Falling: Chapter 30

I’m always surprised by the Christmas decorations in Salt Lake. There’s something about the holidays that always makes me happy, and I wish my parents made more of an effort after their divorce. I might have been a teenager, but it would have been nice to have something to celebrate while all my friends did. The upside to getting to celebrate now is that each year the decorations get more and more extravagant.

The girls and I like to keep our decorations simple with a small silver tree and decorations to match. The second we venture out of our part of town, the houses get more glamorous. This year, I’ve seen one house transformed into a giant present and another with a Christmas tree almost bigger than the one in Rockefeller.

When I walk up to Miles’s truck, he’s blasting Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs, singing along like a maniac. Nothing new coming from him. I laugh as I open the door and slide in, watching him with adoration.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it the other night, but I am so grateful for him. He sat with me for what felt like hours after the show when I waited for my mom to turn up. He does things withou t me having to ask him, and that’s more than what Augustus had ever done.

He still brought me home and ate dinner with me after he saw how bratty I was acting with her. I’m not proud of it, but I was pissed about her missing the end of my performance. She’s been pulling stunts like that for years, and I find it hard to stay angry at her for long every time. The anger she fuels in me makes me work harder just to spite her and prove her wrong. I hate that it works every time. Austin’s problem is going to have to be on hold for a while.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says as if he has only just noticed I got in the car.

I turn down the music and frown at him. “Hey, what happened to Wrenny or baby? They were starting to grow on me.” He laughs as looks at me and then back at the road. Then he gives me another glance.

“You look hot,” he says, ignoring my comment.

I grin. “I know.” I watch his smile tug up on his lips, and I have the strangest urge to kiss him. I don’t know where we stand after we breached the rule about the things we do alone, but that shouldn’t be on my mind. I gesture to his jeans and thick jumper and say, “You could have told me to dress down.”

I’m wearing a red skater dress and black boots with a long black puffer jacket to keep warm, assuming this would be more of a formal thing. I’m meeting his parents for God’s sake. I don’t exactly know what the uniform to meet your boyfriend’s parents is, but I feel way too dressed up for this.

“What part of ‘you look hot’ don’t you get? If you look better than me, they’ll know that you care, and they’ll focus on you instead of me.”

“I don’t want them to focus on me,” I moan, sulking back in my seat.

“You could be wearing a paper bag over your head with the eyes cut out, and you’d still be the most gorgeous woman in the room, Wren.” He looks at me intensely when he says it, his eyes taking another sweep of my outfit. I hold up the bag that I brought in my hand awkwardly.

“I bought your mom a necklace, and I couldn’t find anything for Clara or your dad. I didn’t know what they’d like, and it was too late to ask you, but I’m sure⁠—”

“It’s fine.” Miles cuts me off. He glances at me, flashing an annoyingly charming smile in my direction. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do any of that, but my mom will appreciate it.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, turning to him while he drives. “I didn’t even ask if she prefers gold or silver. What if⁠—”

He stops the car abruptly, and he’s lucky we’re in the middle of an empty estate. He turns to me, his eyes narrow. “Amelia Wren Hackerly. Stop worrying for five minutes and just live in the moment. Can you do that for me?”

I stick my tongue in my cheek, trying not to laugh at his sudden seriousness. “I can try.”

“Good,” he replies sternly.

“Fine,” I say back.

“Great.”

“Perfect.”

He holds my stare for a few beats before he smiles, smoothing out the tension, and then he continues driving. I pick up Miles’s phone from the holder and look through his playlists, trying to put some decent music on. I find one called “Songs for Wrenny,” and I laugh.

“What’s this?” I ask, looking through it. There’s a lot of Taylor Swift, Paramore, Gracie Abrams, and Florence + The Machine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say all this terrible music you’ve been playing is just a front.”

“What are you talking about?” he laughs.

“There’s a playlist called ‘Songs for Wrenny.’ The songs on here are actually good. What’s all this a bout?”

He laughs a little, glancing at me and then back to the road. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

“I mean, it says the songs are for me. Why can’t I look at it?”

“It’s not meant for you. More like, songs that you like and songs that remind me of you,” he says, and I can feel my cheeks getting hotter just at his words. No one has ever made a playlist for me before.

“Can you tell me which one is your favorite that reminds you how amazing I am?’

“Christmas Tree Farm,” he says.

“That was quick.”

He shrugs. “I add to it a lot.”

The comment is so simple and matter-of-fact that I try not to overthink it, and I’m left speechless. There’s always been this sweet, sensitive side to him, and I wish I got to see this more when we first met, and I wouldn’t have been so committed to pushing him away.

We don’t say anything else, and I press play while we sing along to the music. Everything about it is so stupid that I’m laughing more than I’m singing. I seriously don’t know how many more times I’ll have to tell him he’s a terrible singer for him to stop.

When we get closer to his house, he stops singing, and I can tell something is wrong. When we’re pulled up outside his house, he doesn’t get out of the car, and he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

I place my hand over his, linking our fingers together. “If you don’t want to go, we can drive away and never look back.” He shakes his head with a weak laugh, and his hand flexes on the wheel. “How about this? If you feel irritated, angry, or upset, just squeeze my hand, and I’ll squeeze back. That way, you’ll know that I’m here.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

We keep our hands linked together as we walk up the gravel path o f his childhood home. It’s a small bungalow in a quiet suburb an hour away from campus. It’s the kind of house you drive by, knowing a happy family lives here. The house is a gorgeous dark brown, and the lawn is covered in freckles of snow. It already feels cozy and safe. It’s much nicer than my mom’s new house, and I haven’t even stepped inside yet.

He knocks on the door twice before it opens. Miles’s dad is a tall, light-skinned man with kind and almost boyish features. He’s at least five heads taller than Miles’s mom, a breath-taking woman with dark-brown locks flowing long past her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, you two,” Miles’s dad says as if we met before, with a huge smile on his face. He pats Miles on the shoulder and nods at me with a smile. “I’m Ben.”

“Hi, I’m Wren. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say, looking between the two of them. Considering their past, they don’t look like a couple who have been through a hard time and have a rocky relationship. They look exceptionally happy. Which is probably why it unsettles Miles so much.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Wren,” his mom exclaims, smiling at me. Miles’s hand tightens around mine, and I squeeze back.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Davis,” I say.

“Oh, just call us Portia and Ben. There’s really no need for the formalities.” She turns to Miles, who has been avoiding eye contact with her. “Miles, love. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” His words don’t mean to sound harsh, but I can tell he’s struggling to keep it together. He smiles down at me, and the line between his eyebrows smooths out. “Wren got you a present.”

Of course he’s going to try to throw me under the bus to avoiding talking to his mom. I clear my throat as Portia smiles at me. “It’s only something small,” I say, handing her the gift bag.

She beams at me, her mouth forming the same dimples as Miles. “Oh, that’s so thoughtful. Thank you, Wren.”

I’m about to respond, but before I do, a tall, curly-haired woman I recognize as his sister Clara comes around the corner in a pink tracksuit. Maybe I am too dressed up. Her face lights up when she sees us. She pushes past her parents and pulls Miles into a hug.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says through a grin when she pulls apart from him. He shrugs and looks over at me, his eyes wide. He warned me about his sister, but all I can see is someone who is excited to see her little brother. “Wren! I’ve heard a lot about you. I didn’t know you’d be as pretty as he said.”

I laugh awkwardly. “Thank you. You’re stunning.”

Clara’s face gets impossibly brighter. “You’re flattering me already,” she coos, flicking her hair behind her shoulder as she looks at Miles. “She’s perfect.”

“I’ve been trying to tell her that, but she’s allergic to compliments,” Miles says, squeezing my hand again, and I squeeze his harder.

“Why don’t you take off your outdoor clothes and come into the kitchen with us girls?” Portia asks, smiling wide.

Everyone else slips away, and I can still hear Clara talking about me and making fun of Miles. I start to unzip my coat, but Miles stops me, pulling it down for me. I watch him work slowly at the zip at my front, his eyes focused on it. He comes behind me and pulls on the sleeves.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, almost laughing at this gesture.

“I want to.”

I smile. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I will be, Wrenny.”

He hangs up my coat with the others, and I get a peek of some of the baby pictures hung on the wall. I start to walk in the direction of Clara and Portia before Miles’s hand grabs mine.

He squeezes, and I squeeze back.

This whole time, I’ve been worrying about what’s going to happen with Miles instead of worrying about what’s going to happen if I’m left alone with his family. He gave me a small rundown on the way over, but I don’t exactly have much experience with meeting my boyfriend’s parents.

Clara sits on the kitchen counter, her legs swinging and her tall stature overcrowding the kitchen, while her mom chops vegetables on the other counter. Her head shoots up when she sees me.

“You and Miles seem very happy together,” she says, smiling like a maniac. She’s talking to me like we’ve known each other for years, and the thought of her brother being happy clearly makes her happy. “I can tell by the way he looks at you. I know he’s a little unhinged, but I’m glad you’re able to handle him.”

She slips off the counter, and I laugh awkwardly. “I definitely made him work for it, but he’s grown on me,” I admit.

“Atta girl. It’s all about the chase.” Clara laughs. “Sometimes, he needs to be dealt with that way though. He thinks he can get what he wants without working for it. It’s a hockey player thing.”

“Ay. Miles is a hard worker in some respects, but sometimes, his heart is a little misplaced,” his mom says, shaking her head lightly.

“What do you mean?” I ask as casually as I can. I’ve wanted to know more about Miles’s family and his childhood, but I haven’t wanted to push him.

She sighs, pausing her vegetable cutting, looking off into the distance. “He loves a lot, and he loves hard. He always has, and he always will. Sometimes, he can’t let go of things and he latches on. It consumes him.” She sighs. “I’m sure that is partly my fault.”

“Mom,” Clara presses, rolling her eyes as if they’ve had this conversation before. I stay quiet, letting the new information about Miles settle in.

“Enough talk about him,” Portia says, wafting her knife around . “You girls are going to have to help me dish out this food.”

Eating Christmas Eve dinner with Miles’s family was a lot less awkward than I thought it would be. Although Miles doesn’t talk much to his mom, everyone else is getting along great. Miles’s dad is a man of few words, but he drops these sarcastic one-liners that I know Miles and Clara both take after. Clara basically carries the conversations on her back with her work horror stories.

She works on low-budget films with her friends and enters them into festivals. You wouldn’t believe how many of her stories end with getting booked for a job, but it turns out to be some weirdos wanting to film a porno. Even with the inappropriate jokes she makes, neither one of her parents seems to bat an eye at the candor. If something like this was said around my mom, she would have had a stroke.

“Oh my god, Miles, have you told Wren about Felicity?” Clara asks when we’re eating dessert. Their parents have gone into the kitchen, leaving us to talk in the dining room.

I’ve never felt fuller of laughter, food, and everything good about this place. Miles might not see it, but this place is clearly filled with so much love. I’d kill to spend time with a family that makes inappropriate jokes and eats too much dessert to then sit by a fire and recall stories from our childhood. If I ever get the opportunity to be a mom one day, this is exactly what I’d want.

My mind instantly drifts to Austin, who is probably going to kill me for not telling my mom about her pregnancy, but this is my life too. I shouldn’t have to carry that burden just because she’s too chicken-shit to do it herself.

“Clar, don’t,” Miles replies, shaking his head with a blush. I’ve never seen his face go so red before, and it’s downright adorable.

“Who is Felicity?” I say, dropping my head into my hands to look at Clara. She takes a long swig of her wine before speaking.

“She was Miles’s first crush. He was probably around five or six, and there was this girl in kindergarten who he thought was cute. So he came to me, asking for my help. And as the hopeless romantic tween I was, I suggested that he write a song for her.” She gestures to him to continue the story, and he’s still shaking his head with laughter.

“Long story short, I sang her the song at recess, and she started crying. Not out of happiness,” he admits, shoving his face into his hand.

“Oh my god, is this where your love for music came from?” I ask, my eyes wide, and he shakes his head again, chuckling. “I must hear this song immediately.”

I look over to Clara, who is smiling wide, but Miles’s expression is serious. I nudge him with my knee, and his face cracks like sunlight bursting through the blinds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful.

Felicity, will you be with me? Felicity, do you like cream cheese? Felicity, your eyes are so green and so pretty, he sings at the top of his lungs in the most operatic tone possible.

I start hysterically laughing, tears springing to my eyes. I’ve always known he was a bad singer, but Jesus he’s terrible. That poor girl who had to hear this at recess probably still has nightmares about it. He takes a deep breath as if he’s about to continue.

“No, please stop,” I scream, covering his mouth with my hand. An evil smile spreads across his face as he nips my hand with his teeth. I swear it feels like I’m dating an untrained puppy. I pull my hand away, shaking it out as I glare at him.

“I think he’s learned a few moves since then if he’s managed to get you to date him,” Clara comments, tipping her glass toward me. I look up at him, and he’s already looking at me. I hide the smile on my face by snuggling deeper into his side; the perfect day washes over me like wine. “Do you want to know what he said when he first told me about you?”

“I’m genuinely frightened to find out,” I say.

I feel his warm hand slowly move from his thigh to mine, just beneath my dress. He squeezes it gently before leaving his hand there. It’s comforting, and I’m just tipsy enough to let him do it.

“He mentioned you for the first time, and I had no idea who you were. Then he said that you weren’t just his girlfriend, but you were everything.”

I can feel my heart racing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Everything. Why does everything he pretends to say make my heart swell? I can feel the tears prickling at my eyes, but I blink them back and turn to him.

“You said that?” I ask.

“I did,” he murmurs. Again, it’s so simple and not up for debate that I don’t say anything because for the second time tonight, he’s practically rendered me speechless.