12. Fallon
Chapter twelve
Fallon
Standing next to my mailbox, I rifle through the stack of envelopes. Two are addressed to Mrs. Montgomery, and one to Mary Tucker. She’s house number 108, so I open her mailbox, two away from mine, and return hers. I’ll set Mrs. Montgomery’s aside to drop off later.
I look to the left, then right, then left again, and I’m just about to cross the gravel road back to my house when I see him. Neon green shorts and a cut-off neon blue tank aren’t hard to miss. I wait at the cluster of mailboxes at the end of the lane across the street from my house. Tucking the envelopes under my arm, I wave, but he doesn’t see me. He’s too busy staring at my house.
“Jeb,” I yell, and still nothing. By the look of the bright yellow noise-canceling headphones he has on, they’re probably to blame. My dad uses the same headphones when he cuts the grass. I’m not so sure they’re safe to run with.
A car comes down the hill at the same time Jeb jogs past on the other side of the street, blocking my view of him.
Inside, I plop the stack of mail down on the kitchen table. It’s been almost a month since I moved in here, and I’m still not certain my mail is being forwarded properly. I’ll get ten pieces of mail one day, then nothing the next. Today, I had seven envelopes, but three of them were meant for someone else. Just another thing that I have to make sure goes smoothly with a move. I had to change my address on literally everything.
And I’m still receiving mail for Rhett, so that’s fun. I never know when a random REI sales flyer sent to my late fiancé will cause me to eat a tub of ice cream and cry all night. Last week, I punished myself by looking at the flyer and picking out things Rhett would have wanted to buy. It’s a fucking vicious-ass cycle. I want to remember him and think about him, but my God, I need something else to focus on. Something… happy.
I think I need a hobby that gets me out of the house. But with who? Shay lives an hour away, and I can only tolerate Corbin for so long. Brotherly love or some shit like that.
Another facet of that vicious cycle: loneliness. Not having a built-in partner to do things with.
I don’t want to always rely on my family to keep me company. I don’t want to feel like I have to be occupied or watched. I’m pretty sure my family, Rhett’s family, and Shay have a group chat without me, discussing who checks on me. I’ve been keeping track of it on my calendar. Wednesdays, my mom calls me; Thursday, Cara calls; Friday, it’s Shay. Rhett’s mom and dad call on Saturdays, and Corbin texts on Monday, and then my dad on Tuesdays. Sunday, no one calls, but I normally have dinner with my family.
I’m happy to talk to them, but now that I’ve figured out the system, I feel like a burden. And sometimes I don’t feel like talking!
My mom and Shay always have something to say, but with everyone else, it’s just stilted small talk. Cara tiptoes around her pregnancy; she knows it’s hard for me. A different time, not so long ago, I dreamed my eventual child would be cousins with hers—now, that’s never going to happen. It’s just a reminder of what’s not to come for me.
My dad talks about work. I worked with him for one summer, and yes, I know the people he works with, but no, I don’t care that Jo’s dog ate a whole loaf of raisin bread and had to have her stomach pumped.
Rhett's parents, Mr. Sal and Mrs. Dreya, always make me laugh on the phone. We get to talking about Rhett and his antics all too often. He’s our one common thread. They were absolutely wonderful to me when Rhett was alive and the same once he died. I can’t ask for better (almost) in-laws. I just don’t feel like talking to them in a weekly rotation. Call if you need something, sure, but not because it’s your allocated day of the week to monitor my mental health.
It’s Friday evening, so Shay will fill my screen whenever she decides to contour her face and model her potential going-out outfits. The Fallon Family and Friends Group should have thought the schedule out a little bit better. As much as I love Shay, I absolutely dread her Friday night call.
It’s the same thing every week. A Friday night get-ready-with-me where Shay applies four layers of makeup, followed by body glitter, then curls her hair with a beach waver and molds her tits into a push-up bra. At the same time, I sit in my sweats with a messy bun, fingering through a bag of chocolates while forwarding through the slow parts of The Next Great British Baker .
Every time she calls, Shay gabs on and on about her hopeful drunken escapades. She always has weekend goals. Most involve hooking up with a random guy from the bar or some guy she’s crushing on. Jealousy isn’t the word per se… I’m not jealous of a life like that. Oh, hell no . I want to stay as far away from the dating phase or the fuck-boy phase as possible.
Personally, I dread the what’s your favorite color? or how many siblings do you have? conversations.
I know I’ll have to do it one day. I just don’t want to think about that right now. Once you find yourself engaged, settling down, planning a wedding, buying a house, and living together… you don’t want to go back to the is-he-talking-to-other-girls stage of life ever again. Or, like Shay a few weeks ago, the do-I-have-an-STI-nope-just-a-UTI stage.
Instead of turning on the TV and starting my evening early, I sit on the front stoop, casually waiting to see if Jeb jogs by again. I’ve been meaning to get his phone number, anyway. He’s the only person I know in this part of town, and I could have used him the other day when my weed-eater wouldn’t start. Nothing was wrong with it. I just wasn’t pulling hard enough, according to my dad, who came by to look at it three days after asking him for help.
Scrolling social media from my ghost accounts and checking my emails, I casually scan the roadway every couple of seconds. If I watched myself on my security camera, I’d look like a complete and utter fool looking for Jeb.
Almost twenty minutes later, about ready to retreat to my couch, Jeb comes into view on my right. He’s still jogging, which blows my mind because the first time we met, he looked practically dead. Today, he looks like he has… stamina.
Jeb spots me right away this time, never taking his eyes off my house. I wave, and he waves back. He slows to a walk, then starts up my driveway. I let my eyes rake his body while he taps his phone and slides his headphones down to hang around his neck. The beads of sweat on his body glisten, reflecting the pinks and oranges of the slowly setting sun.
The Jeb in front of me looks alive. He looks… handsome.
He slips his phone in the pocket of his shorts, causing them to tug toward the ground a little. My eyes follow the movement, not wanting to take my eyes off the thick black and white Under Armour waistband of his briefs visible above his pants.
“Hey,” he huffs, and my eyes quickly jump to his face.
“Hey, I waved to you when you ran past earlier.”
“You did?” He looks surprised. “I looked for you, but I didn’t see you.”
I get a feeling that I don’t know how to properly articulate. It’s like a little jolt of pep tingles my skin when he tells me that he was looking for me. I knew he was looking toward my house. I saw that. I didn’t know it was me specifically he was looking for.
“Oh, I was at the mailboxes across the street, kind of hidden by the azalea bush.” I point across to the row of mailboxes.
“You should have yelled my name,” he says, reaching to adjust the headphones resting on his neck.
“I did.” I smile. “You aren’t hearing anything through those enormous things.” I point to his neck.
“My mom told me it’s dangerous to run with these things. I agree with her, but I’m also a grown man, so I decided to wear them anyway.”
“A grown man who lives in her basement.” I bump his arm with my elbow.
“Fallon.” He gives me a look. One that means you know what I went through and why I live with my parents.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Shay, I’m sure. I ignore her call, pushing the button to stop the vibrating through the side pocket of my leggings.
“How far did you run?” I ask.
“I did about three miles, but only jogged for five minutes at a clip, then I’d walk for three and repeat it.”
“Are you a runner, or are you trying something new?”
“I used to run but haven’t in a long time, obviously. So I’m going to ease my way back in.”
“Let me know if you want someone to run with you the next time you go. I used to run on the treadmill at the other house, but there’s no room in this one for it. It makes me nervous to run alone, even down by the river. Corbin has my treadmill, but I don’t feel like going over there to jog.”
“I’m aiming for three times a week. I’ve been trying to do hard things,” he says, nervously adjusting his shorts. “I can do mornings or evenings, so whatever works best, just let me know.”
The side of my leg vibrates again, so I pull my phone out. It’s Shay, like I thought. I should have known she wouldn’t let up, probably worried since I don’t typically have any plans. Ever.
“It’s my friend Shay. Let me answer her really quickly before she dials 911 for a welfare check.” I hold my phone up, and he nods, turning slightly to look toward the road.
“Hey, Shay,” I say.
“I just tried calling, and it went to your voicemail. I don’t know what happened. Okay, hold on, let me switch over to video chat.” She skips all pleasantries and goes straight for the point.
“Shay, let me call you back. I’m in the middle of something right now,” I tell her.
“This will just take one minute. Tell me which earrings you like best.” The video call request comes through.
I put the phone against my thigh and whisper to Jeb, “I’m sure you heard that, but she needs me to decide which earrings she should wear. She thinks I have no life, so let me just appease her. Are you in a rush, or are you all right to wait a minute?”
“I’ll wait,” he says, still catching his breath.
“Come around back where it’s shaded, and I’ll get you some water,” I say as I walk away, leaving no room for him to decline the invitation.
“I’m here,” I tell Shay, accepting her video chat invitation as I walk into the house, leaving Jeb on the deck.
“I swear, something must be up with your phone. I’ve been waiting for, like, a minute.”
“Huh,” I respond, and she doesn’t give me a second to say anything else.
“So I’m going out with Paloma and Lo tonight. We’re going to a new club. It’s like a jazz band kind of place. I think it has one of those big pianos. Oh, maybe it’s a piano bar. Well, whatever. I’m wearing a sequined gold top and black faux-leather pants.” I listen to her describe her typical clubbing wardrobe while I grab a cup and fill it with water and ice.
I hold the phone near my face and watch Shay fumble through her jewelry drawer while I return to the back deck. Jeb’s sitting on the sectional, his gaze focused on a johnboat motoring down the river.
“Here,” I whisper, so softly I barely hear myself, and stretch my arm out with the glass of water.
Thanks , he mouths.
“Here, what?” Shay says, her eyes back on the screen.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I sit on the sectional, crossing my legs underneath me, and Jeb smiles at me. He knows I don’t want to tell Shay he’s here, chilling on my deck.
“So, would the blue or the teal look best?”
I wasn’t listening to a damn thing she said about the earrings, but if she’s wearing a gold top and black pants, what’s the difference between blue and teal earrings? “Teal,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Thanks, girl. You’re right. Teal looks so good.”
The wind catches the screen door of the deck, banging it a few times. I hop up and make sure Jeb is hidden from view on the screen while I shut it all the way. Not that I’m hiding him, but I don’t want all of the questions from Shay while he’s sitting here.
“All right, have fun tonight,” I say, sitting in the chair catty-corner to Jeb.
“What are you doing that you want me off the phone so much? You keep looking over that way.” She points to the side of the screen.
“I’m looking at the bushes by the garage. I thought I saw a kitten earlier,” I lie, and Jeb smirks.
“Go find that cat!” she shrieks. “I’m sure your cats would love to have another sibling, Fal. Anyway, I can’t wait to see the new place soon. How’s the unpacking going?”
“Going slow, but it’s going. Have fun tonight, and I’ll let you know if I catch the cat.”
“Good luck! See ya!” Shay ends the call.
“Sorry about that.” I turn my attention to Jeb. “I feel bad for lying, but that was the only excuse I knew she’d buy.”
“I don’t mind waiting. I have no other plans, and the cat distribution system is real, so I’m sure she bought it.”
“You’re right! She knows I don’t go out, so I couldn’t give any other excuse. We’ve probably been living a parallel life for the past six months. Do people call you and check on you daily? I’ve figured out the rotation. Someone calls me almost every day, and truth be told, I’m getting sick of it. That was Shay’s weekly call.”
“No one calls me daily, but I get a lot of texts. And, of course, I live with my parents, so they ask me to help them with random tasks I know they can do themselves. I’m getting sick of that, too. Not that I don’t want to help my parents, but I don’t need to replace the A/C filter when my dad works as an HVAC tech.”
“Exactly. Initially, it was nice to hear from everyone, but the nightly phone calls are going to make me insane. And no one has anything good to talk about.”
“I get that. It sucks to be lonely, but it also sucks to feel like a burden. Well, you saw me on Easter—that’s how I had been since. On the verge of being sick to my stomach constantly.”
“I know that feeling.” I look over at him while he looks up from his drink. Again, a little twinge of happiness hits me when our eyes meet. He knows everything I’ve been going through, and he looks at me with respect. Not pity.
“I went to the firehouse for the first time since the accident. Saw my old coworkers,” he divulges.
“Good for you, Jeb. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“I brought cupcakes. The guys want me to come back to hang out with them, but I haven’t yet. I told a joke when I was there, and then I laughed, and everyone treated me like the guy I was before. It felt good until I thought about…” He stops his sentence, but I know exactly what he’s about to say.
“Rhett.”
“Yeah, Fallon. Until I thought about how Rhett can’t joke or laugh anymore. It sucks. I suck.”
“You don’t suck. It sucks, but you don’t suck. And Rhett doesn’t blame you for anything. I know he doesn’t. That’s not the kind of guy he was. If anything, he’d be sad for me… how I’ve been so lonely and sad for the past half a year. Maybe he sent you to give me company. Who knows.”
“It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who knows what it’s like.”
“Yeah, it is. Do you need any more water?”
“No, and I better get going before my mom sends a search party out.” His smile has the little wrinkles next to his eyes creasing.
“Can you give me your number before you go?” I ask. “Just in case I need anything? You’re the only one I know who lives out this way.”
“Of course, hand me your phone,” he says. I unlock my phone and hand it to him, and when he’s done adding a new contact, he hands the phone back.
Jeb Baker .
I laugh at the fact that he wrote his last name like I have other Jebs texting me.
I text him so he has my number.
Fallon Charlotte McCann
“There. My full name in case you know any other Fallons.” I giggle inwardly.
“I don’t know any other Fallons, so I think we’re safe.” He stares at the text on his phone. “I like the name Charlotte, though. It’s very pretty.”
“I don’t know any other Jebs either. What’s your whole name?”
“Jeb is my nickname. My name is Julien Earhart Baker. When I was a baby, my parents started calling me Jeb.”
“Oh really? I thought it was Jebidiah or something.”
“That’s what they call me at the firehouse, just to be funny.”
“I wish my work gave random funny nicknames. Graphic designers are creative but not necessarily funny.”
“Is that what you do?” he asks, still sitting on the sectional.
“Yeah, we do design work for anything from Jubilee County Public Library to LED lightbulb packaging. It’s nice because I go to the office a couple of days a week, but if I have to work from home, I can. I only really go into the office so I’m not so lonely.”
“That sounds like a fun job. And flexible, too. I’ve been working from home a lot, and I probably shouldn’t. It’s too easy to be a hermit and avoid the world. I needed it at first, especially after spending so much time in the hospital and then recovering, but now I’m just using it as a crutch.”
“That’s probably so. Maybe you should plan on working more hours at the office.”
“There’s not really an office, but I could take my laptop to the shop or the supply house. Even the library. The library freaks me out, though.”
“The library freaks you out?” I adjust my body to get more comfortable on the sectional.
“Yeah, people stare at me. I can’t tell if they feel bad for me or hate me.”
“Fuck the haters, Jeb. If I like you, then everyone else can like you too.”
“You don’t like me, Fallon. You tolerate me. They tolerate me, too, but they whisper behind my back, and I don’t blame them.”
“I was just thinking about asking you to come back tomorrow for a couple of beers. I have a few Adirondack chairs that need to be put together, and the instruction manual is as thick as the dictionary. I think I more than tolerate you. Can we be friends, Jeb?”
“Yes. That sounds like a plan.” He stands up. “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you about tomorrow.”
“Two jokes in one week?” I deadpan, then raise an eyebrow, holding in my smirk.
Jeb opens the screen door, stepping down to the driveway. “Make sure you lock this behind me,” he says before walking toward the road.
I pause a second, staring at the river, then lock the latch with a little smile on my face.