Risk the Fall

by Steph Campbell

  I watch the time change on the digital clock on the dash, and can’t help wondering, what if this is the last time that we sit in the car together. 8:21. Will the time always stick out in my mind like everything else with Ben? Every time I woke up with him carrying me to bed after I’d fallen asleep on the couch. Every time I came home from school, frustrated and tired and he was there to tell me a story to make it better? Every time I hung up the phone with my mom, and felt deflated and pessimistic at the entire world, and how he’d swipe the tears from under my eyes before they fell?

  “You didn’t kiss her back?” I ask. It doesn’t matter, because in my mind they had a romp in the middle of his mother’s precious container room, even though I know that’s highly unlikely.

  “I didn’t. I swear. But…When she kissed me…I was in the shower.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say.

  “I just want everything out in the open, baby. I don’t want shit coming out later on…if there is a later on.”

  “So you were late because you were showering with Caroline?”

  “No. Never. I swear. She came into the bathroom while I was showering.”

  Ever heard of locks, asshole?

  “I was late because she was hysterical after I shot her down and I couldn’t leave her like that at my parents’ house, Quinn. I had to take a later flight and then my connection was delayed, and it was like the entire fucking universe was conspiring against me getting home to you.”

  “Is that all? That’s the whole story?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to go then. I need you to go. I can’t process this right now.”

  “Okay,” he says. He gets out of the car, shuts the door and I let him walk away.

  I slam the pot down onto the stove, turn the flame on high and toss a pack of ground beef into the skillet for tacos. I missed out on Mexican food last night. I’m going to eat it for breakfast. I slept like shit knowing Ben was down the hall at Carter and Shayna’s house. I got up at an ungodly hour expecting Shayna to be here bright and early with some scoop about how he is, but she wasn’t.

  The front door swings open just as I’m grating a massive pile of cheddar cheese.

  “Do you ever knock?” I ask.

  Ben shrugs. “Sorry, habit.”

  “Whatever. Your car keys are on the table by the door if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says.

  “Am I?” I feel angry. I feel hurt. I feel all the things that are the opposite of okay.

  “You’re home. You’re safe.”

  “Flour or corn?” I ask, holding up two packages of tortillas.

  “Quinn, you don’t have to cook for me.”

  “You know that cooking is therapeutic for me. I’m doing this for myself, not you.”

  Ben nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Good. And corn, please.”

  I sit on a barstool and silently watch her cook. Watching her move around the kitchen in those skimpy-ass shorts and a t-shirt that she’s practically swimming in is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Every movement is fluid and precise. And even though she’s angry at me, I can tell that cooking is filling her with a form of peace that nothing else could offer her. The first day I met Quinn, she cooked for me. I remember leaning back in that barstool at her parents’ house feeling nervous as hell because I’d never met a girl like this. Now, I’m sitting here scared that I’ll have to let her go. I’d do anything to not have to face that reality.

  I don’t say a word, because I don’t want to ruin the moment, but also because I know that Quinn didn’t invite me, and even though she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I know she needs quiet.

  She sets a plate down in front of me. “There’s fresh guacamole in the fridge. I’m going to change.”

  And on a normal day, I’d follow her into the bedroom and try to make her late for school, but today, I just sit and chew my food slowly, trying to drag my visit out as long as possible.

  Quinn reappears a few minutes later with wet hair and wearing her typical jeans, sweatshirt and flip flops.

  “Any good?” she asks.

  “Delicious. I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “I bet. The cabinets were pretty bare when I first got home. Course, you weren’t here…”

  She doesn’t say it as a dig, and I think that makes it that much worse.

  She fixes a plate and sits across from me, and all I can concentrate on is the smell of her shampoo that lingers in her wet hair, and how many times I’ve climbed into the shower and washed it for her. Or tried to. Usually we’d both just end up covered in suds and couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

  “Last night—”she says.

  I swallow the last bite of food and wipe my mouth with a paper towel.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I understand what you were saying about my not needing you,” she says. “I mean, I do need you. I meant that. I always have. It’s just in a different way. Before, I felt like I needed you to rescue me from my insane home life…and maybe from myself.”

  And I remember all of those nights that she’d shown up on my doorstep, wounded and lonely and needing me to hold her. Until she didn’t.

  “And now…Now I need you to be there when I wake up in the morning,” she says.

  “I want that. More than anything.”

  “I also need you to be there in the middle of the night.”

  I’m scared as hell right now that I’m losing the only person I’ve ever really given a damn about. That I tore what we had to shreds and that she’s never going to forgive me. What can I say to make that not happen? What can I do?

  “I understand,” is all I say.

  “I’ve got to get going. I have class.First day back.”

  She gives a small nod, then wipes her hands and gets up from her chair.

  I catch her forearm as she passes me. “I do love you, Quinn. Even if I fucked it all up.”

  “I know. Just let me have some time.”

  “Okay,” I say, hoping I’m strong enough to give it to her. I walk to the door with her, because I’m not sure she wants me here while she’s gone. I’m not sure it’s my home anymore.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” I say.

  “Sure.” She twists her hair back into a loose bun on top of her head and secures it with a chopstick that she swiped off the counter. “What are your plans this week?”

  “To win you back. That’s it. That’s my plan. Every day.”

  “Not the black one,” Shayna says, crinkling her nose. “Go with the gray cardigan.”

  I sigh. Quinn should be the one helping me pick out clothes for this event.

  It’s not like I haven’t seen her, because I have— almost every day. She comes by Carter’s place, or the three of us go over to the apartment that still contains most of my stuff, but I haven’t had a real conversation with her in weeks.

  “What color tie?” I ask Shayna.

  “Go with purple,” she says. “It’s Quinn’s favorite color.”

  “Okay,” I say. I wish Quinn would be there to see it. I grab the purple one of the tangled bunch that I pulled out of one of my boxes from our apartment. My mom would not approve of this organization. And that makes me smile.

  “Have you invited her, bro?” Carter asks, hopping down off of the counter top.

  “Nah,” I say. It crossed my mind. I’m going to an unveiling of the line of posters that I sold my photos for tonight. There’s no one that I’d rather have there, that should be there, more than Quinn. She inspired the pictures that have changed my life. But I’d trade every cent to have her back. “I didn’t want her to feel obligated to go or anything.”

  “Don’t be stupid, just invite her. It’s not like she has anything going on,” Shayna says.

  “Shay—” Carter warns. “Stay out of it.”

  Shayna rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You should be more involved in it, Carter,” she s
ays.

  “Hell no, my sister can handle her own business,” he says.

  That she can.

  “Well, if she doesn’t start handling it, Ben here will be living with us forever,” Shayna says.

  I had considered it, though no one has said anything. If Quinn doesn’t let me back into her life, what then? Where do I go? I finally have a little money to my name, I could go get a place around here, but man, packing up my stuff and bringing it to a place that doesn’t have Quinn sounds really freaking depressing.

  “Don’t listen to her, man, you can stay as long as you want.”

  “I’m kidding, Ben,” Shayna assures me.

  And once again I feel pitied, and I don’t deserve to.

  “I can’t,” I say. “I told her I’d give her some time.” And I have to. It’s the only choice I have.

  “If you ask me, and you didn’t, I think you should talk to her. At least invite her,” Carter says.

  I want to. But I can’t.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, even though I don’t mean it. If I push Quinn, I could lose her forever. I can’t risk it just because I’m impatient. No way.

  “What time do we need to be there?” Shayna asks.

  “It starts at seven, but you guys, don’t feel like you have to—”

  “Ben, please. We’re going. Who else is going to be there to show up for you?”

  I called my mom and told her about it. She cried. In a good way. I sort of feel like maybe I’ve proved that this is a real thing to her now that I’ve sold a piece of work. I had to ask her about Linney. I had to. She’s gone back to Kentucky, though she’s staying at her parents’ house, not her dorm. She’s got a restraining order against the douche that fucked up her life, and the DA has picked up charges against him. I’ve learned that I can care about Linney, and that’s okay, but there have to be some boundaries. I want her to be happy, but the only person I need in my life is Quinn.

  Shayna leaves the room to change for the event.

  Carter comes to stand next to me by the bar. “Look, you’ve always been good to my sister, that’s why I’m pulling for you guys to work it out. And I like you, dude, I do. I’m all for second chances. But she’s my sister. Fuck with her again—”

  “I know. Trust me. I know,” I say. “If somehow I’m able to get her back, I’ll never fuck it up.”

  Carter nods. “Good luck, man.”

  “Any more pictures?” Teresa asks.

  “No, I think that’s it,” I say. I tuck the photos that I finally had developed into my server’s apron. “But I do have some balsamic vinegar that I bought there. I’ll bring you a bottle tomorrow. It’s life changing stuff.” I smile at Teresa’s enthusiasm. She’s been chomping at the bit to hear every story and see every photo since I got back to LA. Every afternoon when I come in from school, she’s waiting to grill me for more details. There are worse things than reliving that experience, though.

  I miss Italy, and Amalea, but it’s good to be settling back into a normal routine…even if it’s been a new one. Adjusting to a day-to-day life without Ben has been strange. I’m not even angry at him anymore. I sort of understand why he went to help Caroline. But understanding doesn’t erase the betrayal I feel that he didn’t tell me. I see him every day. He’s living three doors away with Carter, it’s hard not to. And late at night, I sometimes walk downstairs to the parking lot to see if his car is there, hoping to ‘accidently’ run into him coming in from taking pictures because, as much as I told him that I need space, I miss him something fierce.

  “Your friend is here,” Teresa says, pointing over my shoulder. My stomach dances with nervous butterflies, expecting to see Ben’s face when I turn around. But it isn’t. Shayna is over by the hostess stand, waving like an idiot.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I walk over and ask. “Everything okay?” Shayna has only been to the restaurant twice, and she was forced. This level of dining isn’t up to her hoity standards, apparently.

  “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Are you off?”

  I glance at my watch. “In ten minutes, why?”

  “Rad, I have a change of clothes for you in my car, I’m going to bring it in and you can change in the bathroom. We’re kind of pressed for time, so we’ll just pretend that your hair doesn’t look like that,” she says.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, ignoring the insult.

  “It’s a surprise!” Shayna squeaks.

  “I hate surprises,” I deadpan.

  “I know! That’s what makes it even funner for me!”

  I hate Shayna. Not really, but sometimes I want to.

  “Fine.” It beats spending the night in the apartment alone. It’s odd that Ben somehow ended up with my only friend and my brother. I probably should have thought that plan through better when I asked him to be the one to leave.

  I clock out, change into the black dress and heels that Shayna has packed for me and meet her out in her car.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask, tugging on the hem of the dress.

  “You’ll see.” Shayna says. She’s dressed up. In a colorful maxi dress full of peridot, cobalt, and violet that sort of reminds me of the aurora borealis.

  “Shay, come on. If I have to wear this, I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Ugh, oh fine. Baby. We’re going to the unveiling of Ben’s poster-thing.”

  “What? That’s tonight? Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Uh, because you told him to leave you alone for a while. Anyway, yeah, they’re having a showing of the line of all of the ones they acquired at some gallery, downtown. Who knew they made fine-art posters? Talk about a niche market. Anyway, surprise!”

  The gallery is packed. People are filing in from three different entrances. Who knew that posters drew such a big crowd? I feel insanely out of my element.

  “Drink?” A waiter passes by and offers me a glass of champagne.

  “No thank you,” I say. This is awfully hoity.

  I should hate Shayna for springing this on me, but I don’t. Because I wouldn’t want to miss this for anything—seeing Ben in his moment, being recognized for his amazing talent is worth the discomfort of a borrowed wool dress and heels that are a half-size too small.

  There’s a row of easels displaying the various posters that they’ve made from the photos that they bought. Ben’s poster is second to last. And just like he said, it contains each of the shots of the sunsets he took for me. They’re lined up in rows and he’s signed the bottom of the poster. Each print will have his signature. It’s incredible.

  I close my eyes and remember the look on his face when he gave me that book. We were so far away from okay at that point, but he knew that things would be okay someday. So he took those photos every day that we were apart, and now they’re here, for everyone to enjoy.

  I scan the room until I find Ben. He’s across the room, but still easy to find. He’s in jeans, a gray cardigan and a tie. I love seeing him in his own casual version of dressy. It was one of the first things I ever noticed about him. He looks overwhelmed in the large crowd, even though he’s taller than the majority of it. He catches my eye and gives me a small, grateful smile. The same smile I’ve seen so many times. And it dawns on me that he didn’t change at all. That the same Ben is still standing right there. That he screwed up, because he’s human. He’d been my version of perfect for so long, I never considered that there’d be a time when he’d let me down, but it had to happen eventually, because nothing in life is that perfect. And that’s okay. Ben screwing up gave me the opportunity to prove that I could go through something and not fall apart.

  Ben put everything on the line to be with me, even after my big fuck-up. He never stopped loving me, he just got confused, and maybe a little broken. And I guess everyone is allowed a second chance.

  There is nothing standing in the way of Ben and me being happy but me. I’m not in a situation like Amalea where I have these horrible circumstances keeping me fro
m the man I love. He’s right there.

  He’s always been right there.

  “Thanks for bringing me home,” I say. I’m standing in the doorway to our apartment. I could have had Ben bring me back to my car. I could have. But to be honest, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him at the gallery. Tonight of all nights, I just couldn’t let him go.

  “No problem. Thanks for showing up tonight. I really can’t imagine doing that without you being there.”

  I stare back at him. I don’t know what to say to make things okay right now. All I know is that I don’t want it to be ten years from now, and have me sitting there wondering why I stayed angry, or hurt, or feeling guilty for so long without Ben. I don’t want to end up like Amalea, torturing myself over what could have been.

  “Just let me know when you want to go get your car tomorrow, I can take you,” Ben says. “Thanks,” I say. Stupid girl.

  “I love you,” he says. Before I can open my mouth to say it back, he continues. “I used to think I loved you because of the way you made me feel that first day we spent together in Savannah. But I don’t. I love you for the way you crinkle your nose when someone annoys the shit out of you, and you’re trying so damn hard to bite your tongue. I love you for never burning food. I love you for calling me out on my shit, and reminding me every day why I’m so damn lucky to call you mine. I love you for making my life whole.”

  He gives me a small, warm smile, like he’s thinking the same thing that I am. That he doesn’t want this night to end yet.

  “I think you should stay,” I say. I take the last few steps toward him. Close enough to see the stubble on his cheeks and neck. Close enough to smell the fresh, soapy scent that is Ben. Close enough to fall in love with him again.

  “Are you sure?” Ben tilts his head to the side like he’s not sure he’s heard me right.

  I nod and link my arms around him, pressing myself into him. I’ve been aching for his touch for weeks. He doesn’t let me go, picking me up and carrying me into our apartment and the door shut behind us.