29. Jeb
Chapter twenty-nine
Jeb
“Hello?” A man’s voice echoes through Fallon’s house, waking me from a dead sleep. “Is someone here?”
I whip Fallon’s pink and teal covers off me, hurrying into a pair of gym shorts before tiptoeing through the halls. It's probably Corbin, but I can’t be sure. I’ve been staying at Fallon’s house for three days, and it’s been nothing but smooth sailing. Fishing, watching TV, relaxing on the deck with a beer, and in my spare time, I’ve been at my parents’ house in the woodshop building a custom easel and collapsible table for Fallon. I have plans to power-wash her house, just haven’t gotten to it yet.
I turn the corner toward the kitchen to find a man with his head deep in the fridge. The threat level soars down a few notches; pretty sure most thieves don’t hit the refrigerator first.
“Hello?” The man bumps his head, holding it when he stands.
“Jeb! What are you doing here?” Seeing that it’s Corbin, the level plummets to zero, thank gosh. I don’t need to add witnessed an attempted heist to my yearly list of shit I wish didn’t happen.
“Fallon’s letting me stay here because my apartment’s flooring is being replaced. And while it’s torn up, we’re having the old copper pipe in the ceiling replaced with PVC—less clean-up, since everything is covered anyway.”
“Well damn. Had I known, you could’ve kept the cats here. They sleep on my face and like to tear shit up. I don’t mind a pussy in my face, but not a fucking housecat,” he says, and I laugh awkwardly.
“You can bring the cats back whenever. If the apartment’s done quickly, I’ll just come by to take care of them. I only live about a half mile down the street.”
“Well, I would”—Corbin stops to ponder—“but with the renovation happening and people coming in and out, they might escape.”
“No, I’d have them here, not at my place. It’ll be fine.” Corbin must be confused about the logistics.
“No, I mean the renovation here. Seems like you’re both having renos this week.”
“What's being renovated here?”
“Oh shit. I forgot. Fallon couldn’t have told you about it because Fallon doesn’t know.” I wait for Corbin to elaborate. His eyes look off into the distance. His hand comes to his mouth. “Hmmm. Well, I guess now is as good of a time as ever,” he mumbles.
“What's happening, Corbin?”
“Don’t throw up, okay? Are you past that stage now?”
“I think I’ll be fine. But what’s going on?”
“Rhett’s parents are coming to renovate the spare bathroom this morning. It’s a surprise.”
Corbin might’ve said something more, but I don’t know. I run to the master bathroom to throw up. Honestly, this is worse than an intruder. I’d rather be Kevin right now, bolting the doors and booby-trapping the house while the rest of the family is in Paris, than meet Rhett’s parents in Fallon’s house.
Fuck!
“C’mon Jeb. Let’s get going.” Corbin stands in the doorway. “They just pulled up. Now’s as good a time as ever to meet them.”
“I never planned on meeting them.” I splash water on my face.
“Looks like the universe has other plans. Let’s go.” Corbin pulls my arm and drags me behind him toward the kitchen.
“Can I just climb out the window?”
“No.”
Sal and Dreya Pasquale. Here. With me. In Fallon’s house.
I’ve thought about them more than I ever wanted to think about two random people in my entire life. I’ve cried for them. I’ve ached for them. At one point early on, I wanted to meet them so Sal could have words with me. Fight me. Tell me how shitty of a person I am. Bludgeon my skull with a hammer. Whatever.
I haven’t thought about them in a while, so maybe the universe is coming for me. My life has been looking up the past few months, and Rhett is still the same. Dead. Time to bring me back down a few notches.
Before I have time to think about this any further, the door opens and there they stand. Mrs. Pasquale holding a can of paint in both arms, and Mr. Pasquale with two large boxes.
They plunk their renovation paraphernalia on the kitchen counter and haphazardly adjust their wind-blown hair before they have a chance to look up.
Once they do, they simultaneously look from Corbin to me, and instantly, I know that they know who I am.
I witness half the stages of grief in their emotions. Denial, Anger, Depression.
“Jeb Baker?” Mr. Pasquale asks.
“Sal, Dreya, this is Jeb.” Corbin makes the introductions. I try to zone out. “Jeb is staying here while Fallon’s away because his basement apartment is being worked on. I think I’ll bring the cats back when you’re done with the bathroom,” Corbin carries on.
“Let’s take this to the family room, shall we?” Mr. Pasquale gestures to the couch.
I turn, suddenly zombie-like, wondering what the hell this day has turned out to be. Eight minutes ago, I was sound asleep in a perfect dream-land surrounded by the smell of Fallon.
“I think we’ll be okay,” Mrs. Pasquale says to her husband before looking in my direction. She stays in the kitchen. “Jeb, do you give hugs?”
“I do,” I say, and next thing you know, we’re hugging. And crying. Then Sal joins in and the three of us are in a large clump of teary-eyed people standing in the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to the three of them, just like I did to Fallon so many times. “I really, truly mean it. I am so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Jeb, and we wholeheartedly believe that,” he says.
“You can punch me if you want to. Or cuss me out. I won’t mind.” The hug breaks apart, and the two of them laugh through their tears.
“No one is going to throw any words or punches,” Dreya says. “In fact, it’s probably high time we meet, anyway. I hear you and Fallon have become friends, and any friend of Fallon’s is a friend of ours.”
Her husband speaks next. “I think it’s funny how you found a friendship with each other after the accident.”
“If Fal has been hanging out with you, then she knows you’re a good person. She’s a great judge of character,” she adds.
“Clearly. She chose our son,” he says with a wink.
“And I know our son’s sense of humor.” Dreya smiles. “He’s laughing about this whole thing right now.”
“Not to break up this lovefest, but the bathroom ain’t going to renovate itself.” Corbin holds a handful of paintbrushes in the air.
“I can get out of your way,” I quickly say, to give us all time to have space to be with our feelings.
“Nonsense. You can help us. The only part of the renovation I actually want to do is the design and the décor. And making sure everything is done right. I got Mrs. Montgomery to agree, so now it’s your turn. You men can do the rest.”
After meeting Fallon, I was roped into helping her move, and it ended up fine. I guess I just need to trust that this will end up the same way.
“I can help. Definitely.”
“Rhett did a lot of handiwork at their old house, so we figured she might enjoy knowing we put our hard work and effort into something in this house, too. Something we can do to make it seem like her own even when it’s not.”
“What’s your plan for the renovation?” I ask, like they are just two people I know through the community and not the couple whose son’s death I was responsible for.
“The layout is staying the same, but we have a new vanity and toilet to install. The bathtub was pretty new when Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew helped her remodel. We’re adding a fun mirror and white wainscoting on the bottom half of the wall, then we’re going to paint the top half pink.” Dreya’s face lights with excitement.
“Wow, Fallon will love that.”
“I hope so. I didn’t have too much time to prep since we only just found out about this trip, but we figured now was a good time for a bit of a surprise,” she says.
“Especially since this was intended to be the original wedding weekend,” Sal adds. “It’s probably going to be hard for her. Hell, it’s been hard for us.”
Tomorrow is their original wedding date. I’ve been talking to Fallon about it all week. She went on and on about his proposal and how she wasn’t surprised when he dropped on one knee. She had her nails painted the day before and curled her hair that morning. Rhett had been acting funny for a week when he planned the hike she’d been asking him to plan for months.
“At least she’s able to go with Shay on vacation,” Corbin adds before looking at Sal. “Let’s go get the stuff from the car.”
The two of them walk out, leaving Dreya and me alone in the kitchen.
“You’re good for her, Jeb. Whether it’s just a friendship or more. I wish it were Rhett, I surely do. But that ship has sailed, and if Fallon’s happy, I’m happy. I just want you to know that.”
“I can assure you, we are just friends. But thank you.”
For the next hour, the four of us demo the hall bathroom. Then, Corbin and I tape the ceiling to paint the walls pink.
Dreya packs the contents of the vanity into a box and puts it in the spare bedroom, spotting the picture Fallon painted of me on the dock. Unlike Fallon’s mom, Dreya knew it was me, not Rhett, right away. She loves the painting of baby Luca, and happy tears stream from her face when she picks it up to get a better look. I think the painting was supposed to be a surprise, but I’m secretly glad to be able to witness this moment.
Dreya and Sal tell stories about Rhett, some I’ve already heard from Fallon. They ask me what I’ve been doing since the accident. I tell them what I know about my hospital stay and my recovery. I tell them about work and how I’ve been able to work a few hours here and there a couple of times a week. I apologize a hundred times until Sal jokes that he’s fighting or cussing me out if I say it again.
Dreya gushes about baby Luca and shows pictures to Corbin and me. Cara calls her twice, asking questions about diaper rash and sleep patterns.
Knowing the Pasquales don’t hate me and never did does amazing things for my soul. I couldn’t have even begun to imagine this day a few months ago. It’s been better than my wildest dreams.
We laugh, hug, cry, listen to music, and talk about Rhett. And also Fallon.
It feels like an out-of-body experience, where I’m not Jeb, the man who caused the accident. Instead, I’m an old family friend.
Long past dark and two fast-food trips later, Sal and Dreya hit the road with a promise to come back to finish everything in the morning.
The morning that should have been the wedding.
Before they leave, Dreya wraps me in a cocoon-like hug and whispers, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just wish I would’ve said it sooner.”
Sal and I do an old-school handshake hug like you would give your best friend or your brother.
No one questions the fact that I’m the man warming Fallon’s bed that night. Even if we're in different countries, it still seems symbolic, anyway.