Page 39 of Already Falling

“But it’s a lot more space than you ever had in California!”

That’s true. I get more space here for the rent than I ever would in San Diego or in the Bay Area. “I’ll see you guys next weekend. Thanks for the chat.”

“Love you, Reid,” my dad says. “Love you, Reid!” I hear Pam echo in the distance.

I hang up and turn on The Godfather for the twentieth time. I’d like to stay curled under this quilt for three uninterrupted hours.

EIGHTEEN

REID

My doorbell rings bright and early the following Saturday. I pull my covers over my head and pretend that it was a dream, except my doorbell dings again, and my phone buzzes at the same time seconds later. I stick just my arm out and fish for my phone on my bedside table, knocking over my water bottle in the process. Or at least, I hope that was my water bottle.

9:54 a.m.

I let out a deep sigh. I used to be such an early riser, but this whole week has me in a funk. I’m blaming the breakup, which is a viable excuse. If this were a Saturday in a relationship with Carrie, we’d be on our way back from the farmer’s market by now. But now, I’m alone. Finally, I get to sleep in. I feel cozy in my bed, not wanting to peel myself up to answer the door. However, I know that what lies behind that door is most likely my dad with boxes of my college paraphernalia and Pam with an armful of home cooking. I can practically taste the freshly baked cookies on my tongue, and that alone inspires me to fling out of bed. I pull on a pair of black joggers and a matching hoodie to answer the front door. I can see my dad and Pam trying to peer through the side windows and incessantly knocking.

As I swing the door open, they both fling open their arms and say, “Heyyy,” while diving in for a group hug.

“It’s ten a.m. What time did you leave to drive up here? Three?”

“No, no, a little before five! Your dad can get us up here in less than five hours.” Pam squeezes me in for an extra hug after we separate from the group hug.

She and my dad act like they’ve been married my whole life, but it’s only been five years. It wasn’t until Pam joined our family that I realized how special it is to have a mom figure in my life. I’m still not at the point of calling her mom, but they are my parents, and Pam spoils me like a son of her own.

Each month, she’ll mail me a care package with candy and a book she thinks I’ll enjoy. I almost have a tiny library in my house now, thanks to her. Our calls where we discuss the book are some of my favorite things I look forward to. Reading’s always been a secret hobby of mine. I never bragged to my friends about my reaching one hundred books read last year or attending book signings for some of my favorite authors.

I found out how big of a reader Pam was when I visited them about a year after they moved into their new house. She turned a whole wall in the living room into a book display. Since then, we have talked nonstop about books. It is the best feeling when you can relate to a friend about a hobby you are both passionate about. I get so much joy from nerding out over font size or cracking the spine, how I prefer dog-earring to bookmarks, and how Pam chooses a pen that matches the cover to annotate.

I help them with the boxes they brought, and we wander into my small galley kitchen. I was right. Pam brought me about four containers of food, and one looks to be in the shape of Snickerdoodle cookies. Those will be gone in a day.

I tell Dad he can put the cardboard boxes in the storage closet off the living room for now, and I’ll go through it later, and we head out to breakfast. They love wandering through downtown Auburn Hills. I’ve lived here for almost two years and still feel like a newbie. I’m constantly learning about hidden gems and town gossip.

Hopefully, I’m too new not to be the hot gossip that the town physical therapist and baker split up. Although, how would I know? This week, I’ve just gone from my house straight to the wellness center and back home. I don’t think I’ve seen another soul aside from my clients and coworkers, and none have mentioned anything about my relationship or lack thereof.

We spend the rest of the day bopping around town, in and out of little shops. Dad finds a vintage aluminum sign at an antique store that says Dad’s Den that he wants to hang up in his new workshop. That evening after Pam heats up some of the food she brought up, gooey mac and cheese with chicken wings, we settle in my living room and put on a movie. It really feels great to have my parents here, not only for their comfort but also just for human connection. It’s been nice to chat about what we are up to, any recent news, or really anything that comes to mind.

My parents spend the night on the pull-out couch I have in my living room before they head back tomorrow. Maybe next time they visit, I can persuade them to move up here. My dad already has two family members living here, and both he and Pam are retired. Pam’s family all lives in Michigan, so there’s nothing really keeping them in the Bay Area other than the perfect weather. My dad worked so often as a kid I feel like he and I barely spent time together. Just the idea of him being nearby so I can go over to his house to work on projects or have coffee with Pam puts an instant smile on my face.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you smiling about?” My dad catches me smiling to myself at the thought of having my folks nearby.

“Oh, just thinking about how nice it would be to have you living down the street from me instead of six hours down the I-five.”

“Aye, five hours is all it takes me.”

I chuckle and try not to think too much of my dad flying down the highway over the speed limit. “But seriously, would you consider moving up here?”

“You really mean that? I don’t want to be crowding your space. Plus, I wasn’t sure how long you’d be up here. You’ve lived in three different cities in the past five years.”

“Despite having burned one bridge already, I really like it up here. I love working with Uncle Marty, and even though I’m renting, this place is maybe starting to feel like a home.”

“Since when did your Uncle start letting you call him Marty? He makes everyone else call him Martin.” He narrows his eyes in response. I can sense a phone call later between brothers.

“It’s because I’m his favorite nephew…well, think about it. I’d love to have you up here. I’m sure Uncle Marty would too.” I pull my dad in for a final hug before he and Pam head back to Napa.

My house still smells like leftovers long after they leave. I treat myself to two cookies while I go through some of my old college belongings. I want to keep this train of nostalgia going. It feels like a time capsule as I open the box. I don’t think I’ve seen some of this stuff in years.

My old sweater from UCSD and the pennant I hung on my wall greets me on top of the pile. They smell like that pine candle my roommate was always burning. I swear I smelled like a tree for four years straight. I start digging through papers and textbooks until my fingers brush against a soft velvet pouch in the bottom corner. I know what it is before even opening it. In fact, I don’t even want to open it. An unhealed wound begins to reopen, and my mood turns sour. Looking in this box was a terrible idea. I completely forgot I threw the necklace in here all those years ago.