Falling Up (4 page)

Then I went inside and just looked around. Dad hasn't really changed anything yet. Shannon kept telling him that the sooner he got rid of Mom's stuff, the sooner he'd be able to move on with his life. But I don't think he wants to move on. Not like that anyway. Neither do I, for that matter. So I just stood there and looked and smelled and absorbed what little bits of my mother still remained.

Finally, I went into her closet and leaned into her clothes, breathing in the air that once surrounded her. Then I closed the door and sat down, right there amid her shoes. And holding her bathrobe in my arms, 1 just cried and cried.

I'm not sure how long I stayed in her closet, but I finally got worried that Dad might come home and freak out to find me in there like that, so I left. But I promised myself that I would come back and do it again if I need to. And I took her bathrobe to my room. I know it's childish, but I just can't help myself.

I've been trying to make dinner for Dad and me the past couple of nights, but neither of us seems to have much appetite these days. Whether it's due to my less-than-polished cooking skills or missing Mom, I'm not sure. But tonight, Dad opted for takeout. I offered to pick
it up, but he said he had to pick up something anyway.

I wanted to ask him if I could come along, just for the company and also because I didn't want to be home alone again, but I could tell that he wanted to be alone. Still, it worries me that he's alone too much. He's so quiet about everything lately. I just really wanted to talk to him.

So I decided to do what Mom used to do when Dad brought home takeout. She'd go ahead and set the table and make it look nice, just like a regular dinner. Maybe that would make Dad feel more at home and he'd want to sit around and talk. I even made a pot of tea since Dad was bringing home Chinese.

But when he got back and sat down, it was just the same. We both ate in silence. Oh, I tried to bring up some things. I asked a couple of questions about the column and the newspaper, but I could tell he had no interest in really talking. And I know it's because he's hurting. But it hurts me too.

When Matthew called to see whether or not I wanted to go out tonight—since I'd told him I wasn't too sure earlier—I said, “Why not?” I didn't add, “Since Dad won't talk to me anyway.” But that's how I felt as I cleaned up the kitchen and watched my dad hiding behind his “Newsweek” magazine in the family room.

For the most part, Matthew has been being very considerate of my feelings lately. I know the whole thing with my mom is pretty unsettling to him, and he's not quite sure how to handle it. But at least he lets me vent if
I need to. And tonight I needed to. Especially after the movie we saw.

It was an Italian film with subtitles, and it started out pretty good. Matthew had heard it was amazing. But what he didn't realize was that it was about World War II and lots and lots of death. Just what I needed. By the time the flick was over, my head hurt from crying so much. Then we went out for coffee, and I really laid into him.

“Why that movie?” I demanded. Then, of course, he told me that he was as surprised as I was. But I carried on for a while, and he just sat there and took it. Finally, he reached for my hand and said he was sorry. And I could tell that he really was.

“No, I'm the one who should be sorry,” I said. “I'm making this into a great big deal. I know you didn't mean for it to be like this. I'm sorry.”

And so we were okay. And maybe it was a good thing after all. Maybe I really did need to watch other people in pain. Maybe I did need to be reminded that I'm not the only one who's lost a loved one. And maybe I needed to cry again. So when it was all said and done, I guess I felt a teeny bit better. But as Matthew drove me home, I could tell he was feeling down.

“I'm sorry,” I said again, suddenly feeling guilty. “Are you feeling bad because of me? I really shouldn't have gotten so wigged out about that movie. I mean, now that I think about it, it was pretty good.”

“No…” he said slowly. “That's not really it.”

“What is it then?”

‘Tm not sure. Maybe its just a bunch of things.”

“Like what?” I persisted.

He shrugged. “You've got enough on your plate, Km. I don't want to dump on you. Besides, its small stuff compared to what you've been dealing with.”

“Really, Matthew, I want to know,” I said in my most persuasive voice. “If something s bugging you, you should be able to tell me.”

He smiled now. “Yeah. But not tonight, okay? I think you've had enough emotion for one night.”

“You mean its something emotional?”

He kind of laughed. “Not exactly. Lets just chill for now. Okay?”

I said, “Okay,” but underneath I really wanted to know what was getting to him. And suddenly I worried that it might have something to do with our relationship. Naturally, I went to the worst-case scenario. Did Matthew want to break up with me?

Finally we were at my house, and as usual, he walked me to the door, bending down to give me a little peck before he said, “Good night.” But as I went into the house, I was feeling even more certain that something between us was wrong. I really believed he was going to break up with me. That had to be it. But the idea of this sliced through me like a knife.

Dad had already gone to bed. Not that I would ve discussed this with him. At least I didn't think so. But I suppose I did want to talk to someone. I considered
calling Natalie, but it was pretty late, and besides she's still so bummed about her own life. So I went to my room and just sat down and thought about how things have been with Matthew and me. And now it seems more obvious than ever. I'm surprised I didn't see this coming.

Our relationship has been pretty minimal for the past few weeks. Maybe even the last couple of months. But then what could you expect? When your mom is sick and dying—of course you're going to be preoccupied with that. I probably tried to pretend like everything was fine, and there was even a time when I thought Mom was better and that God was healing her. But I'm sure that Matthew sensed I was distracted. How could I not be?

Even prom, which was surprisingly fun, was overshadowed with Mom's health. And then she died that very same night. So naturally I haven't been giving Matthew much attention. And this is his senior year, and his goal had been to have a good time. But then he hooked up with me. No wonder he's ready to dump me.

But he's such a nice guy. I'm sure he's been postponing this break up because of everything that's gone on lately. I mean, you don't break up with a girl right after her mom dies—unless you're a jerk. And Matthew is not a jerk.

So I decided to IM him, hoping he'd be home by now and possibly online. But he's not. Of course, I didn't mention my concern about breaking up. I just said, “hey,
are you there?” But when he didn't answer, I signed off. And even though I'm trying to let it go, trying to pretend that I don't suspect what I do, I have a feeling I'm right on target. I am certain that Matthew, my first real boyfriend, is ready to move on—and it's killing me.

And so in my usual distraction mode, I attacked some column letters. Maybe reading about someone else's heartache would cheer me up. And believe me, there's plenty of it. The number one topic teens write to me about has to do with romance gone badly. Usually, I skipped most of those letters, but tonight I was ready.

Okay, that's probably not the kindest response I've written. Maybe Jamie is feeling cranky tonight. Lets see if I can do better on the next one.

I know I should be preparing myself to take this advice too. Because I still have the strongest feeling that Matthew is ready to call it quits. But before I turned off my computer for the night, I decided to just e-mail him. Why not take Jamie's advice and “just be honest”? Why not just ask? And so I do. I don't go into much detail, only that I'm concerned he wants to break up and feels uncomfortable about it. But I assure him that he can talk to me—that it's okay. I just hope I can be as strong as I am trying to appear. God help me. I will be praying myself to sleep tonight.

Sunday, May 12

As it turned out, Matthew had no intention of breaking up with me. Or so he assured me last night. He'd spent most of the day doing yard work at his grandparents' house and hadn't even seen my e-mail until he got home later in the afternoon. Worried that I might be sitting around freaking, he called me as soon as he read it.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Oh, no, I was thinking, here it comes. “Yeah?”

“Can we do something tonight?”

Well, I'd actually been thinking about going to youth group, but I quickly ditched that plan, figuring it was more important to take care of this. And if I was about to get my heart broken, I'd prefer to do it on the weekend and in privacy if possible. So I agreed.

“I'll pick you up at seven,” he said. And then we hung up. Of course, that left me feeling pretty antsy. As a result, I paced around the house like a caged tiger. Dad was doing something on his computer in his den, and I could tell he didn't want to be disturbed. Whether he was actually working or what, I wasn't sure. But as I slowly walked past the open door, I could tell by the serious tilt of his head and the way he focused on his screen that he wasn't in a talking mode. Not that I would've really wanted to talk to him, at least not about Matthew. That would be weird.

Suddenly, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to call Nat. Okay, I knew she was still acting all weird and sad about Benjamin and the breakup, but this could prove a good distraction for her, might even remind her she wasn't the only one with problems. Besides, Christians are supposed to support each other during hard times, right? Well, I was on hard times.

“I need to talk,” I said shortly after she answered.

“What's wrong?” she asked with what sounded like mild interest.

“Can you come over?”

But as usual, she was watching Krissy and Micah, so I went over to her house. Actually, this was a relief. I get so tired of the silence at my house that even her bickering siblings sound good to my ears. At least for a while.

Finally, we were up in her room, which to my surprise looked pretty disgusting. “What happened in
here?” I removed what appeared to be dirty laundry in order to sit on her chair.

“Huh?” She looked around blankly, as if she didn't notice the change. Natalie used to be something of a neat freak. One of the things we used to have in common, although I was always more obsessive about it. She used to brag on how her room was the cleanest place in their whole house. And up until now that had been true.

And she used to take more care with her appearance too. But her shoulder-length blond hair was ratty and in need of a wash. And although my willowy friend usually looks good in anything, those nasty-looking sweats were really pushing it.

“Never mind,” I said, pretending not to notice the piles of clothes and clutter or even the disgusting bowl of what might Ve once been Fruit Loops. Unless those spots of color were something alive and growing—a science experiment perhaps.