Matters of Circumstance (18 page)

“I know! That’s why I had to call you. I knew you would get it.”

“I do, I do, I just… holy
crap…”

Suddenly Neal’s energy vanished, and she thought she could feel it even through her phone. “Oh shit,” he said. “Farrah, I’m sorry. I totally spaced about your doctor’s appointment. This really isn’t what you need to hear right now.”

Yes, Farrah thought to herself as she looked at the crack in her curtains. It was definitely raining cats and dogs out there. How apropos.

“No, it’s fine. I’m wholly and truly happy for you,” she said earnestly. “Don’t get like that.”

“Get like what?”

Farrah sat up a little straighter when she heard his carefully blank tone. “Like this. You’ve completely stopped gushing about flying,” she said. “You act like just because I have a checkup today you can’t say what you want because it has something to do with
my
problem. Don’t be like that. I don’t care what’s going on with me, I want to know—was it hard or totally effortless, like in the movies?”

For a time Neal was silent, save for his breathing. That was the only sign that she hadn’t been hung up on. It sort of hurt to think that she might have gone over the line. And she did appreciate how accommodating he was whenever she got into a funk, but she didn’t want him hiding what he felt for her sake, either. For better or worse, she wanted him to be genuine.

After practically a minute Farrah tried, “Neal?”

“I don’t know,” he said, quiet and thoughtful. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.”

“Tell me about how you flew,” she urged. “I want to like these wings just as much as you do. So was it hard to do, or painful, or none of the above?”

Another pause. She was just about to urge him again when he said a mite reluctantly, “It wasn’t painful as much as a lot of work. I have never been so exhausted as I was after flying.”

“But it was fun, though, right? At least a little?”

“It was awesome, not fun.” The passion in his voice rose with his comfort level, and it made her happy to hear it. Neal shouldn’t have to hide from her. “I mean, yeah, it was only about six inches off the ground, and it lasted less than thirty seconds, but still. Nobody but me did it, and that’s fantastic, you know?”

“Yeah, I almost feel like I’m there.”

“I have to show you this. I bet I look like a dufus—but it’s flying. I have to show you.”

“I don’t think you’ll look like a dufus.” Neal never did, no matter what he was doing. “But tomorrow’s Sunday, so do you want to hang out?”

“We’ll see how this doctor thing turns out first,” he said, and when she began to protest he added, “You haven’t told your parents anything, Farrah, and you can’t get this checkup. Who knows what’ll happen after they find out? Call me afterwards, and we’ll work it out from there.” Farrah began to object again, but he said, “I’m not going to budge on this, you know. Don’t even try to make me.”

She sighed. Loudly. “Fine. But I do have everything under control. I want you to know that. I’m going to tell before we leave.”

“Mm-hm. I’ll believe that when I hear about it.” But then his whole demeanor changed. “Good luck, and don’t forget to call if you need me, okay?”

She understood why he was talking this way, but she still felt vaguely like a child on their first day of school. “I won’t,” she said anyway. “And thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll talk to you later.”

She wanted to hear his voice some more, but she let him hang up. Just as she was putting her phone back on the beside table her father opened the door to her room. He stopped when he saw her sitting up and very much awake, and in that moment Farrah was supremely thankful that it had been chilly enough for her to sleep in a hoodie last night.

“Oh good, I was just going to wake—” then he did a double take and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Geez, do you shower in those things too?” he asked, looking pointedly at her sweater.

Farrah frowned, at once entertained and disgruntled. “I was cold last night.”

He rolled his eyes, already beginning to shut her door. “Yeah yeah, just be ready in half an hour to go to the doctor’s. I’ll even be nice and drive you.”

“Ooh goody,” she muttered, playing along.

Her father only laughed and clicked the door shut.

When his footsteps faded Farrah let out a heavy, heavy breath. So much for telling him, then. She would get dressed and try again when she came downstairs.

And as she moved, sluggishly detaching herself from her bed and assembling her outfit for the day her heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s and her stomach was clenching and writhing as if in pain. Her palms were even sweaty. Just thinking about how she would talk to her parents made her throat tighten. Everywhere she looked she thought of Neal and his wings, or her own (which she hardly looked at these days). There was no relief anywhere.

She just wanted to get it over with, but somehow it wasn’t that easy. For Farrah, things like this never were.

Wanting to show her parents her wings on her own terms (at least, that was what she told herself), Farrah threw on the hoodie she had slept in and descended gingerly into the kitchen.

As if what little mass she had left would tip her parents off to what was really going on. And that was sarcasm, by the way.

When she got to the kitchen, only her father was sitting at the table. “Where’s Mom?” Farrah asked. She told herself it was because she was genuinely curious, but a private part of her whispered that it was because she wanted to procrastinate some more. “I thought she was off today.”

“She was,” her father conceded. “But you know how salaries are. They called her in.”

Farrah didn’t know personally, but as both of her parents had salaries (they were upper management at two different office buildings) she was familiar with what could happen. And being called in on your day off happened often.

“Oh yeah.” She dropped into the chair across from him. Her hands were trembling, clammier than ever and her stomach was going haywire, but she forced the words out anyway. “And, um, Dad?”

“Yeah?” Sipping a cup of coffee (Joe’s coffee, to be exact), he glanced up from where he was shuffling through the newspaper. His face looked a little scratched, as if he had shaved fifteen minutes ago. He probably had.

“I… um, I-I can’t exactly, uh, go to the-the doctor’s today.”

He finished with his drink and placed the mug on the table. When he spoke, she got a subtle impression that he had started his sentence by mimicking her on purpose, “Um, why not? I told you about it two weeks ago.”

“I know, but—I mean, I just…” She puffed air from her nose hard and gestured uselessly. “I can’t go, Dad. I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I—” But she couldn’t say it. She
couldn’t.
She was her parents’ one and only child, and she was a freak. She couldn’t blurt this out and ruin everything for them. She wanted to be the kid they deserved.

She absolutely couldn’t go to that checkup, though.

“Because you what? Just spit it out, Farrah. Did you schedule a date with Neal or something?”

She shook her head. “No, it has nothing to do with him—I mean, not really. He is technically part of it, but he’s not the real reason I—”

“Then tell me what it really is.” Her father was getting impatient at this point. “Are you pregnant? Are you on drugs? Did you TP the doctor’s house and he saw you as you ran away? What?”

She just kept shaking her head. “None of that. It’s—it’s really… really hard to say.”

Her father leaned forward on his arms. She couldn’t tell if he was ticked off or concerned. Maybe both? “You know you can talk to me, Fare. You can tell me anything. What’s going on?”

Okay, make that seriously concerned.

Farrah leaned back a little in her chair and swallowed. She wrung her hands together under the table, shuffled her feet. Now was her chance, now was the moment she could just get it all off of her chest and let the chips fall where they may.

But what if they fell in a hostile direction? What if they fell in the Disown The Freak area? What if she got the Let’s Hate Farrah pattern?

Farrah didn’t want to know what would happen. There were too many negative possibilities.

“ I-I think it’s going to be really awkward. Do—don’t you think I’m old enough not to have to see a pediatrician anymore?” She ended up saying.

At first her father was shocked, and then exasperated. He sat back. “All that drama, just to say that? Christ, Farrah, I thought you had a real problem.”

She just sat there and took it, more ashamed and full of nerves than she could ever remember being.

“If that’s all that’s bothering you, then you’re just going to have to suck it up.”

She didn’t say anything, merely stood up and went in the fridge to look for something to eat. She ended up having Raisin Bran and a small cup of yogurt. The food had about as much taste as sawdust.

Failed. She had completely and utterly failed to tell her father about her wings. She was such a huge coward it wasn’t even funny. How was she supposed to get out of going to that doctor’s appointment if she couldn’t even formulate a reason why?

They were silent until her father checked his watch and said, “Alright, just leave your dishes in the sink. We’ll wash them when we get back, but we’ve got to go.”

Farrah complied woodenly, but as he grabbed his car keys and opened the door to the garage she suddenly found her voice.

“Wait. Dad, no…”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “What now?”

She grimaced at his tone. Her father did not fight with her often, but when he did Farrah felt like the bitchiest daughter on the planet. She hated it when she was needlessly dramatic. Her parents didn’t need that.

It wasn’t needless this time, though. This time she had no choice.

“Dad, that… that reason I told you—it wasn’t the real thing. I actually have a really good reason for not doing this, I just…” She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m having a hard time telling you.”

Apparently she looked sincere, otherwise she didn’t think he would have softened the way he did. The door to the garage shut again, softly, and he planted both feet evenly on the ground.

“Farrah,” he said in what had to be the epitome of Gentle Dad tones. “What’s going on?”

It all happened very clearly in her mind’s eye: she whispered that she had wings, he asked her to repeat, she did (slightly louder), and when he couldn’t believe his ears she showed him.

And he freaked. The father in her mind undeniably flipped a bitch.

Once again, Farrah found herself balking.

“I really hate doctors,” she ended up mumbling.

At first he reacted not at all, and then he made a noise of aggravation and looked to the ceiling in the least religious way possible. “Let’s go, Farrah. We don’t have time for this crap.”

Just like that, the door to the garage and the actual garage door were opened and her father’s car was growling to life.

“Farrah,
come on,”
he said sternly when she only stood in the house, putting her hand on the door to keep it from closing and watching him with wide eyes.

Farrah winced again, both at his tone and her own weakness. Seriously, how pathetic could you get? It was three words at the most, and she couldn’t even freaking say them. She had talked to Ruby and Michael about it, how the hell was this any different?

She couldn’t explain it, all she knew was that she felt it.

“But Dad—” she said one last time.

“No. No more of this procrastinating bull. You’re going to the doctor, and that’s final. Now get in the car.” And he gestured forcefully to the empty passenger seat, in case she still hadn’t gotten the message.

No, Farrah O’Brien wasn’t the most stubborn girl on the planet. However, she hadn’t once expected herself to be so weak as to crumble under a demand like that, climbing into the vehicle and buckling herself in without a peep. It wasn’t because of the way it was phrased—she understood her father’s frustration, she really did—but because of what it would mean for her.

Once the car was moving it was all Farrah could do to keep from crying. Disbelief at what she was doing to herself was beyond imagination. If she were anymore spineless she would be a puddle—and a mud puddle, at that.

They rode in suffocating, deafening silence that not even the pounding rain could penetrate. It pressed against her ears like earmuffs, enclosed her like she was a mummy. Her nervous system was going crazy, and she was scared and angry with herself and ashamed and she was so
over it
that she could hardly stand it, but she didn’t think she could stop it at this point, either. She had already dug her own grave, hadn’t she?

They had just pulled into a stall in the soggy underground parking lot when the words tumbled from her lips, “Please don’t hate me.”

Her father yanked the keys out of the ignition and stared at her. She wasn’t looking, but she could feel it. “I don’t hate you, Farrah. You’re making an unreasonably big deal about getting this checkup, but I could never hate you. You’re my one and only, remember?”