How to Fall

by Rebecca Brooks

  Danny didn’t know these sides of Julia. But now Julia knew they were there. They were a part of her and not some fluke or a thing she could try on for a few nights and then discard, like cheap clothes or a bottle of wine to enjoy until it was done. But the knowledge made the long, dark nights of winter even harder to get through alone. The loneliness was a palpable ache, so strong it seemed like another body taking up space in her bed.

  Because what could she do? Dates were unimaginative and dull when they weren’t with Blake. The usual things she did in Chicago—restaurants, bars, a few museums—seemed pitifully small now that it no longer felt like she had the whole world at her feet.

  What was he doing? Who was he with?

  Would he ever write to her?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Winter, still.

  “Come on, Rob and I got tickets to this comedy show. Danny and Amy are coming and we’re taking you with us.”

  Liz had swung by Julia’s apartment and was rooting in her cabinets for something to eat.

  “Who’s Rob?” Julia asked, closing her laptop. She’d been diligent about her resolution to come home from work on time, especially on Fridays. But that didn’t mean she didn’t bring work home with her instead.

  “New guy, you met him last week at Trina’s party, remember?”

  Julia didn’t, but she nodded anyway. What had happened to Greg? She decided it was best not to ask.

  “Come on, I thought you were going to stop working all the time. Those kids can teach themselves algebra for all I care—that’s what the internet’s for.”

  “It’s new student evaluations to conform to state standards for the federal funding we got last year.”

  “I’m telling you, just look up whatever other schools have done.”

  “I know, but I like these kids. I want them to do well.”

  “You don’t have to reinvent the wheel.” Liz plunked a glass of wine next to Julia and turned the laptop toward her, opening up a new browser and typing in a search. Julia tried to stop her, angling the computer back, but it was too late.

  “Whoa-ho, what do we have here?” Liz asked, lifting up the laptop to get it out of Julia’s reach and depositing herself on the sofa beside Julia’s desk.

  “It’s nothing; close the screen.”

  “Oh my god, J. You’re not still watching his show, are you?” Liz clicked through something on the screen and Julia heard the pip-pip-pip of the volume rising on the computer, followed by the swell of violins from the opening credits she could now hum from heart.

  “He sent me a few back episodes,” she groaned, sinking down into her chair, wanting to disappear.

  Liz looked up sharply from the screen. “So you’re in contact?”

  “I don’t know.” Julia threw up her hands. “A little?”

  “You didn’t tell me there was potential here.” Liz narrowed her eyes like she’d been lied to.

  “There isn’t. He’s God knows where right now—Patagonia and about to go to South Africa? And then who knows where, and in the end, he’ll wind up back in Australia. Last time I checked, none of those places were anywhere near Chicago.”

  “So? What have I been telling you?”

  Liz lifted up the laptop to make her point.

  “Yeah, I know. The internet. But I don’t want some kind of weird long-distance online sexcapade.”

  Liz laughed. “I don’t know who this guy is, but he was definitely good for you. Leaving school before it gets dark out, remembering to stay stocked in good wine, using un-Juliaesque words like sexcapade. What have I told you? Don’t give up so fast.”

  “I didn’t give up,” Julia protested. “He knew I had a return ticket back and on the day I was leaving, he was all, Hey I’m going to Santiago!”

  “Yeah, but to see his friend who got jilted, right?”

  “Jamie. But he made that plan totally last minute, like he was looking for anywhere in the world he could go that wasn’t Chicago or the U.S.”

  “But did you talk to him about it at all beforehand? Did you say anything about what would happen at the end of your stay?”

  Julia shook her head, feeling worse by the second. “I asked him to come here,” she said weakly, but Liz wasn’t buying it.

  “At, like, the very last second, when he was on his you can’t tie me down kick.”

  “So? He wanted me to ask him so that he could say no.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t waiting to see if you’d bring anything up sooner, and then when you didn’t,” she wagged a finger accusingly, “and this other thing came up, he went with that because it was something for him to do?”

  “Because he could have said something if he wanted to see more of me!” Julia cried, exasperated.

  “So could you!”

  “He told me it was just a fling,” she said defensively.

  Liz rolled her eyes. “One night is a fling. Two nights. A week of nothing but fucking and no talking whatsoever. But you guys? Please tell me he wasn’t dumb enough to really say that, and that you’re not dumb enough to believe it. You guys needed to talk about this, not have some stupid fight that neither of you meant just to make it easier to leave.”

  “It wasn’t just some stupid fight,” Julia said defensively, even though she’d thought the same thing a million times before. “He acted like I have, I don’t know, intimacy issues.” She wrinkled her noise. “That’s hitting below the belt.”

  “You do have intimacy issues, sweetheart,” Liz said matter-of-factly. “Obviously he does, too. That’s why you talk about it.” She over-annunciated the last part, as though explaining to a child not quite able to grasp the concept.

  “I can’t believe I’m getting lectured on communication by you,” Julia grumbled.

  “I know,” Liz agreed. “It may be the strangest thing that’s ever happened in the whole history of our friendship.”

  Julia couldn’t help it. She cracked a smile.

  “Almost as strange as the fact that I saw Rob last night and still want to see him again tonight,” she added, and Julia raised an eyebrow.

  “That is surprising,” she said, grateful as usual for Liz’s ability to turn any conversation back to herself.

  “Which is why you have to come to the show tonight to check him out again. I need to know what you think.”

  “Yeah, fine, of course I’m going,” Julia sighed.

  “I think Blake went to see Jamie because he was scared,” Liz said as they got their coats and headed to the door. “He didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t want to look like he was hanging around waiting for you to invite him.”

  “I think he went to see Jamie because he wanted to,” Julia said crossly. “After all, he made it quite clear that we had come to the end. And anyway, Jamie’s his friend.”

  “So? You can have friends and still have a life. You’re acting like this was inevitable.”

  “Wasn’t it? He’s some hotshot TV writer and producer in Sydney. I’m a math teacher in Chicago. We only met because we were both completely out of our elements, but we can’t live outside our real lives forever. Sooner or later, things would have to get practical anyway.”

  “Why?” Liz asked. And it was in the way she cocked her head at Julia, with that puzzled expression as she unlocked the car door, that Julia knew the question was a serious one.

  Why did they have to get practical? Because that was what life was. Someone had to be there to take care of the everyday issues, the day in day out, the problems as they inevitably arose. Someone had to live in Chicago and trudge through the snow and smile at the other couples and laugh even when the jokes weren’t funny.

  Didn’t they?

  More to the point, didn’t she?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Months passed. The snow melted and the spring came too slow, like it always did. A painful unfolding full of fits and false starts. Flowers pushed up the first sunny weekend only to crumple in the next frost. The restaurants put out th
eir sidewalk seating and found the chairs dusted in snow.

  But eventually the sun came, the afternoons warmed, and then it was June, another school year over. On the last day of teaching Julia went out for drinks with her co-workers after class like she always did. Dutifully she clinked glasses around the table, congratulating everyone on a job well done. But every time a cry of “Cheers!” went up, she cringed. She’d held Blake’s eyes every time they said it and what did it matter? She was alone.

  She made her excuses and headed home, but it was only to change out of her work clothes before going out again. Julia had been roped into dinner with Danny and Amy, and with Liz and Rob, who were still going strong. It was Liz’s longest relationship in forever, and while Julia was happy for her friend, she couldn’t help feeling like the third—or really fifth—wheel sometimes. Rob was supposed to be bringing a friend of his to dinner in some kind of awkward set-up for Julia. She wasn’t exactly interested, but she still didn’t know what to wear.

  “The floral number with the low neck,” Liz said over the phone as Julia stood in front of her closet, frowning.

  “Too much cleavage for a stranger. I don’t even know the guy.” Julia tucked the phone against her shoulder and rifled through the hangers.

  “All the more reason to show off, silly. What about one of those cute sundresses you have? With a little shawl for later, it’ll be perfect for the garden bar.”

  But Julia knew which sundresses Liz was talking about. The blue dress Blake had hitched up over her hips as he took her under the waterfall. The red one she’d worn in Rio, feeling his hand idly slide up the straps when they started to slip.

  She’d tried to forget about “her Brazilian thing,” as Liz called it. But months later everything still reminded her of Blake. Something she read, a thing someone said, something she wanted to do…

  On the nights when she let her resolution slide and stayed late working, assuring everyone else that they could go home to be with their families while she finished up the work that needed to be done, she wished she had Blake there to remind her that she didn’t have to be the one taking care of everyone else.

  She wished she had Blake there to take care of her sometimes.

  “I take it that’s a no.” Liz’s voice cut in. “So I guess we’re stuck with the usual, dark jeans and something cute on top. At least go for flimsy cute, not teacher cute—okay?”

  “Sure,” Julia said. But she’d stopped paying attention. Automatically her hand had strayed to the soft fabric folded in the back of her closet. She hadn’t been able to get rid of the white skirt and shirt. She’d never wear them again, obviously, so they sat hidden. But even though she’d washed them, she swore they still smelled like salt water and champagne.

  “You’re moping,” Liz said into the silence.

  Julia drew her hand back quickly, as though caught. “I’m not. I’m just…tired. Everything was nuts wrapping up at school.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating? It’s summer, the only time I’m jealous of your job.”

  Julia laughed, making herself pull away from the outfit she couldn’t believe she’d actually worn.

  “I’m serious,” Liz said. “Tonight is to make sure you start your break right. You have these months off and you should take advantage of it. Sleep until noon. Go swimming every day. Have an affair or three.”

  Julia snorted over the phone.

  “Or if that doesn’t work, you could finally buy that goddamn plane ticket to Australia I know you keep thinking about.”

  Julia groaned. “I am not going to Australia.”

  “Why not?” Liz said, and Julia wished they could go back to her wardrobe crisis instead of rehashing this whole conversation again. Ever since the postcard arrived, Liz hadn’t been able to let go of the ridiculous idea that Julia had an actual future with Blake. One in which they weren’t running around for a week, but were together. All the time.

  A couple, even though Julia couldn’t wrap her mind around what that would look like for them.

  Whenever she brought up that minor detail, Liz would conveniently fall silent. I don’t know, you’ll figure it out, she’d scold, like that was the easy part. Like Chicago to Sydney was a distance that could be easily bridged.

  But it couldn’t. And so when the postcard came, into the closet it went, alongside the clothes from New Year’s Eve.

  It wasn’t even much of a card. On the front was a picture of an enormous waterfall. On the back he’d written simply: Thinking of you. Not much from someone who was—she knew from re-watching The Everlastings more times than she’d care to admit—extremely capable with words.

  And yet as much as Julia complained to Liz that Blake hadn’t said a thing, she’d known what he’d been trying to tell her.

  Because it wasn’t just any postcard. The picture showed Victoria Falls seen from the Zimbabwean side. Massive, churning, the spray misting across a chasm flanked by green. Julia wasn’t sure whether to feel good that something had made him think of her, or whether it hurt all the more knowing that he could gallivant anywhere, seeing whatever he wanted, and there was nothing special about the fact that for a few days, he’d done so with her.

  She hadn’t written him back. What was she supposed to say? I love you, don’t fuck anyone else under the waterfalls?

  Liz was wrong. A postcard didn’t mean anything. The only option was to move on.

  “I’m not going to Australia,” Julia repeated emphatically. “There’s nothing there for me. All we did was have a good time for a week and everybody knows that’s not what a relationship is.”

  Liz groaned. “I hate to break it to you, Julia, but relationships don’t have to be suffering. It’s supposed to make your life better, not hold you back.”

  But Julia already knew there was no use wondering about something more with Blake. Besides, there were plenty of men who didn’t live 9,238 miles away—she’d Googled it—and who would actually say they wanted to be with her instead of bail without warning, send a cryptic postcard, and leave it at that.

  She just hadn’t met any of them yet.

  She was about to remind Liz that she was supposed to be rooting for what’s-his-name, the guy Rob was setting her up with that night, when the buzzer to her apartment rang.

  “Hang on,” she said, dropping the shirt she’d pulled from her closet and going to the intercom. “The door buzzed.”

  “Package?” Liz asked.

  “I didn’t order anything.”

  “Ooh, end of school year present?”

  “I hope you got me something good,” Julia said with a laugh. She pressed the button on the intercom.

  “Hey,” came the voice from the sidewalk, and for the split-second before Julia registered what was happening she had the strangest sensation that everything was tingling from her fingertips down to her toes, so that she was more worried about what was wrong with her than about what was to come.

  Her “Hello?” came out barely a whisper, so that he had to buzz again and ask who it was.

  But Julia didn’t have the same question. Even with the static from the intercom there was no mistaking that voice, the accent light and buoyant, so distinct she could practically hear him running his hand through his curls.

  “Julia?” he said. “This is—”

  “Oh my God.” Julia squeezed her eyes shut, the phone still pressed to her ear.

  “What is it?” Liz asked, at the same instant the intercom buzzed again.

  “Oh my God,” Julia repeated.

  “Jules,” Liz said urgently. “Are you there? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s him,” she whispered, staring at the intercom.

  “It’s who?”

  Julia could barely form the word. “Blake.”

  Liz gasped over the phone. “What?”

  The intercom trilled again.

  “It’s him. Liz, what do I do? It’s him!”

  Julia turned away from the intercom, taking in her apart
ment strewn with papers, the morning’s dishes left in the sink, the clothes she’d just now dumped all over the floor. How many nights had she lain awake fantasizing that she hadn’t heard from him because he was on his way over right that second, so desperate to see her that he couldn’t settle for the phone or email or any way in which his true intentions might be misconstrued?

  But now that it was happening—or something was happening, she couldn’t say what—she had no idea what she wanted. How could she run to him after all the silence and distance between them?

  On the other hand, how could she not?

  Liz’s voice cut through her panic, so loud Julia had to pull the phone away from her ear. “What do you mean, it’s him? Downstairs? Now?” Liz inhaled sharply. “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “The door buzzed, I said hello, he said hello…” Julia couldn’t remember what came next.

  “And?” Liz prodded.

  “And now I’m freaking out talking to you!”

  “He just said, This is Blake?”

  “No. He just said, Hello.”

  “But you know that it’s him?”

  Julia didn’t want to say that she’d know his voice anywhere. That she heard it at night in her dreams, whispering to her. That she imagined him mouthing the words as he wrote The Everlastings. That no matter what she said about moving on, she would have given anything—everything—for the chance to hear him say her name again.

  “And now he’s downstairs?” Liz asked.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay.” Liz paused. “So explain why you’re still talking to me?”

  “Because I don’t know what to do!” Julia cried.

  “Inviting him in would be a good start.”

  Julia gripped the phone. “I can’t.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “No! Don’t go.”

  “You have things to do.”

  “I know—what time are we meeting for dinner?”