Take a look inside Falling for You

A chill slithers through me as I look out the window from my seat in row 23A. Our pilot circles the runway, waiting for the go-ahead from the control tower to launch us into the sky. Tonight’s flight is relatively short but it’s on an older plane, so there’s no movie.

To add to my bad luck, there’s no internet up in the clouds, which means the new books I wanted to read on my Kindle app are useless. I should have downloaded them before takeoff or bought a magazine at the kiosk, but because of my lack of planning I’m stuck on an almost two hour flight with nothing but my thoughts.

One thought in particular won’t leave me alone: Why am I going back?

It’s not the quietness of a small town or how the stars shine brighter away from the big city that draws me in. Nor is my return for the friends I left, because Hattie Reynolds is the only person to text me since I left.

What’s pulling me back is what’s kept me away for so long—Joshua Thomas—and it’s not a matter of if I’ll run into him, it's when, because Hattie’s boyfriend, Landon Waters, is one of Josh’s best friends.

I wrap my arms around my waist. As much as I’ve talked myself up to the possibility of running into Josh, I’m not ready to see him again.

Butterflies are throwing a party, dousing my insides with buckets of vomit that threaten to expel themselves into the tiny paper bag the airplane has provided for such occasions.

Do I love Josh?

No.

Yes.

I’m not sure.

Love is a fickle word with expectations and the possibility of a future attached to it. All I know is I’ve never felt a pull to be near someone like I do when I’m with him, and a part of me I didn’t know existed broke when I left.

So, that brings me back to my original question. Why come back? Why subject myself to the pain and the embarrassment of looking like an idiot to him and the people I thought were my friends?

The easy answer? Because I am a fool.

What was it Elvis said? Only fools fall in love? Or perhaps it’s that they rush in? I don’t know. However the saying goes, I did both—rushed into a relationship and fell too hard.

I slide the window shade up and notice our pilot circling the landing strip. I’ve done it again, gotten lost in my thoughts while time races away from me. I’ve been doing that a lot since moving back to Georgia. Losing time.

Fifteen minutes later, the plane touches down and I’m allowed to disembark. I grab my rolling carry-on bag and my backpack from the overhead compartment, then shuffle my way through the sea of bodies in the terminal.

After a quick chat with the car rental company, and a nerve-racking two hour drive, I finally make it to the yellow one-bedroom cottage that Hattie and Landon call home. No one pays me any attention as I cross the grassy knoll beside the house. A cruel reminder that these people were never really my friends.

I take a deep breath, hoping it will settle my nerves and head for the kitchen. Tonight isn’t a night I want to tackle sober.

The front door is open, so I let myself in. Dozens of empty bottles line the cabinet tops like trophies. It’s stupid, if you ask me, because I’d bet a hundred dollars he can’t remember anything about the parties he drank them at.

I open the fridge, unsurprised to see it filled with White Claw, beer, and Jello shots. I grab a plastic container, filled with what I’m hoping is watermelon flavored Jello. I swipe my tongue around the inside edge, loosening the gelatinous goo, and swallow. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I reach in and grab a beer. I’ve never liked White Claw, it always reminded me of flavored seltzer water, but Hattie loves the stuff.

“Ahhhhh!” a girl screams from behind me.

I know that high-pitched squeal, but recognizing the sound doesn’t stop me from jumping and hitting my head on the edge of the freezer door. I pop the top of my can, then rub the sore spot with my free hand while I take my first sip of the night. I don’t particularly like beer, but it hits faster than Jello.

Hattie runs into the kitchen, hands waving about like a madwoman, before throwing them around my neck. The sheer force of her embrace makes me stumble back against the fridge. I peel her blue tinged strands from my lipstick and force a laugh. While I’m happy to see Hattie, and for someone to be excited I’m here, I don’t feel gleeful. My skin is crawling, my stomach is twisting, and I need her to let me go before I hyperventilate. “Good to see you too, Hattie.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” She releases me as the world begins to spin out of focus. Like almost everyone else here, Hattie is drunk. Unsurprising, considering how late it is.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should have waited until morning to come by. I could have blamed missing her nineteenth birthday on a delayed flight, or something. Too bad I know myself. If I didn’t come out tonight, I wouldn’t have showed up at all.

Hattie grabs my hand and takes a step backward. “Two months is too long.”

I allow her to lead me towards the living room. There are too many memories in the kitchen. Here. There. Everywhere. “How’d you know it was me?”

She plops onto the faded green cushion, one leg under her, the other off the side, and gives me a lopsided grin. “Please. I’d know that flat ass anywhere.”

I can’t help but laugh when she slaps me on the thigh. It feels good to be back, but it also feels different. Landon and Hattie’s place has always been more like a home to me than my own, but tonight the air is thick.

I look around the tiny room. Nothing has physically changed, everything is the same as it was a few weeks ago, but there’s still a shift.

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe I’m different.