Falling: Chapter 41

“You’re lucky that I haven’t cracked your head open yet, Davis.” Jake shouts another threat to me from the showers while I finish getting ready in the locker room.

Some of the team shout a “Yeah” in agreement, and the howling begins. Again. We’ve just finished another qualifying game, which we almost lost. It was a close tie until the last few minutes of the third period, and we managed to pull through. We’re one step closer to the semi-finals next month.

On top of all this unnecessary shit from the team, I’ve got to go to my mom’s fiftieth birthday party later, which I’ve been dreading all week. Clara has been verbally bullying me for the last week, making sure that I attend. She told me to bring Wren, too, but she’s been busy with nationals, and I know that it would just stress her out rather than help her. We’ve hardly spoken over the last few weeks with us both being so busy with sports and college, and I don’t blame her. I know what she needs to do to get in the zone, and I don’t get in the way of that, so I’ve kept my distance. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to be dating another athlete with a season as competitive as mine and it’s been a hard adjustment not seeing her every day like before. We still text, but it feels like there’s still this disconnection between us like I’m not fully pulled in again.

“God, can everyone chill out? We didn’t lose. In fact, we did the opposite,” Tyler says with a sigh. They nod at me before dapping me up and walking past me.

“We almost lost because you acted like you were out of your fucking mind,” Jake spits out, walking around from the showers.

“But we didn’t, that’s the whole point. Give him a break,” Xavier retorts, drying himself off. Jake inches toward me, a nasty look on his face.

“I’m sick of giving poor Miles Davis a break. He needs to man up and get his head in the game,” Jake shouts, squaring up to me. I’m sick of his shit. I tower over him and glare. “What are you gonna do, Davis?”

“You know exactly what happened last time we did this, Callahan,” I say calmly. “Step the fuck back.”

He stares at me for a minute, resisting to back down. Most of the team are gathered around us, ready for a fight to break out. Luckily for him, he steps out of my face and turns back. We both know it would be a stupid idea to fight and get suspended.

“Listen, we’ve got one more game closer to the semis,” Coach begins, standing at the door of the locker room. “There’s no point trying to blame each other. All you need to do is work together on doing better. Understood?”

“Yes, Coach,” we all say in unison.

“Out what?”

“Out hustle, out work, out think, out play, out last,” we all chant back.

I survive the rest of the time in the changing room, and a few more sly comments are thrown my way on the bus back to campus. Each game day with the team has become another opportunity for them to berate me, and I’ve gotten used to it. It’s stupid when they complain because it doesn’t affect my performance. The on ly thing I can think about is Wren and if something has happened to upset her.

I’ve become an easy target after losing Carter. After he died, the whole team was disappointed in me, but with Wren’s help, I was able to turn that around. I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve stopped talking as much because we’re busy or if there’s something else I’m missing out on. I know she’d tell me if something was wrong.

She has to.

I pull out my phone and shoot her a text.

I know that her agreeing to take some time off and have lunch with me is a good thing, but the only thing I can focus on is that she didn’t say that she misses me too.

I try to be on my best behavior with my mom. It’s her birthday, so it would be shitty of me to cause a scene. I know that she’s been trying to foster a better relationship with me, but part of me thinks that it’s too late. I’ve spent so much time not trusting her. So much time keeping all my feelings and my grief bottled up within myself, that opening myself up feels like opening up a fresh wound .

My parents’ main priority my whole life was making sure that I was happy. No matter how many arguments we had or times me and Clara fell out, they were always there for us, which is why it makes what my mom did even worse.

They busted their asses for me and Clara to pursue what we wanted to do. Whatever I was doing, they just wanted to make sure that I wanted to do it and not for any other reason. Part of the reason I started to play hockey was because I enjoyed it, but I also wanted to do it because it’s what made Carter and I grow closer.

Our families supported us from junior league right until college. Carter’s brother Ethan was a dick to the two of us growing up, and I think he was just jealous of the attention Carter was getting. He was a smart kid, and not only was he smart, but he was talented and good at everything he did. Their parents always brushed it off as sibling rivalry, but I know Carter always wished he had a better relationship with Ethan deep down.

As much as I’m grateful for my parents, I can’t stand birthdays in the Davis family. Every year, no matter whose birthday it is, we have to have some sort of celebration. For as long as I can remember, birthdays have always been a sacred tradition within our family.

There’s something about bad music and shitty birthday cake that turns my family upside down. We have stupid rituals like the cake flip, where the birthday person has to flip their cake and catch it the right way around. When the party has died down and it goes from neighbors to close family, we each have to say one thing that we love about the birthday person.

As a kid, that was always my favorite part. Maybe it was an ego thing, but it was the part I remembered the most when I went to sleep that night. Every year before I moved out, my mom would tuck me in and ask what the best part of the day was. It was th ose little things that made me appreciate my family even more.

When I get to my parents’ house, as expected, the lawn is littered with neighbors, distant families, half-naked kids running up and down, and babies passed out in strollers. One of my older cousins is working the barbecue, powering through even though it’s not quite spring yet.

Kids run and scream on the front lawn, chasing each other with sticks. Old R&B songs blast from speakers through the windows as I walk through the lawn, stupidly carrying a bouquet of flowers and a card.

The first person to spot me is my mom’s sister Whitney. She’s a few years younger than my mom, but she has almost a hundred kids and hasn’t aged a day since I was born. She’s a short, tanned woman with a sleeve of tattoos on her right arm, making her by far my coolest relative.

“Ay, Miles, you’re almost as tall as the doorframe,” she exclaims, squeezing me into a suffocating hug around my middle.

“It’s good to see you too, Auntie,” I say when I’m free. She squeezes my cheek with her thumb and forefinger, turning my face at ridiculous angles. “Do you know where my parents are?”

“Yes, they’re through there,” she sighs, pointing down toward the living room. “They’re speaking to an older couple. It looks kind of private.”

“An older couple?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ve seen them around here a few times. They are all speaking Spanish, if that rings a bell,” she explains before rushing past me to save one of her boys from burning themselves on the barbecue.

I don’t have to ask anything else because I know who they are.

Carter’s parents are here.

Before I was born, my parents became close friends with Elena and Mateo Reyes since they lived next door and Ethan is around the same age as Clara. Growing up around them, they taught me and my family how to speak Spanish, and it’s become useful in so much of my everyday life. Even though they’re both fluent in English, Carter’s parents wouldn’t let me into their house unless I greeted them in Spanish.

I’ve hardly seen them since Carter died. I saw them regularly the first couple of weeks, but it got harder for all of us for me to always be in their house. I was best friends with their son; I can only imagine how hard it must have been to look at me and miss the child you had. I tried to keep in contact with them as much as I could, but we lost touch a few weeks after the funeral.

I walk into the kitchen to keep my distance while they talk. I know my parents have been checking up on them regularly, but I have no idea why they’d choose today to have a private conversation.

I scan the fridge to find something to eat, but it’s filled with uncooked seasoned chicken and cold mac and cheese stocked in containers. I look through the cupboards and grab a packet of Cheetos to snack on while I wait. I could go out and greet my thousands of cousins, but they’re too chaotic for me right now. I already checked that Bryan, my favorite cousin, who’s my age, couldn’t make it from LA today, so there’s no point talking to all the little kids.

“Miles?” I turn around to see Mrs. Reyes, and my heart drops.

I try to swallow my chip as she looks at me, scanning my black jeans and hoodie. She inches closer toward me, her hands shaking a little as they come to rest on my arms.

Es bueno verte, Tía, I say, my Spanish sounding so strange on my tongue.

Tú también. “Ay, you’ve got so big.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “How are you, amor?”

“I’m doing okay.

”

“Good. That’s good,” she replies, her eyes drifting away from me. “Are you still playing hockey?”

“Si. We’re hoping to win the championship,” I say softly.

“That’s good,” she says again. “That’s good.” I wiggle out of her grip a little to place my hands on her arms, trying to steady her.

“¿Estás bien, tía?” I ask softly. She nods slowly and opens and closes her mouth. As she takes a sharp inhale, Mr. Reyes comes around the corner. He notices what’s happening and shakes his head gently. “It’s good to see you, tío.”

“You too, Miles,” he says, walking toward us. He puts an arm around Elena and mumbles something in Spanish to her. Her eyes don’t move as if she hasn’t even registered whatever he just whispered. “We better get going. It’s getting late.”

Mr. Reyes nods at me, and they walk out of the kitchen, leaving me confused. The sun is still up, but I don’t say anything to stop them. I haven’t known how to act around them since Carter died, and I don’t know when it’s going to get better for them.

My parents walk around the corner into the kitchen, and when they see me, they act as if I’ve not seen them in years. I haven’t been around here since Christmas Eve, but we’ve spoken on the phone. Although the conversations were short, the communication has been better than it was a few months ago. They both embrace me in a hug at the same time, my dad practically crushing me.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” I say, reaching over to pick up the flowers I got her. She looks down at them and then at me with a grateful smile.

“Aw, thank you, Miles,” she replies. My dad winks at me from behind her before sauntering off to contain the raging party behind us.

“It’s no problem. Are you having a good day so far?” I ask, shifting from one foot t o the other.

“Oh, it’s been wonderful. I wasn’t expecting this many people to show up,” she says with a huff. “It’s a lot better now that you’re here. I’m really glad you came.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say. Clattering sounds behind us, and my mom’s head shoots back on instinct. She rolls her eyes, knowing she’s going to have to see what that was. “Do you want me to go take care of that?”

“No. No,” she says, shaking her head and gesturing to the seat by the kitchen island, “Sit. I want to catch up. How are you? How have you been holding up?”

I don’t know why her kindness shocks me. I guess a stupid part of me thought we’d skip over this part and pretend that we’ve been speaking regularly for months. I take a seat, dragging a paper plate toward me so I have something to do with my hands.

“I’ve been okay. Keeping busy with school and hockey,” I say, and she smiles. “I’m sorry for not checking in as much.”

“Don’t be,” she replies, pressing her hand over mine. “The phone works two ways. I should have checked in on you more, but I just…” She heaves out a heavy sigh, and I blink at her. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me, and I didn’t want to push you into speaking with me.”

My heart stutters at her words. “I always want to hear from you, Mom. I’ve been really stuck in my head these last few months, but I don’t want that to dictate our relationship anymore. I acted like an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, my love,” she whispers, “for everything.”

I swallow, and my eyes meet hers. “I know.”

She wipes the corner of her eye and laughs quietly. “Come on. I don’t want to cry on my birthday. Let’s get you some food.”

I know it’s going to take a while for us to get back to how we were, but this feels like a step in the right direction.

It’s not until after one in the morning when the party is finally over. The only people left to clean up are me, my parents, and Clara.

Even though I was dreading it, the party didn’t turn out to be that bad. I got to see tons of my family that came from up and down the globe for my mom’s birthday. She was constantly showered with compliments and given hundreds of presents, which were mostly wine and flowers. The cake flip went well after years of practice, and the speeches made my mom cry.

We all said something nice about her too—even me. I cheated a little and just said that I’m grateful to have her as a mom. Because I am. As much as what she did is still going to take time to heal, I’m ready to give myself that time and the space for healing.

Clara has taken the backyard to clean up, and dad’s taken the front. I don’t know what mom has done, but the living room is spotless again. She’s a magician, I swear. I’ve been trying to clean up the hallways, picking up paper plates and SOLO cups until I walk down the left corridor where the bedrooms are.

The door to my parents’ room is cracked open a few inches, and when I walk closer, I spot my mom in there. She’s sitting on the bed, still wearing her birthday sash and crown as she looks through photos spread out on the bed. I try to look without being seen, ready to walk past this private moment.

“Can you believe you were this small?” she says quietly, not looking up from the photo in her hand. “I can tell you’re there, Miles.”

I walk into the bedroom cautiously. I sit down on the king-sized bed, and I’m instantly reminded of waking up here on Christmas morning.

The bedroom is filled with large boxes as if they’ve just moved in. It’s really just a lot of childhood memories like our baby clothes, birthday cards, and some of our old toys. They’re both too afraid to keep them in the basement, and they said it makes them feel closer to us when we’re away from home. Some people would think it’s cluttered, but I think the sentiment is sweet.

I take up one of the photos, and it’s of me and my dad, riding my first bike down our neighborhood street. The memories look brighter and even better than I remembered them.

“I remember this day,” I murmur, holding up a picture of the first hockey game I went to. I’m in a jersey five sizes too big for me, sitting on my mom’s knee with a hockey cap on her head.

“I do too. You couldn’t keep still, but every time I tried to pass you to your dad, you didn’t want to go to him. You were such a momma’s boy,” she says ruefully.

“Yeah.”

A wave of comfortable silence settles over us as we look through the pictures. The memories seem so close yet so far away from where I am now. I’m turning twenty in a few months, and a huge part of me still feels like a kid. A huge part of me still acts like a kid.

“I’m sorry, Miles,” my mom murmurs, snapping me out of my trance. She’s still looking down at the pictures, running her finger across one of them. “I ruined this bond between us last year. It would be unfair of me to keep ignoring what has happened between us.”

“I didn’t make it easy for you either. I just… I thought you guys loved each other,” I whisper. She looks up at me, and I can see the tears lining her eyes. It’s hard thinking you know someone your whole life, then realize some of it was a lie.

“I do love your dad, and I love you and Clara more than anything. I made a mistake, but your dad and I found each other again. The most important thing is that we’re happy now.”

“Are you though? Happy, I mean.”

“More than anything. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right, my love,” she says, squeezing my face betwee n her hands. “I thought Wren was coming with you. Could she not make it?”

I shrug, trying to play off the hurt that I feel because she isn’t here. “She’s deep in competitions. We’ve both been busy with school, and I didn’t want to push her.”

Mom hums, rubbing my knee. “You’re a good boyfriend, Miles.”

“Am I? I feel like I’m not doing enough. Every time I think we’ve reached a new point in our relationship, something else happens and I feel like she’s pushing me away,” I get out. I’m sure my mom doesn’t want to hear about my internal drama right now, but I have no one else to talk to about it. “She’s not used to people looking after her, Mom, and it breaks my heart. Every time I try to be there for her, she freaks out and runs away.”

My mom’s eyes soften. “And you’re there for her when she needs you?”

“Always.”

She hums. “I know that feeling—being too scared to let good things happen to you. I was the same with your dad, but I came around. As long as you’re showing up for her, making sure she knows that you’re in her corner, that’s all that matters. Sometimes it’s all you can do,” Mom says, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve seen the way that girl looks at you. She looks at you like you hung the moon.”

My heart swells at the idea. That’s exactly how I look at her. Wren Hackerly is everything to me: the light in the darkness, the warmth in the cold. But lately, it feels like that light is dimming, like I’m losing her bit by bit, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“Why were you talking to Carter’s parents?” ask, changing the subject.

There’s a softness in my mom’s eyes, a hint of sorrow that cuts through the mask of composure she wears so often. “They wanted to ask for your approval on a memorial the co llege is considering for Carter,” she explains, her voice laced with a quiet sadness that echoes the ache in my own heart.

The name alone is enough to send a pang of grief coursing through me, a sharp reminder of his absence has left in my life. But what stings even more is the realization that his parents sought solace elsewhere, turning to my mother instead of reaching out to me directly.

“Why didn’t they mention it to me?” I ask.

My mom’s gaze meets mine, her eyes brimming with unspoken emotions that threaten to spill over at any moment. “They see so much of Carter in you, Miles,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with emotion. “It’s hard for them to separate the two, especially after everything that happened.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of the loss we all still carry with us, a burden we can never truly set down. And as the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place, a wave of guilt washes over me, the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken words holding me down.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper for what feels like the hundredth time. “I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

Mom’s hand finds mine, her touch gentle yet reassuring as she squeezes it gently. “You don’t have to apologize, my love,” she murmurs, her voice filled with unconditional love and understanding. “We all have our own ways of coping with grief. But remember, you’re not alone. I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” I say, swallowing before meeting her eyes again. “I think they should do it. The memorial. I know they’re hurting, but it would be a good official reminder of him on campus.”

My mom smiles. “That’s exactly what I told them.”

Having us both agree on something like this makes the future of our relationship seem way less daunting. It’s like we’ve finally set down some stepping stones for our future and we’re going in the right direction.

It’s good to be home.