Never Stop Falling

by Ashley Drew

  “I’m sorry for that. Tess...well she…” Nick’s voice trails off.

  Before he can find the words he’s searching for, I interrupt. “Please, Nick. I get it.” He simply nods his head, understanding what I mean without having to explain further.

  I let out a long, drawn-out yawn, stretching my arms high above my head. Though painfully tired, I honestly would sacrifice rest to spend the entire night catching up with Nick. “Listen, if you’re free tomorrow night, I’d love to grab dinner with you.”

  He pauses briefly, as if to consider my request, and it bothers me that he even has to think about it. Had I known he’d hesitate the slightest bit, or his smile would suddenly fade from his handsome face, I probably wouldn’t have asked. “Actually, tomorrow night won’t work for me. There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  My eyebrows raise with surprise because Nick would have never said no to me before. But who am I to think he’ll drop everything for me now? I mean, he did have a life before I walked back into it.

  “Lunch tomorrow?” I spit it out, before even thinking about how desperate I must sound.

  “Sorry, but lunch won’t work for me either. I’ve got a few things I need to do here.”

  My forced smile works its way through one rejection after the other, and how I’m managing that is a wonder. I guess this is how Barbie does it when Ken runs off with Workout Barbie or Veterinarian Barbie or some better version of her—with a permanent smile plastered to her face even in heartbreak and defeat. Mad props to Barbie.

  “But,” Nick starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got some time for coffee in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll take it,” I say almost instantly, then wince. Could I be any more pathetic?

  “Great. Caffe Pergolesi? Three o’clock?”

  “Done!” I confirm as I nod my pathetic head in agreement and leave, silently wishing for three o’clock tomorrow to hurry the hell up.

  My stiff neck doesn’t deter me from checking the clock on my nightstand. It’s four in the morning—only thirty minutes past the last time I checked. Thirty minutes of straight sleep take the record for tonight.

  “Woo hoo,” I mutter.

  Not a trace of moonlight shines through the window. The only light illuminating my bedroom comes from the fluorescent green glow of my alarm clock. The clock whose hands control every second of our lives, like a puppeteer, always moving us forward and away from our past. The same clock that will manipulate my strings all the way to Caffe Pergolesi to meet Cori in about ten hours.

  I turn my head and stare straight up at the blank ceiling above. If only the ceiling and I could switch places so that my mind could just be blank. No thoughts. No feelings. No aches. No pains. No Cori.

  Cori. Cori. Cori.

  Ever since she walked into the bar last night, thoughts of her have flooded my head like a destructive tidal wave. Wrecking my head. Wrecking my heart. Wrecking my soul.

  Cori. Cori. Cori.

  Someone once told me if I ever needed a distraction I should think about puppies and rainbows. That seems to work when I come across something gruesome on television or read about some horrific tragedy in the paper. And it works sometimes at the pub when I deal with obnoxious customers, and all I want to do is toss their apparently incorrectly-made Manhattans in their faces.

  Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows. Puppies and rainbows.

  Cori. Cori. Cori.

  Cori holding a puppy. Cori pointing to a rainbow in the distance.

  Yeah, this isn’t working.

  I give in and let myself think of her. She is still insanely beautiful, just with an added touch of maturity. Man, she even smells the same, that vanilla scent I could never get enough of. Even through all of the chaos in the bar, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. That lame bodybuilder guy saw it too. If it was obvious to him the way I was focused on her, then it’s possible that someone else may have noticed it. Tess? Andi? Maybe even Cori herself? Shit. Now I feel guilty.

  Guiltier.

  My conscience was already eating away at me for not telling Cori the real reason I can’t go to lunch or dinner later today. It’s not like I lied. I’ve never lied to her before, and I’m not going to start now. Leaving information out isn’t technically lying, but still, I should have told her the real reason. It’s bound to come up at some point, but for some reason, I just couldn’t say it.

  My head is completely fucked right now, but was inevitably fucked the second I saw it—that huge diamond on her ring finger. I never thought of Cori as the type to want something so flashy. She always found simplicity in what she wore, and that ring sure isn’t simple. But what do I know? It’s been six years. Maybe that’s the kind of shit she likes now. Maybe Cooper Reed in Real Estate turned my best friend into some materialistic Manhattanite who runs around with the cast of Sex and the City—or Sex and the Shitty as I like to call it—sipping on their hoity-toity cosmos, eating at their hoity-toity restaurants, wearing their hoity-toity clothes.

  Fuck no. I know Cori, and that isn’t her. She probably thinks that show is just as lame as I do.

  Despite me already knowing about her engagement, seeing that ring on her finger was like taking a thousand knives to my heart because there was a time when I imagined putting it there. Nothing—not even hearing the words come from her own father—could have prepared me for that feeling.

  Tossing and turning to find a comfortable position with no luck, I look at the clock again, and it’s four-fifteen. Well, this is going to be a long night.

  I grab a fistful of my shirt and yank it up to my nose, breathing in that vanilla scent I know so well, the faint remnants of Cori hanging on for dear life to the fabric. I’m wearing the same shirt I’ve been working and sweating in all day to bed, and I don’t even care.

  But then I roll over. All traces of vanilla vanish, and the scent of strawberries overpowers my senses.

  A scent I also know very well.

  Only three things in this world motivate my inner early bird: Christmas, pancakes, and Nicholas Kelley.

  So, it comes as no surprise that I find myself sitting at Caffe Pergolesi half an hour early today, claiming the antique, forest-green sofa that lines the front window of the Lobby Room. Besides the continually changing canvases of art displayed on the walls, the Perg, as the locals call it, hasn’t changed much and still boasts the same old-world charm as before—an old turn-of-the-century Victorian home meets the modern technologies of espresso machines and coffee brewers. Even the people are the same: university students, hippies, and yuppies. Nothing says Santa Cruz like a melting pot of eccentric characters.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” a voice I recognize all too well interrupts my thoughts. I quickly glance at the wall clock. It’s three o’clock on the dot. Nick never fails to be on time.

  “Not at all. I just got here myself,” I lie, smiling uncontrollably. After I say it, I realize my almost empty coffee cup proves otherwise. Maybe he won’t notice.

  Nick settles a good arm’s-length away next to me, his smile a reflection of mine as we grin in unison from ear to ear. “How’s it going? Sleep well last night?”

  If seven hours of tossing and turning, four water refills, three trips to the bathroom, and one rooster crowing at the top of its lungs count as a good sleep, then, “Like a baby,” I lie again. I don’t lie, especially not to Nick, so why I catch myself in two lies in the past two minutes is beyond me. “How about you? Everything okay at the pub?”

  He combs his brown hair back with his hand. “Everything’s great. Just really busy, that’s all. I mean, you saw it last night, all the chaos.”

  My eyes get lost in Nick as a waitress comes over to take his drink order. Streaks of natural light penetrate the window beside us, accentuating his already perfect features. His olive-green eyes appear even brighter in the daylight, and his toned frame, although hidden beneath his navy blue t-shirt, doesn’t go unnoticed. Like a Van Gogh or a Da Vinci painting,
it’s easy to get lost in him.

  I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so, because Chesty over here has turned a simple drink order into the biggest flirt-fest of the century as she giggles and bats her lashes, jotting down Nick’s order. Unless I’m deaf, I don’t recall hearing Nick say anything funny.

  “When did your father finally hand over the reins?” I ask Nick, shooting the waitress a hurry-up-and-shoo-along look. The displeasure on her face says she doesn’t appreciate my look—like I could give a rat’s ass what she thinks—and she scampers off. Good effing riddance. “I remember him being hell-bent on running that place until he was in his grave.”

  “It could have gone down that way much sooner, too,” Nick replies. I sense the remorse emanating from his tone. “Luckily, it didn’t. But, it could have been bad for him. One day, he just passed out in the middle of the bar. We thought he was having a heart attack…” he trails off, as if he’s waiting to see if it strikes a nerve with me. Sure enough, it does. “Thankfully, it wasn’t his heart. He was just suffering from extreme exhaustion looking after that place, and he wasn’t looking after himself or his health. I warned him, so many times. My mother and I decided that he was once-and-for-all done with the pub. Though he protested, I won the battle in the end. It was always in my cards—to take over the family business. Yet, I don’t think Dad had expected that time to come so soon. And to be honest with you, neither had I.”

  “I’m sure he’s proud of you...and thankful. I know how important the pub is to your family. And from what I saw last night, it looks like you’re doing a damn good job. The place was packed.”

  His mouth presses up into a bashful smile. “Thanks. I try. Although, it isn’t always easy, especially when you have employees that happen to be related to you and don’t always give you the respect of being the boss. I love my sister, but man, I really can’t stand working with her sometimes.”

  I nod my head and chuckle. “Well, being the boss comes with the joys and freedoms of being able to hire and fire whomever you please, right?”

  “Sure, but what kind of asshole would I be if I fired my own sister? Besides, she’s not all bad. When she’s not being annoying, she’s actually a great employee. The majority of the time, I can tolerate her.”

  “How about you lend me some of that tolerance of yours?” I lift my hand in front of Nick, palm facing upward. “I could use some right now because I can hardly stand being in the same room with Henry and Jamie.”

  Catching me off guard, Nick takes my hand in his, and holds it between us. My cheeks warm at his touch.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “And not getting any better,” I reply, trying not to stutter over my words like a flustered Porky Pig.

  He releases my hand the moment Tits McGee brings him his cup of coffee, and it leaves me feeling slightly disappointed. On the other hand, it gives me satisfaction knowing she saw Nick holding my hand. Hopefully, she knows he’s off limits now. I mean, not for my benefit anyway, but for Nick’s. He’s too good for someone like her.

  Despite my attempts at shying away from the topic, leave it to Nick to ask me about Cooper—how we met, how long we’ve been together, what he’s like. Like I thought, it isn’t the easiest conversation.

  “Sounds like a great guy, this Cooper,” Nick praises without hesitation, almost as if he doesn’t actually mean it, but perhaps I’m reading into it too much.

  “He is a great guy.” I hesitate. “I’m really happy. He makes me happy. We’re good together.”

  Wait...who am I trying to convince here?

  “It seems like it. You look happy. And if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

  I honestly can’t stand that word—happy. It’s trite and shallow. Every time I hear that word, I see a yellow smiley face plastered on the rear of an old Volkswagen van named Wanda.

  “Thank you. That means everything to me,” I reply, and that certainly is the truth. I don’t know how I’d feel had he not given me his approval. Nick’s opinion had always mattered to me, and apparently, that hasn’t wavered.

  “What about you, Nick? Are you…happy?”

  Not only do I use that stupid word again, but I ask the question I don’t actually want an answer to.

  He smirks because he knows what I’m asking. Before he answers, his eyes drift to the street on the other side of the window, and then find their way back to mine. “Yeah...I am.”

  You know that feeling you get when you’re on a roller coaster? That gut-wrenching ache that shoots its way through every inch of your body as the train ascends a couple hundred feet above the ground? And all at once, you plunge forward, spiraling down what feels like minutes of centrifugal hell as your heart drops and slams against the hollows of your stomach?

  “Her name is Riley,” he says with pride, and that roller coaster feeling attacks me. His face lights up with a beaming smile as her name rolls effortlessly off his tongue. “Riley Jones.”

  I would be lying to myself if I said that hearing her name doesn't sting. It does. It really fucking does. More than I can even begin to explain. Nails clawing viciously across a chalkboard would sound like music in comparison to the way her name vehemently pierces through my ears and all the way down to my heart in one swift motion.

  Nick gushes over the woman in his life, from meeting freshman year to becoming a commuter couple, since she resides in San Francisco, and my nervous ticks begin to settle in. I have a habit of biting my thumb nail in uncomfortable situations, and though the couch we are seated on is rather comfy, the conversation about Riley is not.

  “She sounds like quite the keeper, Nick,” I tell him lightheartedly, though lighthearted is a far stretch from the actual heaviness weighing down my heart.

  “She definitely is. I think you’d like her.”

  I probably would. There isn’t anything Nick has said that would make me dislike her, other than the fact she has my best friend’s heart. Before we know it, our time is up, making it the shortest hour ever. Time is never on our side.

  “I could sit here forever with you, but duty calls,” he says, and the disappointment written all over his face mirrors mine. “I should head out.”

  Nick leads the way outside, with me following not too far behind. I walk at a snail’s pace toward the exit, stretching every last second I possibly can with him.

  “It was great seeing you, Cori,” he says as he pulls me into an embrace in front of the café. “Take care of yourself.”

  For some reason, this hug feels too final. I can’t bring myself to say anything because my dry, achy throat constricts my words at the thought of not seeing Nick again. He shoots me one last smile as he turns and walks in the other direction. My heart sinks to my stomach when he disappears around the street corner, out of sight but certainly not out of my mind.

  If this is what it feels like when a person for whom you care deeply walks away from you, not knowing if you will ever see that person again, then I just had a taste of my own medicine—and I deserve every last drop of it.

  Unsure of what to do for the remainder of the day, I make my way toward Pacific Avenue, admiring the symmetrical beauty of the gloriously-green trees running perfectly along both sides of the street. The crystal blue skies give way to the beaming sun as it stretches its rays and plays tag with the earth’s shadows. People walk up and down the sidewalk. In pairs, in fours, or solo. Some quickly, others leisurely. In laughter, in silence. With smiles, without emotion. Perhaps without a care in the world, or maybe like me, with all of the weight from the world on their shoulders.

  I pull out my phone and notice three new voicemails. The first two are from my mother. No surprise there. I delete them right away. The third is from Mateo.

  “Hey doll! None other than your best bitch friend here. Since you’re not returning any of my messages, I’m assuming that things are going well with the old man. And they better because I’m not covering your shifts at the bar for nothing. Ugh, I’m so over that place. Anyway, cal
l me, babe. I hope you’ve been thinking about your vows because…”

  The message continues to play, and though my attention should be on what Mateo is saying, my mind is elsewhere. Somewhere it really shouldn’t be. With someone it really shouldn’t be.

  “…and Cooper and the boys are going to look mighty fine in their tuxes, thanks to me.” Cooper. The sound of his name breaks me out of my daze as Mateo rambles on. “I suggested the Dolce and Gabbana suits because the man said money is not an issue, and holy smokes do I love hearing those words. It’s almost orgasmic. Hey, I said almost. And if I didn’t already mention the—”

  Beep.

  He’ll never learn.

  A single ping reverberates from my phone, indicating another message, now from Henry, asking if he can expect me home for dinner. As if I want to rehash the previous night. No, thank you. I try calling Cooper, with no success, before turning off my phone completely and throwing it in my purse.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me? Or is that really Corinne Bennett in the flesh?” The familiar voice calls out from several feet behind me, and I know exactly who it belongs to.

  “None other than yours truly,” I say, turning with my arms stretched out at my sides.

  A wide grin stretches across Braiden’s face, and he lifts me up, pulls me into a bear hug, and smacks a wet kiss on my cheek. It puts me at ease knowing there are still some things and people that haven’t changed since I left. When he finally puts me down, I can’t contain my laughter. It’s nice to be able to laugh like this.

  “Holy shit, man! What the heck are you doing here? And when did you get back?”

  For the first time, I don’t mind answering questions. Braiden always made conversation easy.

  “Yesterday afternoon. You know...just making a visit. Visiting my dad. Visiting everyone. It’s been a while since I’ve been home, so...I think it was about time,” I say playfully. Braiden is probably the only one I would joke around with over the sensitive subject.