How to Keep Rolling After a Fall (20 page)

It's a nice offer, and Pax's mother is so warm and comforting, part of me is reluctant to leave her side. But if I can't see Pax, if I can't lay eyes on him and see that he's okay, I don't really want to be there. My Pax is so strong and vibrant, and I don't think I'm really ready to see him any other way.

I'm pretty sure he won't want me to see him any other way, either.

“Thank you, Mrs. Paxton. But I told my mom I wouldn't be gone long, and I should probably head back.”

She walks me to the door and tells me she'll tell Pax I was here and she'll take him some Jell-O the second he wakes up.

On the drive home, I keep repeating a silent prayer that he'll wake up, and come back, very soon.

 

Chapter 14

Pax finally texts me on Sunday afternoon, along with a selfie of him with a Jell-O cup in hand, telling me he's going to take it easy for a few days and he'll give me a call when he's feeling better. Which he does, on Tuesday night.

“Sorry I was such a buzzkill this weekend.”

“It's not something you need to apologize for. I feel bad, like you pushed yourself on Saturday night when you shouldn't have.”

“That was my choice,” he assures me. “I wanted to see you, and I wanted to go to the show.” He pauses, and a long, frustrated sigh reaches me through the phone line. “I hate this shit,” he grumbles. “It breaks my stride.”

I can't help smiling at his choice of words, which are so Pax-like. “Well, I'm happy to hear that you're doing better.”

“Yeah.” He pauses for a long minute. “I think I'm gonna have to get my shoulder checked out, though. Make sure it's nothing too serious. They scheduled an MRI for the twenty-ninth.”

I don't let on that his mom told me about his fear of the procedure. “I'll keep my fingers crossed about your shoulder. And that … the MRI isn't too rough.”

Pax doesn't take me up on my subtle invitation to share his fears. He does that guy thing instead, acting tough, acting like the fear doesn't even exist. “It's just an MRI,” he says breezily. “I'm not worried.”

I bite my lip and shake my head.

“Anyway … this weekend sucked big-time. I hate being sick, hate lying around in my bed. Can we do something fun next weekend?”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“I don't know. Just something that's
not
me lying around in my bed.”

I wouldn't so much mind lying around in his bed with him, but I understand his desire to get out. Suddenly, I perk up. “Oooh! This is the first weekend of Fall Fest. Did you ever go?”

It's the annual fall festival at a local Jersey farm, complete with a pumpkin patch, bonfires, warm apple cider, and hayrides.

“Yeah, I used to go with my parents, but I haven't gone in years.”

“I
lurve
Fall Fest! I go every year.”

Pax laughs. “You're way too excited about this.”

“This is my favorite time of the year,” I educate him. “Number one, October's my birthday month.”

“Oh yeah? When's your birthday?”

“The thirtieth. And number two, Halloween is my favorite holiday. I always had the best costumes. Not, like, Party City costumes, but
really
elaborate costumes that took some thought.”

One year, I'd insisted my parents let me be a hot dog, but I don't tell Pax that. My costumes improved after elementary school.

“No cheap costumes, huh?” he asks.

“Not my style. No black minidress with a tail pinned to my ass and some ears. No trampy Strawberry Shortcake with striped kneesocks and red high heels. So lame and unoriginal.”

It was the look my friends had gone with for the past few years, but it bored me.

“That's a damn shame,” Pax muses. I can hear him grinning, and there's a suggestive tone to his voice. “I really, really wouldn't have minded seeing you dressed up as Slutty Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Slutty Little Red Riding Hood.”

And with that, I'm fully convinced that Pax has recovered.

But when I actually lay eyes on him early Saturday evening, I realize that Pax's spirits may have bounced back more quickly than his physical condition did. His color's still off, and maybe it's ridiculous to think he dropped any significant amount of weight in a week's time, but his cheekbones seem more pronounced.

He picks me up, and as we drive to the fall festival, I remember what his mom said about his being stubborn and not necessarily making the best decisions when it comes to his health. Maybe tonight's not such a great idea. We're going to be outside, and it's unseasonably cold. I'm bundled up in a red down vest with a scarf wrapped around my neck, and I'm wearing boots.

“Hey. I know I made a big deal about Fall Fest, but we can do something more low-key if it's easier. Just watch a movie or something,” I offer gently.

Pax uses more force than necessary to shift the lever that controls the gas pedal, and his voice is firm. “I watched about twenty movies this week. I'm good with Fall Fest.”

I don't press the issue, but at the next light he looks over at me, and the angry set of his jaw softens. “My mom hassled me all week about taking care of myself.” He smiles wanly. “Brought me more hot tea than a guy should ever consume. I just … I don't need to be treated like an invalid.” He squeezes my arm. “I'm okay. I swear.”

“I'll take your word for it,” I agree reluctantly. Then I try another angle. “Just didn't want you out of commission for a whole
'nother
week when I couldn't see you.”

He smiles again, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Not gonna happen. Trust me.”

It's a short drive to the farm, and Pax parks the car in an open field that's been roped off to serve as a parking lot. It's a distance to the festival attractions, and somewhat of a struggle for him to navigate over the bumpy ground and soft earth between the cornfields. I slow my pace to match his as scores of people pass us, and I try not to let my emotions register on my face, but I'm fighting off a bad feeling about the night.

The bad feeling is displaced for a minute when the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of Fall Fest come into view. Kids are giggling happily while climbing atop huge tractors for photo opportunities and tossing hay about in the “pigpen.” They excitedly call to their parents when they're convinced they've found the biggest pumpkin in the patch to take home. The scent of fried dough is carried through the air from the funnel cake stand, complemented by the warm, cinnamony scent of freshly made apple cider. I see the huge hay bale slide that used to be a favorite of mine, and the creepy corn maze in the distance. A line of people waiting for the hayride snakes around. The sun is setting, and the sky is clear, with early stars peeping through. I inhale a deep breath of cool, clean air and tell myself to relax.

The cold air doesn't help much, though. Not as we approach the corn maze and realize that the churned-up ground and the sheer number of kids rushing through it kill the idea that Pax might be able to swing it. Not after we wait in the long hayride line only to learn that there's no longer a ramp allowing easy access to the wide, open wagon and that there's no possible way for Pax to get inside.

He's a trouper, as always, and if he's getting frustrated, he doesn't let on. “Let's go find a pumpkin. Big one,” he says, grabbing my hand and steering me away from the hayride operator before I can go off on him about the unfairness, and possible illegality, of denying handicapped access in public places. Pax pats his lap. “This chair is equipped to handle some pretty excessive weight. I'll be your pumpkin mule.”

I find a smile for him, but I'm still pretty irritated on his behalf.

After we visit the pumpkin patch and find one we like, we hear an announcement for the final running of the pig races, probably the most notable feature of Fall Fest. Three tiny pigs wear numbered vests for each heat, and people always abandon whatever else they're doing to cram around the chicken-wire fence and watch the piglets race for Oreo cookies waiting at the end of the course.

We join the crowds making their way to the “racetrack,” and I'm not shy about throwing a few elbows so that we can actually have a view of the race.

Pax laughs at me. “Relax, woman. It's just a pig race.”

“I'm serious about the pig races.” I grin. “I used to throw a tantrum when I didn't get to hold the flag to cheer on one of the pigs.”

“When did this happen?” he asks. “Like, last year?”

I lean down to kiss him, grabbing his cheeks and smushing them together. “Shut up. No, not last year.”

Then people find a way to tarnish the damn pig races, too. When a pair of overeager twins almost knock Pax's chair over in their attempts to wedge themselves against the fence, their mother admonishes them. “Jordan! Jayden!” she hisses furiously. “That poor man is in a wheelchair. That man has a
disability
! What are you thinking?!”

She's loud as hell, and the crowd right around us goes silent, several people turning to stare. The seas part at once, like Pax is some kind of charity case, and the staring continues.

“Um … it's cool,” he says awkwardly, to no one in particular. “Really, the races are for the kids.” He looks up at me and winks. “And Nikki here.”

But when he thinks I'm not looking anymore, I notice his jaw twitching a little bit. I don't enjoy the races nearly as much as I expected to.

After that, I give up on any of the remaining festival activities, and we head over to the fire pit area. Aside from the pig races, it's probably the best part, anyway. Several fire pits are interspersed around the area, surrounded by low wooden benches perfect for sitting on and warming up. And roasting marshmallows. Upon entering the area, we're handed long twigs, a small pail of marshmallows to share, and two cups of warm apple cider. The bulk of the crowd hasn't yet navigated over to the fire pits, and we have our own private bonfire to enjoy for a few minutes.

Pax wheels up right beside me, and I lean over to rest my head on his shoulder as I hold my twig over the fire, three plump marshmallows speared onto the end. We sit in silence, watching the sparks, enjoying the sound of the crackling fire and the heat it provides. When he shifts to kiss my forehead, I inhale the scent of his skin, a combination of woodsmoke and cool cotton. Something squeezes my heart. I fight to keep the frustrated scowl off my features when I realize I'm feeling sorry for him, something I'm sure he'd absolutely
hate
. And I don't want to feel sorry for him, anyway. I just want people not to be assholes.

Pax doesn't let on that he's hung up on any of it, criticizing my roasting technique and taking over the process. Finally I'm able to laugh, letting the heady sugary mix of melted marshmallow and hot cider boost my spirits and energy level. We stay by the fire for a long time, and as people start to gather and fill in around us now that the sun has completely set, I open my mouth to ask Pax if he's ready to call it a night. There's still time to go home and curl up on his couch, and that's where I want to be.

I nuzzle against his neck. “Ready to go home?” I murmur.

He answers with a gentle kiss against my temple and a whisper. “Yeah.”

But before I can stand, someone comes up behind me and covers my eyes with a pair of hands. “Boo!”

I whirl around and find Sam leaning over my shoulder, grinning. “Hey! I didn't know you were going to be here tonight.”

She shrugs. “Neither did I. Hey, Pax.”

“Hi, Sam.”

I look around, behind her. “Who are you here with?”

She points toward a group of people, several guys and a few girls in the mix. I recognize one of them as the guy from the showcase, the one she gave her number to. “Tim. And some of his friends.” Sam smiles again and leans closer. “We've been talking all week. He's really nice. We were going to go to a movie, but then his friends were doing this, so we decided to come along.” She surveys the huge fire pit area. “This is crazy. I never saw anything like this. Have you guys been here awhile?” Sam stuffs her hands inside the pockets of her coat and bounces on the balls of her feet, trying to stay warm.

“Yeah, a couple of hours. We're probably going to head out soon.”

“Actually, I think we are, too.” She rolls her eyes. “I want to do the whole marshmallow thing, but we ended up riding over here with Tim's best friend. He wants to go check out a party someone at their school is having, so we sort of have to go, too.” Her eyes widen as inspiration strikes, and she grabs my arm. “Hey. Come with us.”

I shake my head at once. I'm not in the mood. Plus, I'm trying to keep from doing anything that would destroy the goodwill my mom's been offering lately. “We're probably just gonna—”

“Pleeeeease?” Sam persists. She glances at the group. “They're nice and everything, but I don't know them all that well. This will be so much more fun if you guys are with me.” She grins. “And if things go sour somehow … I can bail. Please?”

I groan. “Sa-am…”

So she turns her focus to Pax. “Pax. Say you guys will come. Just for a little while.”

Pax looks at me and shrugs. “Why not? We have plenty of time. We could swing by for an hour or so. Let Sam do her thing, and then if she wants to head out, she can catch a ride with us.”

“That would be perfect,” she gushes. She leans against Pax's back and wraps her arms around him. “You're the best.”

I voice my concerns to Pax without saying a word, just looking at him intently. The night has had its share of challenges, and I don't really feel like taking on any more.

“It's just a party,” he assures me quietly. He smirks. “I've been to plenty of parties. It's not an issue.”