To Catch a Falling Star (24 page)

“Later, Mel.” He turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen with a thud at the door.

Whew! Thank the Lord I wasn’t the one to speak first. Tarry seemed repulsed enough without me proposing to be his lover

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

How hard was for me to control my overly active, testosterone-induced body near Mel.

To stand in that damn kitchen so close to Mel and not touch her was torture. No, it was hell. The worst part was when I identified regret in her words. What did I expect? For her to welcome back with open arms after what I’ve done?

I wonder how much she hates me. I screwed up, I really did.

I’M THE LAST one to arrive at the Millers for supper.

“Hi there, Tarry, we were just waiting for you to have dinner,” Maritza tells me after a tight embrace.

“Sorry for being late, I was writing a new song and lost track of time. You guys shouldn’t have waited.”

“Oh, please. You are part of this family.” Holding me by the hand, she guides me to the kitchen.

“Portia, you and Mel can serve dinner, we will be right there.” We stop by the kitchen door briefly. I glance at Mel. She shoots me an inquisitive stare. With a discreet shrug, I mutely follow Maritza through the hall. We enter a room, and she closes the door.

“I wanted to talk to you today, but you vanished after service. Please, have a seat,” she says and sits across from me. Goddamnit. Is it a new sort of fucking hallucination, or am I kind of shaking at the perspective of being lectured by Maritza? I can’t fucking believe it. Christ’s sake, I don’t need this shit. Confusing and foreign emotions stir in my chest. My chest itches as if a thousand fleas just moved in.

Shit.

“Well, I’m not a woman to go around the bush,” she tells me with her rushed Spanish accent.

“Oh,” I say. Maybe Mel told her about last night. The thought of disappointing this family upsets me. For fucking sake, pussies get upset.
I’m pissed.
It sounds better.

“You and Mel are both grown-ups and whatever you do is none of my concern. However, I need to bring up one small factor.” She smiles; there is not a trace of judgment on her face. “Ella.”

I remain in silence. How much did Mel tell her?

“I can see that you and Mel are getting along. A beautiful friendship, if you give me the liberty to say so. But please consider Ella while you two get to know each other.”

“I, um, what is this all about, Mrs. Miller?”

“Oh, Tarry, it’s Maritza or Aunt Iza. I can see your interaction with Mel is beyond casual. I know my daughter, Tarry. For what it’s worth, I really don’t oppose or favor a relationship between you two. My only concern is Ella. And your concern should be Danny. He’s very protective of Mel.” She smiles and reaches again for my hand. Her fingers are warm and soft against my skin. It’s a motherly touch—pure and unconditional—and I wonder if I’ve ever been touched like this before. A suffocating knot settles in my throat.

“You’re a good man, Tarry. You might not realize yet. But you are. Any girl would be lucky to have you. Just be careful with Ella, okay.” She leans in, kisses my cheek, and pats my hair.

Unprecedented and shocking do not begin to describe what just happened.

“Let’s join the others for dinner, son.”

Tugging my hand, she pulls me up before I have the chance to reply, and hauls a stunned me, to the dining room.

My usual seat beside Mel is empty. Maritza lets go of my hand and takes her seat next to Dan, who has his typical grin stamped on his face.

When I look toward Mel, my fucking gut hurts. That fucker Steven is sandwiched between her and Lucas. His smile glares as bright as snowballs and somehow his buzz-cut hair accentuates his muscular biceps and chest. Fuck me. What is he doing here? I sink in the chair next to Mel. She glances my way with a tight smile, which is almost unnoticeable because the scarf she has wrapped around her neck obscures a part of her face. She’s probably hiding my mark on her.

I nod toward everybody and mumble an inaudible “Hi,” and try my damn hardest to smile.

“Finally! We’re starving. Ella, would you say grace, sweetheart,” Dan says.

During dinner, I press my thigh against Mel. Jesus, she is so soft. I don’t know if she notices or is the slightest bit affected. She purposefully ignores me, and engages in a heated conversation with that fucker and Lucas.

The jerk’s eyes fucking gleam whenever Mel utters a word. Numerous times during the conversation, he touches her hand or arm. I could kill him for staring at her with so much intimacy. Before ending him, I would peel the skin of his hand for touching her. How dare he? We are at her parents table for fuck’s sake. Show some restraint or respect.

“Steve has a medal of bravery for saving a firefighter during a fire. What are the odds?” Mel says with a fucking grin. As if he’s a fucking hero from a fucking fairy tale.

My fucking chest itches so badly now. Fuck. Did I forget to take my goddamned medication? I need to leave.

I restrain my fucking shaking hands from scratching my chest. There is no way I will act as a flea-infested dog next to the fucking town’s hero. Instead, I reach for my front jeans packet, searching for a bag of coke. Shit. For a fucking moment, I forgot that I had quit.

I glance up guiltily. As if reading my mind, Portia regards me from across the table. “Are you okay?” she whispers so no one will hear her. Her expression is seized with concern.

“Yeah.” I nod, doing my best to calm her anxious eyes. “Forgot my meds.” I mouth. She raises an eyebrow in understanding and let out a relieved exhale. Whew, I convinced her. Contrary to Portia, I can lie my way out of anything.

“Dad, tell the story about the funeral you did for Mrs. Cosmell’s cat,” Mel requests with her melodic voice.

Dan retells the story and we all laugh as he describes the outfits of the sixteen cats attending the funeral. During our regular Sunday dinners, I usually stay to myself. Occasionally, I laugh at funny remarks. But today, a bitter taste regurgitates in my mouth and prevents me from making an occasional comment or eating. After sliding the food from one side of the plate to the other, I place my fork down, giving up on forcing another bite.

Mel glances at my plate briefly, but she’s too engrossed paying attention to the fucker boasting of yet another save-the-day routine deed.

Okay, I admit it. I’m officially a pussy. Why? Fuck me, but I remain in my seat to avoid being rude and hurt my hosts’ feelings. I endure the sugary tales of a police officer—risking sugar coma—while hearing the gasps of admiration from Mel and all others present. Yeah, yeah. I’m definitely a pussy. Did I mention how fucking badly I want to scratch my chest?

“How about you, Tarry? You must have some great stories about traveling the world. You have a most fascinating job.” Dan tries to include me in the conversation.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing worthy of mentioning. Traveling with a band has endless hours of rehearsals, miles of asphalt spreading in front of your eyes, and a great deal of smelly sacks,” I say with a forced half a smile.

“Come on, Tarry, you’ve got to have done some crazy stuff.” Lucas pushes it.

“No, sorry to disappoint,” I say with a shrug.

“He’s being modest,” Portia pitches in.

Oh, no you don’t. I shut a warning stare at her. Russian Roulette, breaking someone’s nose, orgies, shooting up a car’s worth of coke, and trashing hotel rooms are hardly heroic stories appropriate for dinner at a preacher’s table. If Portia tells them one of my stories, even a sheepish one, Dan and Maritza will certainly exclude me from the Sunday dinner. It sucks to admit, but I do enjoy coming here on Sundays. I really do.

“Tell us one, sweetheart,” Dan encourages Portia.

Before I open my mouth to say anything, she starts.

“Jeez, Dad, in all honesty it’s hard to pick one. But I’ll tell you my favorite.” She smiles at me the way only she can and I know I won’t interrupt her. Even if costs me my Sunday dinners.

“Just bear with me, because it’s the cliché of all stories,” she says with so much pride that one would think she’s about to retell an event worthy of a Purple Heart medal.

“Before Tarry became this big-shot musician, there was this time back in middle school that Mark, the son of the mayor—who was stuck-up and a bully—put his foot across the way of John, a scholarship student. John fell, hit his nose on the ground, and shattered his thick glasses. With his nose bleeding profusely, John stood up. Not satisfied, Mark spilled the contents of a trashcan on the floor and told John to pick up the scattered garbage. John’s father was the school janitor.” She looks my way and fixes her eyes on mine. “Tarry, taller than all the kids, grabbed Mark by the neck and made him pick up all the trash. After Mark cleaned the floor, Tarry pushed Mark to his knees and made him apologize to John.”

She sighs and looks around the quiet table. “Later that week, Tarry sold his best guitar on eBay and sent the money to John’s family to replace the glasses.” Her eyes are glassy. “I already loved Tarry with all my heart. But on that day I knew I would never allow anything to ever tear us apart.” She dabs a tear from the corner of her eye. Damn the hormones of a pregnant woman.

An awkward silence settles at the dinner table. I want to become invisible.

“Careful there, peaches. Stories like that can ruin my bad-boy rep. It could cost me my career y’know,” I say, smiling at Portia.

“Wow, that’s a cool story, dude.” Lucas grins from his seat.

“Thanks,” I say.

After dinner, Dan lights the fireplace and everybody gathers around the fire for coffee. I perch on the doorframe in a strategic place. I want the hell out of this place. Seeing Mel and not touching her is torture. Seeing the fucker touching her is agonizing as hell.

“How was the new Italian place you guys went last night?” Will asks the fucker.

“It was awesome. Great food, right, Mel?” He leans toward her, practically on top of her. They are squished on a love seat that can barely fit a person.

“Portia knows the owner’s wife. Their child is the same age as Dominick,” Will says.

“I’m going to hit the sack,” I say, interrupting the conversation. There is only so much I can take.

“Hey, Tarry, we’re going to the movies and then shoot some pool at the Green Pool Hall. Want to come with us?” Lucas asks.

Mel’s body tenses. She bites her lower lips and her eyes are bright with shades of a desperate plea. She doesn’t want me around.

“Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Thanks for dinner, Dan, Maritza. Good night, you all.”

“We’re leaving too,” Will announces. “Mel, can Ella come with us? You can pick her up on your way home,” he suggests.

“Sure, that’ll be nice,” she says.

We say good-bye and leave. Before I enter the car, Portia approaches me.

“Hey, Tarry, what’s with you today? Are you all right?”

“No, I completely forgot the damn meds. That’s why I’m so moody. Sorry, peaches, I didn’t mean to worry you. As soon as I get home, Ill fix that. Okay?” I kiss her head.

“You sure? You’ll tell me if there is something bothering you, right?”