Page 49 of You Fall First

Thank you for being okay with pizza.

“I’m more than okay with pizza,” I told him. “Pizza is basically my entire personality.”

Originally, Noah had suggested taking me somewhere nicer to express his prodigious gratitude. Somewhere like Chop. That’s the steakhouse where we met the night Dex threw Bridger that surprise party. But the wait was going to be too long without a reservation. Even on a Monday. Even at six o’clock. Too long for the patience of a four-year-old, that is. And anyway, I was wearing cargo shorts and cross trainers, Noah was in scrubs, and Dutton was covered in Band-Aids.

We looked like some oddball trio in a post-apocalyptic movie. Three random strangers who’d found each other just straggling along, hoping to survive. So we ended up at Amici’s Pizza instead.

Our table is the kind with bench seating in the middle of the restaurant. On one side of the room, there’s a claw machine, flanked by pinball and video games. Another wall sports a self-serve soda station, plus a place to surrender your trays and dump your own garbage. Three separate holes: recycle, trash, and other.

Noah nods toward the trash area. “I wonder what other is?”

I offer a crooked smile. “Band-Aids?”

“This isn’t what I pictured when I offered to feed you.”

“Are you kidding?” I smirk. “We’ve got carbohydrates and mozzarella. Pepper flakes. Ranch dressing. I’m in heaven. And anyway, Chop really isn’t a great place for kids.” I nudge Dutton, who’s seated beside me, stuffing a slice of pepperoni in his face. “We prefer Pizza Planet, don’t we, Buzz?” At the reference to the place featured in Toy Story, Dutton’s eyes go wide.

He drops his crust.

And that’s when I realize my mistake. Because now Dutton wants to change into his Buzz Lightyear costume and visit the real Pizza Planet, which, as everyone at the table but Dutton realizes, isn’t real. It’s Pixar.

“Let’s go!” He slides off the bench, prepared to bolt for the door, but Noah jumps in with a brilliant save.

“Hey, D? Wanna FaceTime your mom?”

Dutton freezes in his tracks.

Yes. Yes, he does.

As Noah places the call, a swirl of nerves hits my insides, and I wipe my clammy hands on my napkin. But I miss, getting a streak of marinara on my shorts. Lovely. I can only imagine the excellent impression I’ll make when Noah introduces me to his sister.

“Hey, Paige, this is Jo Michaels, the random person we trusted with your kid today. Please ignore the stains on her clothes and also Dutton’s bloody kneecaps!”

I draw in a breath, half hoping Paige won’t answer. The other half decides Paige probably won’t judge me. Noah was in a bind, after all, and I agreed to watch her son to help him out. My parents fed them both dinner on Saturday night. I even gave Dutton my stuffed rabbit for comfort.

Paige is related to Noah, who’s clearly kind. The same parents raised them.

That has to count for something.

When her face pops on the screen, Dutton clambers back onto the bench, crowding Noah to see her, and that’s about the time I realize none of this is about me anyway.

This is about a child and his mother. A mother and her child. I shouldn’t be worried about her opinion of me. My focus should only be on how hard being away from Dutton must be for her.

“I’ll be right back,” I mouth to Noah, as he hands the phone over to Dutton. I want to give them some privacy. They’re the family, after all. I’m not actually a part of any post-apocalyptic trio. So I flee to the bathroom where I scrub at my shorts with wet paper towels. I want to get the pizza sauce off, but what I actually accomplish is creating a massive water spot around the stain, with tiny paper towel shreds inside the circle.

Awesome. This thank-you dinner just keeps getting better and better.

Sarcasm font.

So it’s probably a good thing Noah hasn’t asked me to help tomorrow. Being around him and caring for Dutton has thrown my entire equilibrium out of balance. I’m like a metronome tick-tocking back and forth, in an endless rhythm of extremes, never landing safely in the middle. Tick to one side, and you’ll find the Jo who is a diligent student, a hard worker, and decently competent with kids. Sure, she sometimes spills on herself, but she’s still pretty cute.

Even with those cheek butts.

Tock to the other side, and Jo’s got no solid career path or a place of her own to live. She’s the baby of a high-achieving family, still figuring herself out. No one expects too much from her. Quite the opposite. Her loved ones protect her. They protect me.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

Looming over all this is the reminder that besides my friends and family, no one ever chooses me first. Not for that kind of love, anyway. Yes, there’s always a seat for me at the dinner table, but there’s never a ring in my dessert.