal looks around like he’s never seen anything like it and maybe he hasn’t. It’s not quite a dive bar but just barely. T-shirts folded and pinned in tight squares line the ceiling. It’d started out as kind of a game—Mr. Rhodes thought it would be fun to tell people if they brought shirts from other bars, he’d let them put them on the ceiling.
The rule was you had to have a good story and everyone in the place had to vote on its potential ceiling status. Once the ceiling was full, the same rule applied, but if your shirt was accepted you got to take your pick and swap with one already on the ceiling. It was the ultimate victory.
I’d been here a couple of time to witness the ritual with Dad. The energy of the bar and the animated cheering of the patrons has the corner of my lips curving up, even if the memory is bittersweet.
I order a mojito and Cal orders a beer before he squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. My heart immediately hurts for him because I recognize the move—I’ve done it countless times trying to push off a headache.
“Are you all right?” I ask as the waitress places our drinks on the table. We thank her, and I order the pretzel bites in hopes that some carbs will give my new friend the boost he needs.
“I’m” —his gaze meets mine and I raise a single eyebrow at the lie he’s about to tell— “tired.” Cal sighs and plays with the condensation on his glass. “Today was great, and I’m excited to be here.” He worries his bottom lip with his teeth and I wait. “It’s hard to adjust to everything being sonormal.”
There’s a lot Cal isn’t saying, that much is obvious, but what heissaying hits me hard.
“On the plus side, we’re doing this together. I haven’t lived here in a long time, and my situation has definitely changed so—I get it. At least some of it. Did you follow your sister here?”
Nodding, he takes a sip from his drink before rolling his eyes. “My parents are free spirits, and Hannah and I grew up mostly on the road. We went all across the country and around the world looking for adventures. My parents couldn’t be tethered to one place for long—they still can’t. But that was hard on my sister and me. We craved stability disguised as the next big thing.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is. We grew up chasing the idea that we weren’t made for normal everyday constraints but the life of a wanderer…” he trails off and I wait for him to gather himself. “Our aunt and uncle own the bar in Clementine Creek, Tap and Table, and when Hannah came to help out she never left. Hell, she’s even married—never thought I’d see the day.”
“Clementine Creek will do that to you. Plus, I’ve heard the Thayers are great.”
He chuckles before sobering. “They are, but I wouldn’t be here without her.” Looking up at my confusion, he adds, “She made it possible to break the cycle—to set down roots. It was the right choice for her, and being here, I know it’s the right choice for mebutit’s hard to slow down no matter how bad you want it.” Cal scrunches his nose and my lips twitch. “That makes me sound really entitled and whiny.”
“Can I ask where you were before this?”
His fingers absentmindedly play with the condensation on the glass again as he says, “I spent a few years working with an organization like Teachers Without Borders in refugee camps overseas. It was really rewarding and also incredibly challenging—sometimes terrifying.”
“I’m sure that’s an experience that stays with you…becomes a part of you.”
“I’m not sure I know how to stay in one place.”
“Do you want to?” At his hesitation I continue, “You’re allowed to feel what you feel and roots aren’t for everyone, but I think it might be too soon?”
“I don’t know how to be uncomfortable.”
I blink at him because I definitely cannot relate. I’m almost always uncomfortable regardless of whether or not I can hide it.
At my blank stare he adds, “Anytime I’ve ever gotten this feeling, I’ve just moved on. No ties meant I didn’t have to stay. But I want to be here with my sister—make up for lost time—I just don’t know how to get over this feeling.”
He rubs at his chest as I mull over what he said and take a chance. “What if you took a little vacation?”
“Seriously?”
“Why not? We still have a little bit before the school year starts and there’s plenty of places around here you could go to for a couple days.” Swallowing hard, I give him a little more of my own truth. “I think we’re both trying too hard to live up to theideaof it right now instead of accepting that change takes time.”
“Wow,” he says a little breathlessly, and I know it’s at least partially for effect because his expression is amused, “you’re really smart.”
