This Is Falling(11)

Rowe’s smile never wavers, but for a few seconds I see worry flash across her eyes. There’s a story to her, but I know it’s going to take time for her to warm up enough to be willing to tell it. I think I’m alright with giving this some time, though.

“So, how do you feel about burgers?”

She finally breaks her eyes away from me and pulls the torn paper menu from the rack on the wall.

“Burgers are good,” she says. “I don’t eat out much. I usually just eat something at home. I kind of like things that are plain. What do you suggest?”

“Can’t go wrong with the classic cheeseburger,” I say, waiting for her to tell me she doesn’t eat bread or cheese, or to ask if they have a veggie burger instead. She never does though, and instead, refolds the menu and pushes it back against the wall.

“Sounds good. I’ll have one of those,” she says, pushing her way out of the booth. “Mind ordering for me? I need to find the ladies’ room.”

“You got it,” I wink and nod to the back, letting her know where the restrooms are. She doesn’t look back when she walks away, so I indulge and lean completely out of the booth, watching every inch of her long, golden legs walk down the aisle.

“Looks like you’ve gone and made yourself a new friend, eh?” Cal teases.

“Yes, sir. I believe I have. And she’ll have a cheeseburger.”





Rowe





Once I lock the bathroom door, I break down. I’m not sure where the tears are coming from, other than the sheer stress of this entire situation. Nate seems nice. He seems more than nice. And I think I trust him. I must, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to leave the safety of the gym and walk along the open road with him.

Somewhere, deep inside, I know this is serious flirting. And maybe a little part of me hopes I’m more than just a distraction for Nate. I’m being so boring, though. One-word answers, surface questions—it’s like I don’t even know how to be real. Our conversation sounds like the dinner table with my parents.

I think it’s because my back is to the door. I can’t think clearly, or even think at all, because I keep waiting to see who walks in next. Maybe we can move somewhere else. Would it be weird to ask him to move somewhere else?

Someone’s knocking, so I run my hands in the hot water and then splash some of it against my neck, patting myself dry with a paper towel. I exit and trade places with an older woman, and our bodies touch when she passes. The exchange practically knocks the wind out of me because I’m so involved in my stupid panic attack—so I stay hidden in the darkness of the hallway, just staring at the back of Nate’s head.

His arm is stretched along the top of the booth and his body is tilted slightly to one side while he talks to the man he called Cal when we walked in. Nate’s arms are long. Like, really long—I’d like to measure them. He has dents and lines that define muscles just like the guys I see on TV, and his T-shirt hugs tightly around his chest and biceps. His clothes don’t drape on his body like Josh’s always did—probably because he isn’t some skinny sixteen-year-old who hasn’t met the weight room yet.

Cal notices me standing in the darkness, so I remind myself to breathe again and force myself forward. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at this. The closer I get, the more comfortable and convinced I become with the fact that Nate and I are just friends, so once I reach the edge of our table, I decide to test out honesty.

“Do you mind if…if we moved to a booth in the corner?” I can tell he’s confused, but he doesn’t seem to be against my request because he’s sliding both of our water glasses forward and holding them in his enormous hands while he leaves the booth. I lead him over to the corner, the one seat that I think gives me a view of the entire restaurant, and I settle in, already breathing easier.

Nate never asks why I need to move, and I never tell him. Instead, he picks up the conversation, and starts to tell me about his family and growing up in Louisiana, and I listen—at first, splitting my attention between my heart rate and breathing as well as Nate’s words, until eventually all of my focus is on him.

“You and your brother are close,” I say, not really needing to ask it. He smiles and nods at my question.

“Ty’s my best friend. Always has been. I had friends in high school when he was gone and at college. But Ty, he’s the only guy I ever share my secrets with.”

For some reason, the second he says it, all I want to do is become the second person he shares secrets with. Maybe it’s because I don’t have anyone to share mine with, and the thought of getting some of this out is so inviting.

“How about you. You have any brothers or sisters?” he asks.

“Just me and my parents. I spend most of my time with my mom, because her office hours are at home. We live near the campus she works at—she teaches economics at State. She homeschooled me the last two years, so I guess that would make her my best friend.” And that would make me…pathetic.

“It’s nice that you’re close to your mom,” he says, and I smile and look down into my lap. Am I close to my mom? I guess I am. I don’t really hide much from her, but I don’t really have much to hide either. She knows my issues. She’s more like my doctor—my live-in, enabling-and-disabling doctor. But Nate’s not ready to hear all of that yet. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to articulate it without telling him everything.