Page 5 of Don't Fall

“You’re late,” crazy girl spats. “I could be dead right now.”

“Hot New Neighbor wouldn’t kill you,” drunk girl points out, laughing to herself.

Crazy girl’s eyes widen. “This is Hot New Neighbor?”

“Well, that’s not what I’m calling him,” sober boyfriend chimes in, “but yeah, that’s the dude you’ve been subletting your place to.”

“I’m not renting from her,” I point out, feeling the onset of a revelation coming for us all. “The woman I spoke to sounded a lot older. And frankly, more sane.”

“What the hell is going on?” Crazy girl whines, dragging her feet to the first kitchen chair in reach and sliding her small frame into it. She suddenly seems a lot less crazy and a lot more vulnerable. “Who would rent out my condo?” She buries her face in her hands and I have to fight the urge to reach out and comfort her. Instead, I march into the kitchen and retrieve my lease from the drawer below the coffee maker.

“Edith Dash.”

Her head lifts and her glassy eyes peek out. “What?”

“Edith Dash, that’s who I’m leasing from,” I explain, coming back toward her to hand over the lease so she can see for herself. Only she doesn’t take it. She just starts shaking her head ‘no’ over and over again.

“Not possible,” she whispers.

“Why isn’t it possible?” I ask, growing increasingly frustrated with the way this is dragging out for no apparent reason.

She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “Because Edith Dash died two months ago.”

“What?”

“Edith Dash is...was...my great aunt. I’ve lived in this condo with her for the last decade. It’s been my home from the moment she invited me in, I seriously doubt her dying wish was to steal it out from under me. So, no. It’s not possible that she rented this place to you. And, even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. It’s mine now.”

“This is your condo?” I ask, trying to clarify what has become confusing beyond my four am brain capacity.

“Yes. My condo.”

I pull up a chair and sit down across from her. “Which your aunt sublet to me, for a year, before she died.”

“Just to be clear,” sober boyfriend interrupts, “no one is going to kill anyone tonight?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we can rule out murder for the time being.”

“Cool. Then I’m going to take drunky here back to the couch.” He scoops her up into his arms and turns to leave without further ado, pulling the door shut with his foot on the way out.

I stare back across the table at the girl who now looks neither drunk nor crazy. Just exhausted. And heartbroken.

“Look,” I start quietly, “it’s late. There are two rooms here, two beds and two of us. Any chance we could just get some sleep tonight and sort all of this out tomorrow?”

Her jaw stiffens, and her lips turn into a thin streak on her otherwise soft face. “You want me to stay the night here with you? A total stranger?”

I can see how that sounds like a stupid idea. So, I extend my hand to her. “Michael.”

She grudgingly lifts her own to meet mine. “Tessa.”

“There you go.” I smile, sort of. “Not strangers anymore.”

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