When We Fall

by C. M. Lally

  “It’s like it’s too hard to say ‘I like you’ or ‘I want to spend more time with you’” she blurts out.

  “Or ‘I have a bad history with relationships since my fiance died, but I want to work on that with you’,” I add. Suddenly, the space between us goes silent. It’s like the universe is listening to our conversation.

  “Ooh, ouch. Shit,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “That sucks. So that’s his problem?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “It’s not an easy one. We were intimate and he called me her name, telling me how amazing she was.”

  “How long has she been gone?” she asks sincerely. “Maybe it’s just too soon, but he misses the intimacy. I think any sane person would.”

  “Twenty-two years,” I huff in frustration.

  “Fuck me,” she screeches. “Get out. But he’s had other relationships since then, right?”

  “Nope,” I shake my head. “He says I am his first in a very long time, and when I asked how long, he told me twenty-two years.”

  “Awww. I actually think that’s sweet,” she says. “It can’t be easy, and it’s not like learning to ride a bike again like they say. When you are young, trust isn’t usually an issue. Fear doesn’t exist because you haven’t been shot down that many times. But when we get older, trust, faith, hope, and loyalty...that all mixes into the experience. You don’t just get up and decide to fall in love. You find someone of interest and then you stumble around for a while until the trust, and hope and other things arrive to make you feel confident.”

  That’s exactly what we are doing, stumbling around trying to establish the trust and faith in the other. “Wisdom from an event coordinator,” I tease her. “You should write a book.”

  “We should write a book together. We both have the experience in viewing relationships with people,” she states.

  “Yes, but the ones I deal with are well past this part in their relationships,” I admit, looking at the time on my phone. “It’s time for us to go. The wedding is in a half-hour. I need to get everyone in their places.”

  She hugs me hard, holding on a bit longer than normal. “Hey,” she says, “older love isn’t easier than young love. Love is love and most of the time it’s difficult. Don’t go into it thinking it should all fit perfectly into place. If it were easy, everyone would have found their perfect match and soul mate.”

  We separate and each go to finish our remaining jobs left on our checklists. She’s right, I admit to myself. If it were easy, there wouldn’t be the nasty “D” word, divorce. I doubt he’ll ever care for me as much as he does her. We don’t have the time invested, and he doesn’t seem to want any more time with me.

  As I stand in the main hall looking over the room and making sure every person and thing is where it’s supposed to be, the music begins to play. No matter how hard love can be to find, I still think it’s worth the wait.

  Chapter 19 – Frank

  I don’t even know why I’m here. Never mind, I’m lying to myself. I know exactly why I’m here. Her letter— it shredded me. I can’t believe it took me two weeks to see it.

  To be honest, I never go in that room. NEVER. It shames me and has for years. My heart feels empty when I walk in there. Maybe empty isn’t the right word. Bitter is more like it. The cold seeps into my skin and burrows deep into my heart and I come out really angry, a little depressed, and more lonely than when I went it. I avoid it as much as I can. I even walk around the block to check my mail.

  Had the lawn care guy not pounded on the front door this morning, I wouldn’t have gone in there for months. He wanted to inform me that whoever had parked in my driveway was losing a lot of transmission fluid. He was concerned about someone having to shed out thousands of dollars in repairs. He was being kind and generous, and I thanked him. Then my worry drove me insane and I had to see her.

  Which is why I called Isabella’s business today and lied about “my” delivery schedule getting screwed up and needed to know which wedding location my “flowers” were supposed to be delivered to. Then I called my sister and asked if I could borrow their delivery van for a trip into the city, which required more white lies when her curiosity got the better of her and the questions started rolling off her tongue. I love that she owns a flower shop that perpetuated my little white lies today, but I recognize the fact that I may burn in hell for them too.

  I’ve lied more today than I have my entire forty-five years on this planet. I’m a very private person, and I just don’t want anyone to know my business until I know for sure that it’s going to work out. What if she won’t talk to me? What if she’s already moved on? What if I’m the fucking idiot and read too much into her letter? These are the things that have my stomach doing flips and churning acid.

  “...I don’t look like her so why would you call me by her name?” That one sentence haunts my soul. When did I call her Olivia? I don’t recall doing it, and I am damn sure it was Bella on my mind when we were hot and heavy in the moment. I wish I could play back my memories of that night like a movie for her to watch. She would know for sure that she was the one in them. Every thought, every moan, every pleasurable moment was with her.

  She accuses me of the one thing I feared doing the most. I’ve tried thinking it through all day today. Am I forcing my great memories of Olivia into my time with Isabella? My brain is having trouble separating the two, and I think it’s because they both make me feel the same way. They both smell the same way. Bella is right though, they look nothing alike.

  She looks even more beautiful this weekend than when I last saw her. How is that possible? But she isn’t as happy. She’s distracted and has been lost in thought many times since I’ve been watching her. Her eyes are dull, sad almost, and her smile only appears when someone approaches. It’s one of those half smiles of acknowledgment and not the overtly friendly kind she usually gives.

  “Hi, Sir,” the bride and groom approach me from behind. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say. “It’s a beautiful wedding. What a gorgeous facility.” I throw in to appear friendly.

  “Yes, it is. Thank you,” the bride smiles in reply. “Are you a friend of my father’s?”

  “No, actually,” I say. “I’m a guest of the wedding planner. I’m just here to view the facility and her processes to see if I want to hire her.” Fucking great, another lie. I may be in hell before the night is over at this rate.

  “Oh, how exciting! She’s amazing to work with,” the bride squeals and gives me an excited, congratulatory hug while the groom shakes his head in agreement and pats my back.

  “Yes, she even went out of her way to make sure I felt included in the process saying it’s my wedding too,” the groom says gesturing to himself. “I really appreciated that. I just want this to be the most special day for Julie.” And they kiss each other quickly on the lips and rub noses together.

  You can tell he’s enamored with his bride, and that’s the way it should be. I’m sure had Olivia and I made it to our day, we would have been the same way— crazy in love, and god willing would still be that way.

  The DJ calls for the bride and groom over the microphone for their first dance, and away they go, practically spinning to the dance floor. The crowd parts for them, and we all form a weird kind of oblong, circle around them with so many guests. They dance to “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur and by the end of the song, the crowd is singing to the bride and groom.

  The photographer eventually moves from inside the circle, and my eyes lock on Isabella. Her eyes round over with surprise to see me on the other side of the crowd. I can’t tell if it’s a good surprise or not, her face is unreadable.

  My foot moves toward her, but I suddenly hesitate. My brain wants to go to her, but my heart isn’t sure she wants me. We both stand motionless for what feels like an hour when she turns and runs. I watch her push people to the side to get out of her way, and I freeze wondering which way is she running to get t
o me. But it finally dawns on me— she’s running away.

  I pull out the nearest chair I can find and stumble into it. I rub my chest to ease the pain that is piercing it. My breath shudders as I try to breathe deeply to calm my pounding heart. What the fuck just happened?

  Everyone around me continues to dance to the music while others talk amongst themselves in small groups gathered in circles. Others stand in line at the bar ordering or waiting for their drinks to be made. Life continues on while my fucking heart breaks.

  Song after song plays and a few guests stop by the table I planted myself at. No one says a word, they simply gather their personal possessions and find another empty table to rest at.

  I look out across the room, peering into every dark corner to make sure she isn’t hiding from me, but no, she isn’t in view. I mistook her letter. I must have. I came to apologize and beg for another chance. One that promises I will be more open, but maybe I waited too long to walk into my damn living room.

  What does it take to turn back time? I’ll fucking do it. I swear to God almighty above I will. I shift in my seat and my keys fall out of my pants pocket. I scoop them up off the floor and push my index finger through the key loop. It appears that fate is telling me it’s time to go.

  Without a goodbye to anyone, I leave this magnificent old building. I hope it’s kind to the only piece of my heart I had left. She left it there on the floor when she ran.

  Chapter 20 – Isabella

  Julie and Dan Tomzir are adorable. I love the way they hold each other like a vice grip holds metal: strong and steady. They sway slowly as they dance, gripping each other like they’ll die if separated.

  The lights are dimmed and the mood is soft and romantic like a wedding should be. The crowd is singing to them, cheering them on, and tears well up in my eyes. This is an amazing love.

  The photographer captures this perfect moment, and I don’t even have to see the pictures in the viewfinder to know they are special.

  A few more songs play and the crowd revs up with the music. Several of the bridesmaids try to pull me in, but I’m not feeling it. I smile in response, trying desperately not to dampen their good mood, but I can’t participate. My last dance was Frank and I want to preserve that moment for a little while longer.

  The music begins to slow and the crowd thins, offering everyone a rest before we move to the cake cutting. The photographer approaches me to double-check the timing of the rest of the evening, and when he moves away, I see Frank standing on the opposite edge of the dance floor.

  Our eyes lock and he gives me a half-smile like he’s just as surprised to be standing here himself, but he doesn’t move towards me. Does he want me? Every time I extend myself to him, she invades his thoughts, and he leaves me cold and hurt. I can’t win against a memory that has a tight-fisted grip on him. He has to shake her off and come to me.

  He still hasn’t moved, and that tells me all I need to know. Why did he come here then?

  I’m a fool, and she’s still locked in his heart.

  It’s a bitter pill to swallow knowing he doesn’t want me as much as he wants her back. The only thing I have going for me is physicality. I’m actually here and she isn’t.

  I remind him of her somehow and that’s what he wants. He’ll take any piece of her he can get, even if it means destroying me to have it. I can’t pretend for the rest of our lives that it’s me he wants, taking whatever I can of him. It’s not fair to either of us or to her memory.

  The tears that welled up in my eyes earlier are about to overflow their dam. The sting of them burns my eyes and the heat of my overwhelming emotions makes me feel faint. I won’t let him see me cry. All I can think to do is run.

  The crowd presses in as the song comes to an end, and I can’t get through the wall of people. I start shoving bodies, pushing on shoulders to move everyone out of way. I’m suddenly frantic to escape the room we’re in. I’ve never felt claustrophobia until now. I break through the final person, and gasp one massive breath of fresh air, clutching my chest and panting deeply as I stand between two pillars in the foyer.

  Melissa runs past me, calling my name, and I respond, “I’m here,” breathing heavily. She walks toward my voice. I can’t see her at first, only hearing the clicking of her heels, but when she comes into view, she’s shaking her head in disappointment.

  “I just watched that play out like a bad Hallmark Channel movie,” she reprimands me. “Are you really going to let him get away?”

  “Him, who?” I ask, looking down at my shoes. I can’t face her knowing she’s judging me, but when she snorts under the breath, my face raises to hers in disbelief.

  “Him, who,” she repeats my words. “Are you really going to pull that shit with me? We’ve done countless weddings together and you’ve never run through a crowd like the building was on fire. I was standing behind him and saw the whole scene play out. He’s devastated right now. He slumped down in a chair like his world just ended.”

  “He doesn’t want ME. He wants the memory of her, and I fulfill that need,” I explain.

  “Since when did you become a defeatist?” I ask. “I never expected the gumption of Isabella Asante to sour on a hard challenge. I’m disappointed in you.” I’m silent, feeling the sting of her words. She walks away from me, and I can’t let her go. She’s right, I stopped fighting when he called me by her name. Running to catch up to her, I pull her arm to make her stop.

  “He doesn’t want me,” I cry. My tears soak into my silk blouse.

  “He came for you, didn’t he?” she roars at me, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation.

  I have no more words. She’s right; he did come for me, and that’s what I wanted. A small smile turns my lips upward when I realize I got what I wanted. Then why am I scared to death? The knots in my stomach are pulling tighter and tighter with every step we take towards the front door.

  I sniffle my nose and wipe my wet tears on the back of my hands. I hate that tears always cause a snotty nose. I’m sure I’m a visual mess, but I don’t care. I reach for a tissue from the box at the entrance and blow my nose. Melissa walks me to the front closet, opening it to reveal a long mirror hanging within. The music drifts down the entrance staircase, reminding me to pull myself together before a guest, or even worse, the bride and groom, see me.

  Melissa helps tuck my hair back into its bun, as I finish removing black smudges of eyeliner and mascara from my cheeks and underneath my eyes. I really need to start wearing waterproof at these events.

  Within a few moments, I am presentable again. I pinch my cheeks to bring back some color to them. “There, beautiful again,” she whispers from behind me in my ear. I look up into the mirror and see her smiling behind me. “Go find him. Light that man up with the fire inside you. Scorch him if you have too, but don’t let him get away. I’ll take care of things here.” She hugs me before closing the closet door and walking away.

  I don’t think he left already— he would have gone past me and I haven’t seen him. As I stand there contemplating looking outside for him or walking back into the main banking hall, I hear keys jangling and footsteps pounding down the marble staircase at a fast pace.

  The room directory is blocking my view of the staircase and I can’t see who is coming. I step out from behind it but don’t see anyone. The footsteps have stopped and the keys are quiet.

  I stand at the front entrance wondering what to do. If he’s still here, I’ll run into him leaving, but if he’s outside, I might have already missed him. How would he have gotten here since he doesn’t own a car?

  I push the doors open and step out into the warm summer night. The smell of salt and fish assault my senses on a quick bay breeze blowing in from the embarcadero. I don’t see any sign of him. I walk down the few short steps of the front entrance and see a flower delivery van that says Moore Flowers, Knightsen, CA on it. What has he done? But at least I know he hasn’t left. I still have a chance.

  I turn and power s
print up the steps to the heavy front door. I pull on it at the same time someone pushes and the door isn’t so heavy anymore. I stumble right into Frank’s arms. I know it’s him without looking because I feel at home in his arms.

  Chapter 21 – Frank

  She steps into my arms like she belongs there, and to be perfectly honest— she does. The door closes behind her and pushes us back into the main foyer. She snuggles further into my arms and sighs deeply, her breath warming my heart.

  “We need to talk,” my voice says with uncertainty. “I feel like I’m on the edge of falling and I don’t know if it’s to fly or die.”

  “I feel the same way,” she murmurs into my shirt, nodding her head in affirmation of her words. “Let’s go up to the mezzanine and try to find a quiet corner. They should be breaking down that area by now.” She takes my hand and guides us to the third level, well above the reception hall.

  We make our way to a corner table, but it’s neither secluded nor private. The bar staff is tearing down the makeshift bars, boxing everything up and picking up trash. Some wedding guests mill about, but it’s not nearly as crowded as it was earlier.

  I wish we would have left the building, but I understand why we can’t. She’s working.

  “Why did you run?’ I ask, jumping headfirst into the flames scared out of my fucking mind of her thoughts. She takes a deep breath and her shoulders shudder with a nervous twinge. “No bullshit. Just give it to me straight, Bella.” She flinches at my harsh words.

  “I wanted you to come to me,” she mumbles softly.

  “I just drove sixty miles to come to you,” I snap. She isn’t looking at me, so I reach across the table and lift her chin with my index finger to see each other eye to eye. “There. That’s better. And might I add, before tonight— I haven’t driven into the city in twenty-two years. Hell, before you, I hadn’t driven since Olivia died. You’ve got me doing things I vowed I never would again.”