24. Fallon
Chapter twenty-four
Fallon
A knock on my back door startles me, and I almost swipe a thick line of black paint across my painting. Today, my spare bedroom is my workshop. I have two ring lights set up, so I can actually see what the hell I’m doing. I’m trying to paint a picture of baby Luca as a gift for John and Cara. It’s giving me hell, and I might never actually gift it to her, but at least I can try.
I grab my phone to check the back security camera before I walk down the hall, although I’m pretty sure someone who’s not supposed to be here would knock on the front door or try to break in without knocking.
Finally, the camera loads. It’s my mom. My excitement level drops when I realize it’s not Jeb.
“Hey, Mom.” I open the door, and she walks right in. It’s her first time seeing the house totally decorated.
“This looks great, Fally. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back over here. Not that this is far.” She looks around. “You always have a knack for colorful decorations.”
“All it took was an expensive trip to Etsy,” I deadpan.
“Well, it paid off.”
“Were you in my neck of the woods, or did you mean to drop in without warning?” I ask in a sarcastic way that doesn’t make me sound like a bitch.
“I thought you’d say no, so I just came over. I brought half a breakfast casserole that I left on the table on the deck. You know how your dad loves breakfast for dinner.”
She’s absolutely correct. I would have come up with some type of excuse for her not to come. Not that I don’t want to see her, it’s just that I don’t want pity company. I don’t want her to judge how I handle my life’s situation. Whether I’m handling my grief faster or slower than she thinks is acceptable.
My mom is great, no doubt, but she has strong opinions on what I should be doing with my life. She wanted me to stay in the other house a bit longer. She also told Shay she hopes I find a husband before I’m too old for children. Like… it’s one or the other, Mom. She wants me to stay in the house I shared with Rhett and bring a new husband to live there? And does she think I’m just skipping over the dating phase? No thanks.
“Well, make yourself at home. Need anything to drink?”
“What do you have?”
I open the refrigerator. “Water, apple juice, caffeine-free Coke, Yuengling, and High Noon.”
“I’ll just have water,” she says after all that.
“Okay.” I pour two glasses of water.
“I didn’t know you drank Yuengling,” she says, in a questioning kind of way.
“I don’t typically drink it, but I don’t hate it either.” I tell a watered-down version of the truth but don’t let her in on the real reason why I have it in my fridge.
“Show me the rest of the house,” she says. I could’ve sworn she walked through the whole place when she was here right after the move, but maybe not.
“Right, well, you’re in the family room and you already walked through the kitchen. Here’s the hall bathroom.” I continue to walk through the house. “My bedroom is right here.”
I open the door, and she waltzes in. The bed isn’t made, and clothes are strewn over the floor. I’m afraid she’ll tell my dad that I’m not mentally stable enough to stay by myself based on the way her face scrunches and her nose turns up when she enters my room. My makeup is scattered on the dresser, and there’s a pile of boxes in the corner. It’s a mess.
And I don’t have a headboard yet, so the bedroom looks like I’m a teenager who just got their first apartment.
“No headboard?” she says, like she read my mind. I ignore her question, telling her there’s a master bath through a doorway in my bedroom before shuffling her to the spare bedroom and the only other room in the house—the one I’m currently painting in.
I don’t have time to hide the two paintings, although I wish I did.
“Fally Bo Bally. Did you paint these?” Her face lights up.
“Yes, well, this one is almost complete.” I point to the river painting. “And this one is only about halfway done. Maybe a little more than halfway.”
“Is this your backyard?” She stares at the painting.
“Yes. I set my easel up under the oak tree to paint the view.”
I wait for her to ask about Jeb in the painting.
“Rhett’s mom would love to see this,” she says, and for a couple of seconds, I wonder why the hell she would think that.
Oh God. She thinks I painted Rhett.
Rhett and Jeb are… somewhat similar, I guess. From behind, with a hat on like in the painting. But, no. I didn’t paint my dead fiancé on the dock of my new home. Now she’s really going to think I’m crazy. Or stuck. Hopefully, she’ll think it’s my way of healing. I definitely don’t tell her it’s not Rhett.
“Maybe one day,” I lie.
As soon as we start toward the kitchen, there’s another knock at the back door.
This time, I don’t lurch with excitement. Instead, my heart drops. I hope to God the knock belongs to my dad or Corbin. But it’s Wednesday. Corbin does trivia, and my dad has a Lions Club meeting. Unless they skipped, they’re not here.
I have a feeling I know who it is, and I send a quick small prayer up to the heavens that he will give up quickly and walk away. I don’t want him meeting my mom—not like this. Not before she knows about him.
“Is Dad here?” I ask quickly.
“Not that I know of, but maybe he wants some casserole before his meeting. I told him I put half of it in the fridge, but you know how well he listens sometimes.”
My mom makes it to the back door before I do, and when she opens it, she comes face-to-face with Jeb, holding a grocery bag.
“Can we help you?” my mom says, blocking my view of the doorway. I try to peer around her, but she’s not budging.
“Umm, is Fallon home?” he asks sheepishly.
Suddenly, I’m sixteen again. Nervous for my family to meet a boy from school. Wishing the awkwardness would fly away and never come back.
“Fal, do you know this guy?” My mom scowls, then changes her tone. “Oh, is this one of those DoorDash things?
“Mom, move so he can come in, please.” She steps to the side, eyes flittering between me and Jeb and the bag in his hand.
“Mom, this is Jeb Baker. Jeb, this is my mom.”
He sets the bag onto the counter, then extends a hand toward my mom. “Nice to meet you,” he says.
“Jeb? The Jeb?” They are the same words Corbin had said but in a completely different tone. Her eyes shoot daggers into mine while she ignores Jeb’s outstretched hand.
He reads the room and lowers his hand.
“Yes, the Jeb. We’re friends,” I tell her.
“Come in, Jeb. Want a Yuengling?” I know he won’t turn a beer down under this circumstance.
“Yes, please.”
“Oh, that’s why you have Yuenglings in your refrigerator. For your friend Jeb,” she says warily.
“Mom. Don’t make this into a big deal. Jeb has been here for me for the past, what…?” I look toward Jeb. “Almost two months? He helped Corbin and I move my things into this house, then welcomed me to the neighborhood with a hydrangea bush. He lives down the street.” I decide to leave the fundraiser out.
“Have you guys gone fishing?” she questions him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jeb responds.
“So he’s who you painted? It wasn’t Rhett, Fallon? It was the guy who killed him?” She slams her palm on the counter.
Jeb winces and I wish to never see him wince like that again. She has no idea what Jeb’s been through. Just like that, his shoulders sag, his head droops, and his irises lose their vibrancy.
“Mom,” I warn.
“I’m gonna go so you can sort this out without me here,” Jeb whispers. “Call me later?”
“I’ll walk you out.” I turn my back on my mother, leaving her inside and slamming the door behind me. “I can’t believe she said that. What the fuck.”
“It’s okay; I get it. It’s a shock for her.”
“It’s not, Jeb. She and I are going to have a chat, and I agree it’s probably best if you go. You shouldn’t have to deal with her. And if you get home and hear me yelling from there, just ignore it.”
“Sorry, Fallon.” His eyes are soft and understanding. “She'll come around.”
“I know, but being nice doesn’t take much effort.”
“Give her some grace. She’s been through a lot too.” Jeb always calms me. “And if she leaves early, I’ll come back. I have something to tell you!”
“Now I’m excited. She watches The Amazing Race religiously at eight, so she’ll head home before then. Want to come back around eight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back. Oh, some things need to be put in the freezer, so open the bags when you get inside.” He heads down the driveway, but I don't see his truck. I guess he walked here today.
“See ya later,” I yell after him.
I turn and head in, ignoring my mom to go through the grocery bags first so nothing melts. She watches from the family room as I pull out a box of ice cream sandwiches, two cans of ravioli, a bag of mandarin oranges, a box of popcorn, a block of mozzarella cheese, and sea salt crackers. The other bag—a different colored one—has a half-eaten cake that says rats . Jeb’s grocery hauls are so random, but I love it.
“Are you going to tell me why Jeb Baker is here on a Wednesday night?”
“I’m not sure I feel like explaining anything since you practically shoved him out the door and called him Rhett’s killer.”
“What? He did kill Rhett.” She raises her eyebrows, feigning innocence, and it really fires me up.
“Don’t you think he knows that, Mom? The first time we met, he threw up in the front flower bed at the old house and cried hysterically. He lives in his parents’ basement and can’t work as a paramedic anymore. This affects him just like it affects me. We found a friendship with each other. He helps me with things. We talk. We offer company so it’s not so lonely. That’s it.”
“You painted him, Fallon! There must be more.”
“He came over to go fishing. I painted while he fished. It was a great afternoon shared between two friends!” I shout. “Would you be upset like this if I painted Shay?”
“Fal, you know that’s not—”
“Look, Mom. No offense, but it’s hard for everyone to know how to help without wanting me to get over it. Jeb knows what it’s like, and he’s my friend. That’s it.”
“I really feel like there might be an alternate motive for him being here. Does he think you’re going to sue him or something?”
“Stop. He doesn’t think I’m going to sue him. Jesus .”
“Fine, let’s eat before the casserole gets cold, and we can talk it through.”
I had completely forgotten about the casserole. I don’t care if it’s cold. I want her to go home so Jeb can come back. It’s silly to feel that way, but it’s true. She thinks she has my best interest at heart, but she’s so out of touch. It’s crazy.
“I have to clean my paintbrushes. Then I promised Shay I’d call her, so I’m not going to have any casserole.”
“Fallon, if this is about Jeb, then—”
I cut her off. “I’m just not in the mood right now. If this is your way of making sure I’m being safe, you sure have a shitty way of doing things. Jeb and I aren’t friends because he wants to get with me or because he wants to befriend me so I don’t sue him. Can’t you just be glad I have a friend who knows what I’m going through?” I shake my head. “It’s really not a big deal, my gosh!”
My voice carries and echoes around the small room. The adrenaline wears off a few minutes after she leaves, taking the casserole and slamming the door behind her. I grab the ice cream from the freezer, deciding to ditch a formal dinner. Maybe I’ll take a bath before Jeb comes back at eight. Or read a few chapters of a book on the deck. Anything but think of Jeb’s face when my mom called him the guy who killed Rhett.