The Fall Up

I lay there for several minutes as Henry’s breathing evened out. From my position on the bed, I could make out the dancing lights of the San Francisco skyline outside my balcony doors. I’d bought the house for that view, but as I stared at the bridge in the distance, my mind drifted to a completely different view altogether.

One of the tattooed variety.





I WENT THROUGH both packs of cigarettes I’d brought to the bridge with me that night, but six hours of pacing later, my Designer Shoes still hadn’t showed. To say it scared the shit out of me was an understatement. I was a swinging pendulum of emotions as I walked that side of the bridge more times than any smoker should be allowed. On one extreme, I was freaking the fuck out that maybe she’d actually jumped at some point before I’d gotten there, but on the other end, I was celebrating the fact that she had found other ways to cope with her issues and didn’t need to go up there anymore. In between those two polar-opposite options, I chastised myself for being such a mental case, freaking out over a woman I hardly knew.

Then her smile would pop into my mind and sling me right back into a panicked state again.

By the time I left, the sun was peeking over the horizon and a slew of what-ifs were running rampant through my mind. None of which were good, and all of which ended with Anne.

I was a disaster.

With exactly zero hours of sleep under my belt, I started the next morning in the shittiest of shit moods.

And that was only the beginning of it.

“What do you want?” I greeted my visitor around a mouth full of apple as I opened my front door.

“Are you avoiding me?” Lexi asked, sliding past me.

“Well, come on in.”

I didn’t linger in the doorway. If Lexi was showing up at my door, she had something to say, and knowing her, she wouldn’t be letting it go until she said it—probably multiple times.

The clip of her heels followed me to the kitchen, where I was cooking my breakfast.

“You know, this really isn’t fair to me,” she said, stopping beside the 1970s barstools I had just finished refurbishing the day before. “Are these new?”

“New? No. New to me? Very. Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what exactly is not fair so we can get this over with. I need to eat and get to work.” I nabbed my spatula and flipped two eggs frying in a pan before setting it back down.

“Becky told me that she saw you at a bar with a woman last week.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head to the side as I propped a hip against the counter. “I’m not sure you can consider a party at Quint’s a bar.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

I knew what was coming.

Three, two, one…

“You’re making me look like an idiot!” she screeched, throwing her hands up in the air.

With her outburst, Sampson came barreling down the stairs only to come to a screeching halt when he caught sight of Lexi. He was a dog, but his disappointment was palpable. I couldn’t help but laugh; I shared those exact feelings.

“Stop laughing!” Lexi snapped.

My already-thin and sleep-deprived patience disappeared. I could’ve pretended that I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with her bullshit, but quite honestly, I just had no desire.

“Get out of my house,” I ordered, going back to cooking my eggs.

“Stop. You need to stop being stubborn and give us another chance. I know you’re pissed. I screwed up, and I’ve apologized at least a dozen times. But, Sam, we can’t just throw away what we had.”

“Excuse me?” I spun to face her, shocked by her nerve.

“You’re making me look like an idiot in front of our friends. When we get back together—”

I abruptly cut her off. “We are never getting back together.”

“Sam, I love—” She took a step toward me, but I pushed a hand out to halt her.

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