The Way We Fall

  “Are you open?” she asks so softly I can barely hear her over the sound of Kenny’s scanner beeping.

  I nod hastily and turn back to my register to punch in my password. “Yeah, just a minute.” The system takes a few seconds to log me in and I smile as I take the pack of gum from her to ring it up. “Do you want a bag?”

  “No, thanks,” she replies, taking the gum back and walking away, completely oblivious of her resemblance to my dead friend.

  “Hey, sexy, can I trade you a ten for a roll of quarters?”

  I look up and Kenny winks at me as he holds out a ten-dollar bill. I grab a roll of quarters out of the drawer and exchange it for the ten, then I turn back to the keypad in front of me, trying not to think about Hallie.

  The one thought I couldn’t escape after she committed suicide was the idea that I may never have truly known her. Hallie and I had both known of kids who had taken their lives and, at the time, we could see how it was inevitable. Joe was always wearing black… Stacy never had any boyfriends… Paul was always playing those violent video games. But in the end, it was my own best friend’s death that stumped me. I didn’t see it coming.

  It didn’t help that she didn’t leave a note.

  Closure is a weird word. It implies that something is closed. Finished. But how can you find closure when someone you love dies? They’re already gone. The case is closed. There’s nowhere to go from there.

  There’s no one to give you answers that make any sense. Which is why, after the shock of Hallie’s death wore off, I became very angry with her. How could she leave me behind without any explanation? Did I not deserve to know her story?

  There goes that word again: deserve.

  I make it through the rest of the workday without any appearances from Houston. Kenny walks me out to the back of the store where my bike is parked.

  “Want to go to Ración with us tonight? We have a reservation at eight, but someone in our party canceled. You know you want to come.”

  It’s been about five months since I’ve taken Kenny up on one of his offers to get out of the house. I’ve been using the excuse of writing my book, but I can’t really use that anymore since I haven’t written a single word in six weeks.

  I kneel down next to my bike to punch in the code on the padlock. “Who’s going? I’m not going if Lina’s there.”

  Lina is Kenny’s bisexual friend who hit on me the last time I went to dinner with him and his crowd. She made some pretty crude remarks after I rejected her, too. I would have left the restaurant right then if it weren’t for Heather, Kenny’s straight friend who explained to me that Lina was going through a bad breakup. That was something I could relate to.

  “Lina moved to Seattle with her new boyfriend months ago.”

  I climb onto my bike and nod. “Sure. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Yay!” Kenny shouts as he throws his arms around me so suddenly I almost lose my balance. “I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

  I hug him back and refrain from reminding him that we’ve only hung out once before. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He kisses my cheek as he lets me go. “What are you going to wear?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. My gaze is locked on a white SUV parked at the end of the service alley behind the market. I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me again, my subconscious fear of running into Houston.

  Kenny follows the direction of my stare to the SUV. “Who’s that?”

  “No one.”

  The driver’s side door opens and my breath hitches as Houston steps out. What is he doing here? Is he following me?

  “Sure doesn’t look like no one,” Kenny says. “Looks like a very delicious someone.”

  I swallow hard and turn back to Kenny and throw my arms around him again. “I’ll see you later.”

  He chuckles as he seizes the opportunity to squeeze me firmly. “Oh, yeah, baby. You know how I like it. Hug me tighter.”

  I squeeze a little harder. “Is this tight enough?”

  “No, harder!”

  I laugh as I push him away. “Go home.”

  He kisses my forehead before he turns to walk away. “Don’t stand me up, gorgeous.”

  I slide my helmet off the handlebars and try to pretend I don’t notice Houston walking toward me.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice a bit breathy, as if he’s nervous.

  I look up and try to think of a response other than Go home to your wife. “Hey,” I reply tersely.

  Houston looks back over his shoulder at the corner of the building Kenny just disappeared behind. “Who was that?”

  I should slip this helmet onto my head, ignoring his question as I ride off into the sunset. But I can’t.

  “Why does it matter?”

  He smiles at my impertinence. “I guess it doesn’t. Do you need a ride?”

  I narrow my eyes at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously offering me a ride?”

  The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Rory, I don’t know what’s going to happen when I come in here to oversee the setup of the bar, but I know that this”—he wags his finger to indicate the space between us—“can’t continue. We can’t work together with all this animosity.”

  “Why?”

  His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Because it’s not healthy.”

  “Suddenly you’re worried about maintaining a healthy relationship with me?”

  He sighs as he looks down at the asphalt. “I deserve that.”

  “Look, Houston, if you want to maintain a healthy working relationship with me, I think the first part of that would entail not questioning my friendships with other guys. The second part would probably entail not showing up at my apartment. How about we start with those two things?”

  That muscle in his jaw is working again and I wonder if he’s going to explode from all that pent-up emotion. Finally, he looks me in the eye and his face relaxes, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a soft crooked smile.

  “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “Is that an insult?”

  He shakes his head. “Quite the contrary.”

  I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I stare at my helmet in my hands, unable to respond. When I look up again, I catch a glimpse of the inside of his forearm as he runs his fingers through his hair. He got the old tattoo partially covered. He quickly tucks his hand into his pocket so I can’t make out the new tattoo.

  “Let me give you a ride, Rory.”

  My stomach cramps at the idea of being alone with him in the car again. “Does your wife know you’re here?”

  “Yes. I told her I had to give a friend a ride home.”

  “You lied to her?”

  “About you being my friend?”

  “About having to give me a ride home.”

  He smiles, his eyes lighting up with hope. “Does that mean we can be friends?”

  “Houston… That hopeful look in your eyes is making me very uncomfortable.”

  He laughs and takes a step back. “Sorry. I guess I suck at this friendship thing. Maybe I can get some pointers from your friend… what was his name again?”

  “I didn’t tell you his name.”

  He bites his lip in a sheepish expression and my heart flutters with longing. I should not be alone with him. Ever.

  He nods toward his car and smiles. “Come on.”

  I stare at his SUV for a moment and I suddenly remember the last time I gave him a blow job in his old Chevy truck. We were leaving a UO football game. The traffic around the stadium was horrendous and both our phones were dead, so I jokingly offered to strip for Houston to keep him entertained. He offered to do all the dinner dishes for a week if I followed through. Dishes being one of my least favorite chores, I quickly yanked up my green Oregon T-shirt and flashed my breasts at him.

  “Houston, we have liftoff,” he replied with a sexy grin.

  I groaned as I tried not to laugh at his awful pun. Then I glan
ced around the crowded streets. When I was certain no one was looking in our direction, I ducked down to undo his jeans.

  I chuckle to myself as I recall how crazy we were. “Thanks, but I have a ride,” I say, tapping my handlebars. “See you later, Houston.”

  I pedal away, trying to pay attention to motorists while contemplating what just happened. Does Houston really want to be my friend? Does he only want to do what’s best for his business? Or was he feeling me out to see if I’d be open to having an affair?

  * * *

  Ración is a Spanish tapas restaurant that’s quite popular for its mastery of molecular gastronomy. I’ve never been to Ración, but I’ve read some of their reviews online and heard people talking about the place. The moment I walk in and see the tasting menu on the blackboard, I know this is going to be the kind of eatery that serves tiny portions that will break my budget.

  I’m starving, since I normally have a late lunch when I get off work at four p.m., but I skipped lunch today to save my appetite for this special dinner. I love food, which is why I ride my bike to work most days, even when it’s raining. So I can burn enough calories to justify my need to stuff my face.

  I rode my bike to the restaurant tonight. I figure if I get a little tipsy, the worst-case scenario is I have to push my bike to the bus stop or the rail station. It will take me forty minutes to get home instead of fifteen. No big deal.

  Kenny stands up and waves at me from the far left end of the bar. I make my way over, taking in the laid-back attire most people are wearing. A lot of vintage dresses paired with cardigans, plaid shirts and thrift-store jeans, and Gor-Tex jackets. I sigh with relief as I dressed pretty casually in my only pair of designer skinny jeans, an airy coral blouse, and some nude flats.

  Kenny bumps his cheek to mine and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Everyone, this is my gorgeous friend, Rory, short for Aurora.” He stretches the syllables on my given name and I try not to blush. “Some of you may remember her from that one wonderful night in March when she graced us with her presence. Well, it only took five months for me to convince her to give us another shot.”

  I wave as everyone says hi, some of them offering me a handshake. Kenny asks Judy, the girl sitting next to him, to scoot over so I can sit next to him, then he orders me a Looking Glass cocktail.

  “What’s a Looking Glass?”

  He shakes his head. “All you need to know is it contains absinthe. You’ll like it.”

  Two drinks later, Judy and two of her dining companions have to leave and a group of three guys is seated at the bar on my right. The guy seated next to me has a full beard, which I’ve come to appreciate after two years living in Portland. Around here, growing a beard is a pissing contest; the fuller and longer the beard, the more virile and manly you are. It’s cute to see men publicly fluffing their feathers in an attempt to attract mates.

  The guy glances sideways and catches me staring at him. I quickly look away, but not before I catch a glimpse of his smile and the perfect teeth underneath that beard. I press my lips to keep from smiling and I hook my arm around Kenny, my social lifeline.

  Kenny turns to me and smiles. “Are you having fun?” His eyes widen when I reply with a clumsy nod. “Oh, my goodness, Rory. Are you drunk off two cocktails?”

  “Cocktails? Why do they call them cock-tails?”

  “Oh, you’re too adorable.” He waves at a waiter, who quickly comes over. “Can you please hurry with the food?” He nods toward me and the waiter nods back, as if he can divine how tipsy I am with a single glance. “Thanks, man,” Kenny calls out as the waiter walks away.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “I’m starving.”

  “Then you came to the wrong place.”

  I whip my head to the right and Beard-guy is sporting a twinkle in his eye, looking very pleased with his comment as he takes a sip from his beer. I slip my left arm out of Kenny’s and sit up straight so I can respond.

  “Excuse me?”

  He smiles, showing off those perfect teeth again. “I said you came to the wrong place if you’re hungry. This place is for tasting, not eating.”

  “Are you saying I have to spit my food out after I taste it?”

  He chuckles as he sets down his beer and turns his shoulders a bit so he can get a better look at me. His eyebrows scrunch up. “Rory?”

  I squint at him through the dim lighting and I can just barely make out the crystal blueness of his eyes. “Do I know you?”

  “You probably don’t recognize me because of the beard.” He holds his hands up to cover the lower half of his face.

  My eyes widen with surprise. “Liam?”

  He drops his hands and smiles. “In the flesh.”

  I lick my partially numb lips and reach for my glass of water, taking a few gulps before I set the glass down. “How long have you lived here?”

  Liam was in my Art of the Sentence class junior year. We partnered up during an exercise where the professor asked us to construct a five-sentence-minimum short story. The catch was that it had to be done one word at a time, going back and forth for each word. The experience was memorable. Liam and I met at the local Starbucks and spent four hours sipping lattes and laughing at our ridiculous short story.

  It was the first time I’d felt comfortable in the company of a man since Houston had left almost two years earlier. I was having such a good time, I didn’t even notice he kept hitting the ignore button on his phone. Until we left Starbucks and he apologized before making a quick phone call—to his girlfriend.

  “I actually just moved here a few months ago,” he replies. “Got a job at Intel.”

  “Intel? What do you do there?”

  He smiles as he reaches for his beer. “Corporate affairs. Totally boring. What are you doing these days? Still writing?”

  Nothing like a question about what I’m doing with my career to sober me up. “I work at Zucker’s for now. Yeah, I’m still writing.”

  “Zucker’s? The grocery store on Burnside?”

  “Actually, the one across the river on Belmont. But, yeah. It’s temporary, you know, just until… I don’t know. Until I decide it’s not temporary, I guess.”

  He flashes me a reassuring smile. “Nothing wrong with that. I actually wish I had done something a bit more temporary. It’s easy to feel trapped once you’re in a so-called dream job. Competition is fierce. The pressure is on not to screw up.”

  I raise my eyebrows in agreement. “Yeah, I know that pressure.”

  “Are you…?” He looks down at my hands and smiles. “You’re not married?”

  I glance down and his left ring finger is bare, but his right hand is concealed behind the glass of beer he’s holding. “No, are you?”

  “Nope. I dodged that bullet shortly after graduation.”

  “Dodged that bullet?”

  He laughs and takes another sip of beer as he tries to think of a response. “It ran its course.”

  I nod as if I understand what this means. The waiter arrives with our first course and I’m a little perplexed by what looks like a shallow bowl of purple goop.

  Kenny gives my forearm a light squeeze. “Purple potato. Dig in, sweetheart. I can’t have you passing out on me.”

  I turn to Liam and he looks confused as to why I was chatting him up if I’m here with someone. “This is my friend Kenny. We work together.”

  Kenny turns his head at the mention of his name, and his eyes twinkle as the sight of Liam. “Pleased to meet you,” he says, reaching his hand out to Liam.

  I lean back so they can shake hands and I get a weird feeling, like Kenny is sizing Liam up to see if he’s good enough for me. And my suspicions are cleared up as soon as Kenny opens his mouth again.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll cut you.”

  “Kenny!” I squeal, but Liam just laughs as he goes back to nursing his beer. “He’s kidding. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “I’ve got your back, gorgeous,” Kenny whispers in my ear, then he goes back to cha
tting with his friend George.

  After a delicious, but slightly unsatisfying, five-course meal, Kenny insists on paying my $134 bill. He gives me a warm hug and I thank him profusely before I stand up to leave.

  Liam grabs my hand as I begin to walk away. “Wait up. I’ll give you a ride.”

  I glance at Kenny and his eyebrows are raised skeptically, then I turn back to Liam. “I rode my bike.”

  “I have a truck. We can put your bike in the back.”

  Liam quickly settles his bill and Kenny blows me a kiss as we head out.

  “I’m really not that far,” I insist as we head south on Washington.

  “Yeah, but it’s late. You shouldn’t be riding alone at this time of night.”

  A desperate chill has fallen over the streets of Southwest Portland, fluttering the sleeves of my coral blouse. I rub my arms to warm up and Liam quickly removes his gray twill jacket.

  “Put this on.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Yes.”

  He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and holds up the jacket for me. I roll my eyes as I slip my arms inside. But my reluctance quickly melts away as I’m comforted by the residual warmth and crisp scent left from his skin.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It’s awful. I’ll need therapy after this.”

  I unlock my bike and he pushes it for me toward his truck. Once he’s satisfied that the bike is secure in the truck bed, we hop inside and head toward my apartment.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he asks as we come to a stop at the first intersection.

  I sigh as I anticipate a question about why I’m single or something else equally awkward. “Shoot.”

  “I never asked you this when we were partners in class, but I remember what happened to your friend freshman year. It was one of those things that people talk about for a week or so, then it gets forgotten. But I imagine it was quite different for you.”

  I clench my fist, digging my fingernails into my hand. “Is that a question?”