Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

29

Bennett

Sixteen Months Before

Ruby & Bennett are Twenty-Eight Years Old

“All right, I’m heading out!”

I twirl my keys over my finger. Jolene, still facing the screen of her exercise bike, throws her hand in the air to wave.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” I ask.

She swivels her head to me, red hair a sticky mess around her sweaty face, and she gives me a laughing grin with a look that’s like, Are you kidding me?

I chuckle. “Figured. Always gonna ask though.”

“And I love that you do,” she replies, out of breath as her shoulders shift side to side, pedaling toward the virtual track in front of her.

It’s Wednesday Night Trivia, and I’m off to meet the girls for beers at The Honeycomb. Jolene never joins us.

She attended once, simply to meet everyone. But after that, she’s kept to herself.

I’ve invited her time and time again—heck, I know the girls have invited her to their get-togethers too—and I asked why she won’t come. Jolene insists it’s simply not her friend group. The five of us are too close, and there’s no room for one extra, she says. I don’t think that’s true, and I wish she’d join us. But Jolene does what Jolene wants, and I’ve always loved her gumption—even if I don’t agree.

I look down at my phone as it buzzes for the fiftieth time this evening.

Quinn: Remember y’all: today was Mr. Roller Coaster Day.

Lorelei:Guys, we really don’t have to talk about it.

Theo:Is it bad if I say Emory is hot?

Ruby:You’re kidding.

Lorelei: He’s really not hot.

Theo:Blind. You are blind.

Quinn: Wait, how did you see him and I haven’t yet?

Theo:Lucky you, I’m a super spy.

Theo:[picture message]

Theo:Look at the eyebrows! THE EYEBROWS.

Quinn:They say so much.

Theo:Universes of thought are in those eyebrows.

Lorelei:Did you seriously take a sneaky stalker picture at the park?

Theo:Maybe.

Then, my phone buzzes with a separate text from Ruby, away from the group chat.

Ruby:The man I idolized as a kid is apparently a hunk?

I smile, my fingers flying across the screen.

Bennett: Is that gonna be your opening line?

Ruby:No! Maybe “I like your brain”?

Bennett:Creepy.

Ruby: Is it though?

Bennett:You sound like a mad scientist.

Ruby:But is that creepy?

Bennett:One hundred percent.

Ruby: I bet I could steal his brain. For science, of course.

Bennett:You’re not improving your case here.

Ruby:This requires more brainstorming.

Bennett: Brainstealing.

Ruby:Nice.

Bennett: Brainstorming/stealing dinner?

Ruby:Always.

I smile to myself. When I glance back up, Jolene’s sweaty gaze is leveled on me. She’s cute when she’s like that with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile growing by the second. It’s my favorite version of Jolene.

I pocket my phone and chuckle. “What?”

“You’re gonna ask.”

I tease a hand through my hair. “Ask what?”

She shakes her head and turns back to pedaling. “Just ask.”

“Can we have dinner with Ruby next week?”

“Yes.”

I give a small smile, which she returns with a wink.

I didn’t think I’d find someone who can read my mind like Ruby does. But after our first date, I knew there was something different about Jolene. She’s bold, but not rude. Intense, but still empathetic. Since the day she told me I looked sad in the gym, she’s been capable of reading my emotions like pages from a book, written all over my face.

There’s something to be said about that.

Her hand releases the handlebar to stroke my cheek. The workout glove scratches over my skin. I don’t mind it because the glove reminds me how tough she is—how resilient—and I love that about her.

“You know, our two-year anniversary is coming up,” I say.

“Yes,” she answers slowly. “In five months, Bennett. And?”

I tease my face closer to her, tucking a strand of her fire-red hair behind her ear. “And I have something special planned.”

“Oh, yeah? You think that far ahead?”

“Yes. And you’ll be so surprised.”

She huffs out an exhausted laugh. “Well, not now that you’ve told me.”

I kiss her forehead. “Then, it’ll just have to be that much more special.” I glance down at my phone that buzzes once more. “I’m running late,” I say, planting another small kiss. “Be back later, okay?”

There’s a twitch in her jaw—so small that I might have almost missed it—before she nods and twists away from me.

“Sounds good,” she says brightly. “Have fun.”

Jolene starts the bike again, and the whirring sounds of the pedals follow me all the way down to the basement.

My childhood bedroom is far from what it used to be. After my mom left Cedar Cliff to explore a new life now that “my child has left the nest”—her tearful words, not mine—I bought the house from her. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting my soul, watching my mom’s beat-up Hyundai putter down Cedar Cliff’s mountainside.

Jolene moved in shortly after. Her apartment lease was up at the time, and we were at the crossroads of is this relationship serious, which we both decided yes. Plus, I like having her sass in the house. Helps ground me.

It’s been a little over a year since then, and the basement is still littered with boxes and remnants of childhood. My old boxy computer collects dust in the corner. There are rough spots on the wall, where my old posters used to hang. A few storage cases are stacked in the corner. It’s a sitting time capsule—a project I have yet to get to.

By the time I reach Ruby’s house, she’s already waiting on her porch. I pause at the end of the driveway. I can’t get past the car parked at the end. Her new neighbors like to party, and their guests always park on her property.

Unable to leave the street, I give a little honk that makes her jump. She sticks out her tongue as she runs down the driveway and hops in.

“Another rager, huh?” I ask, leaning out to see the house next door, filled with cars.

She buckles her seat belt. “I honestly admire their stamina.”

“You know, I don’t mind telling them to park elsewhere.”

“Oh, ho-ho, big, bad Bennett here to save the day.”

I chuckle, picking up an old bubblegum wrapper from the center console and tossing it over to her. She bends down to the floorboard to get it, but instead comes back with a letter with an all-too-familiar address.

She holds it up, her lips curled in, eyebrows pulled together. “Is this one new?”

I clear my throat, wheeling us back onto the main road.

“No,” I say. “It’s from two weeks ago.”

“Has he written since then?”

“No.”

The regular correspondence between me and my dad slowed significantly after our visit to Florida. Whereas he used to write me monthly—regardless of my response rate—he now only replies to my sent mail. I penned my last letter one month ago. I’ve only gotten the one reply since. I didn’t think it was worth it to attempt further communication.

She hums to herself. “Anything of note?”

“He says he’s moving this year.”

“Oh,” she says slowly. “So, you don’t know if your letters will get to him now?”

“Yeah.”

She puts the envelope down and looks out the window.

“Our daddy issues really do show up at inconvenient times, don’t they?”

I have the urge to reach out and touch her knee in solidarity, but I ignore the impulse.

I turn the wheel into The Honeycomb’s gravel lot, parking beside all the cars I recognize week after week—Theo’s sedan, Bill’s pickup, Mrs. Stanley’s little Bug.

Ruby claps her hands once we park, leveling a look at me with a small smirk.

“Okay, so Mr. Roller Coaster Day. What’s the game plan here?”

I laugh. “We discuss how awful he is?”

“Right. Yeah. I can totally do that.”

I curl my lips in. “Can you?”

“I mean, he’s a master in the field and—”

“Probably things we shouldn’t tell our friend.”

Ruby gives a sheepish smile. My best friend is pulled in two directions. One where Emory Dawson—or Mr. Roller Coaster, as our group calls him—is in fact a leader in the roller coaster design industry and Ruby’s personal hero since college. But then there’s the other side of the coin, where he’s also the villain who designed The Grizzly—the same attraction that sent Lorelei into the hospital. After two years of legal battles, he’s finally in town for a few weeks to repair the ride. Lorelei is less than enthused to be working with him.

“Supportive,” Ruby concedes with a stern nod. “We are supportive of her.”

I put the car in park. “I won’t mention how much you want his brain for science.” She buries her face in her hands, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and whispering, “Sociopath.”

She pushes me. “You’re the worst.”

“The best, you mean. But that’s okay.”

“I’m sure some delusional people think so,” she says, hopping out and crunching over the gravel to my side of the truck.

We walk into The Honeycomb, creaking open the wooden door before it slams shut behind us. Cedar Cliff’s main watering hole is filled with the loud hum of conversation and classic rock playing over the speakers. Chairs squeak, the wooden floor whines, and pints clunk after being picked up and placed back down again.

Our friend crew is gathered around the same table we’ve had for years on Wednesday Trivia Night, and I can already tell the conversation is circling the subject of a certain Mr. Roller Coaster. Lorelei’s face is in her palms. Theo is leaning across the table. Quinn has her arms crossed with a smirk, probably enjoying the drama of it all.

I nudge Ruby, and she nods.

“Oh, hey, happy Mr. Roller Coaster Day!” she says as loud as she can, receiving a whimper from Lorelei.

Off to a good start.

The night is filled with talk of how frustrating Emory Dawson is, how he claims to only be in town to fix The Grizzly, but every comment is laden with snark and disdain. But every time Lorelei comments on his unsavory demeanor, I shift my focus to Ruby—the way she tilts her head to the side, how she smiles with each new inkling of information she receives.

She’s formed some parasocial mentor relationship with Emory Dawson through textbooks and news articles that have shaped him into an image very different from the man who designed Lorelei’s borderline death trap.

But she’s not the only one intrigued.

The more Lorelei talks about Emory, the more her face twists with indecisive words of, “Well,” and, “Oh, but …”

I’m not sure what’s happening, but once she and Quinn go to the bar to get refills, Theo leans over to me and Ruby.

“So, can we have a pool on how quickly she falls for him?”

I bark out a laugh. “Who? Lorelei and Emory? Seriously?”

Theo rolls her eyes. “Of course! Don’t you see the way she talks about him?”

“She hates him.”

“I don’t know,” Ruby muses slowly, her eyes swiveling over to Lorelei at the bar. “I could see it.”

“Jealous?”

“Ha-ha. No,” Ruby says, extending the word out and leaning her head in closer to mine. “But maybe that’ll mean I’ll get to meet him.”

Theo sniffs. “Traitor.”

Ruby gasps. “I am not!”

“So are,” I tease.

She shoots me a look. “Well, I can’t help if he’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, youngest designer ever. Youngest CEO. I get it.”

She tilts her head to the side with a pointed look.

I hold my hands up. “I do. I get it. I get it.”

She sticks out her tongue. I stick out mine in return.

Then, I take another swig of my beer.

And another.

And another.

I lose track of the amount of beers Orson brings to our table. I lose track of how many times Ruby and I stumble to the bar, asking for more. I lose track of how many times my hand hovers over my best friend’s lower back as I try to lean in to hear her.

Even after our friends clear out, I’m still blinking over and over and leaning on my fist as Ruby motions through a new roller coaster design she’s thinking about, mimicking the movements and speed to both me and Orson. When she gets drunk, she discusses theme parks.

“Sounds great,” I say. My words aren’t as clear as I wish they were.

“I think so too.” Hers aren’t either.

Orson rests his hands on the bar top with a squint. “Y’all need a ride?”

I glance at my watch, realize I can’t tell the big hand from the little hand, then look at the digital numbers flashing over The Honeycomb’s exit door. It’s nearly one in the morning.

“Oh God,” I say, burying my face in my palms.

Ruby leans back on the bar with a sigh. “Walkin’ time.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” I answer, quickly rapping my knuckles on the bar but missing the wood top. I pretend it didn’t happen even though Ruby lets out a snicker.

I drop I have no idea how much cash into the tip jar, but enough for Orson to hand it back. I shrug, shoving the money back into the cup and pushing away from the bar before he can return it again.

I stumble because the floor is too damn move-y, and Ruby trips enough for me to reach out and loop my arm in hers.

“Hey-lo, Pirate,” she says, swaying beside me.

“Parrot.”

“Sounds like carrot sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Parrot. Carrot.

A laugh bubbles up. “It does.”

We start our adventure back home, walking down the sidewalks in Cedar Cliff, balancing on the edges, kicking rocks like irresponsible teenagers, and tripping over storm drains, where Ruby whispers a hello to the nonexistent clown hiding inside. It’s the same Pennywise bit she’s done for years, but somehow, it never gets old.

We hop over the broken fence to Miss Lisa’s yard and into the woods, lined with summer leaves and a babbling creek.

“Babbling,” Ruby whispers, almost to herself.

It’s so quiet on these trails. I love how clearly I can hear her in the dead of night without having to lean in.

“I was thinkin’ the same thing,” I say.

She giggles. Light. Airy. Just like her.

I don’t know how much time passes because time isn’t really a thing when we stumble through the trails. We’re no longer twenty-eight, but ten years old again—traipsing through the backwoods, cackling, leaping over the creek, running until Ruby trips over a stick and I catch her in my arms.

We reach the back gate to my house. Crunching across the yard, I see the warm light still on in the kitchen. A flash of red hair appears, then disappears in the window. By the time we’re at the basement door, Jolene is standing in the open doorway with her arms crossed.

Ruby trips ahead of me. She looks like a newly born giraffe, and I’m laughing all over again.

“Fun night?” Jolene asks, looking between us.

“Joleeeeene.” I wanted the word to be smoother, but we’ll work with what we have, I guess. “Jojo.”

“You’re totally gone, aren’t you?”

“Jojo …”

Jojo shakes her head with her beautiful lips pulled in a half-smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, shifting her weight to the side and peering over my shoulder. “You staying the night, Rubes?”

I love it when she calls her Rubes. It’s like they’re best friends. I would love if my best friend was my other best friend’s best friend.

But Jolene’s face when she offers for Ruby to stay … it looks off. I want to say it’s irritated, but maybe I’m just too drunk.

I don’t hear Rubes respond, so I twist on the spot. Ruby nods to us with her eyes closed, barely clutching on to the railing.

Oh no.

“Got her,” I say, wrapping an arm around Ruby’s waist right as her palm slides up to my shoulder.

Jojo joins me on the other side, and together, we lug Ruby into the house, up the basement stairs, and to the guest room. We lay her down on the bed in the dark, the moonlight shining in through the window illuminating her ginger locks, cascading over the bedspread.

Jojo looks between me and Ruby before patting me on the chest. “Glad you’re home safe.”

“You’re the best. Really.”

With a kiss on the cheek, she says, “I know I am.”

She gives Ruby one last look, and it’s that same expression from earlier tonight that feels a little off—but then again, I’m very tipsy, so maybe it’s a trick of the light. She shuts the guest room door behind her.

Ruby lies on the bed, nuzzling her head against the pillow. Her small legs pull up closer to her chest. She never used to drink like this.

She groans to herself and rolls to her side. I stumble my way to the attached bathroom, grab the trash can, and place it near her head. She immediately cradles it in her arms. I lie down beside her, grab a fistful of her hair, and hold it back while she empties whatever’s left of The Honeycomb’s beer selection into the can.

“Sorry,” she mumbles weakly.

“Don’t be,” I say. “Never be sorry around me.”

I stare at the ceiling. The fan rotates round and round. The bed feels like it’s floating on a wave pool rather than on carpet.

“Bennett,” Ruby moans, rolling over and curling into my arms.

I keep my arm around her, resting my palm on her lower back and holding her closer.

Her breathing slows against my chest, getting calmer the closer she cuddles in. The tiny pink string, frayed and barely there, hangs loosely on her wrist as she curls a fist close to her eyes, like a child hiding from the light.

I wait until I hear her small, breathy snores before sliding off the bed. I grab a spare pillow and tuck it beside her so she can’t roll onto her back in case she gets sick again, and then I spread three blankets over her because I know she gets cold easily. I stumble back toward the guest room door, and with my palm on the handle, I steal a final glance at my best friend sleeping.

If things were different, I would stay next to her all night. If we were teenagers again, I wouldn’t have left the bed. But the promises we made then and the bracelets we both still wear are nothing more than a symbol of our ever-lasting friendship.

If I’m being honest with myself, I know I still love my best friend. But I can’t stay with her. Because there’s a woman I love in a different way on the other side of this door. A beautiful, exciting woman who I have every intention of proposing to on our two-year anniversary.