The Edge of Falling Read Free Page B

travels all the time for shoots, but if her mom goes, generally Claire does too.
    “Of course I was invited ,” she says, setting the apple down. “I just didn’t want to go.” She looks at me, her eyebrows raised.
    “Still?” I ask.
    Claire nods, her eyes wide.
    Claire has been hooking up with the front man of Death for Grass, an up-and-coming indie rock band. She’s been seeing him since the Fourth of July, which in Claire time is like decades, and I figured this week they would be calling it quits. Claire isn’t exactly known for her long-term relationships. She’s got a six-week attention span, even when traveling. You could set your watch to it, and right now, the timer is about to go off.
    “Yep, still,” she says. “He’s incredible. He made me a picnic last night.”
    “Where?” I ask.
    “Prospect Park,” she says, her eyes glazing over.
    “You went to Brooklyn?”
    She snaps back to attention. “I think I’m in love,” she says.
    I feel my stomach clench and release. Claire says this a lot, and most of the time she just forgets after a bit, like the emotion was a symptom of a passing cold or something. But once, one glaring time, it totally shook up her universe. And, by extension, mine. David Crew, sophomore year. They dated from September through February, and when they broke up, it was hellish. She dropped ten pounds in two weeks. Claire doesn’t have ten pounds to lose.
    I take another sip of water. “That sounds serious.”
    She comes closer, in a rush, and leans over the marble counter toward me. “He’s just remarkable. You know what he said to me? He said he wanted to tell me things he has only ever written down.”
    “I’m not sure that’s an improvement from his initial opener,” I say. “When he was quoting Coldplay lyrics to you?”
    She raises her eyebrows at me and then nods in understanding. Claire and I have this thing we do when she’s on first dates. She leaves her phone on, and I listen on the other end. It’s supposed to be so that if he’s boring, or she’s having a terrible time, I can come down and interrupt it. I’ve only ever done it once, though. A guy suggested they karaoke, and if there is one thing Claire really, really hates, it’s singing onstage. I crashed and told him her cat was in the hospital. Claire doesn’t have a cat, but it got her out of there.
    Most of the time, if he doesn’t sound like a serial killer, I let her suffer her way through.
    “What does that even mean, though?” I say, squinting at her.
    She rolls her eyes. “Like he wants to tell me things he’s only put in songs or in poems but he’s never spoken out loud .”
    “Okay . . .”
    “Stop being so cynical.”
    “I’m just surprised,” I say. “You’re talking a little out of character.” Claire usually sees dating as a pastime, not something to get invested in. Love to her is like a holiday—fun while it lasts. It took her like a year to understand why I’d make Trevor my boyfriend. She loves love, but commitment? Not really. Like I said, she can barely commit to spending the entire evening with one dude.
    Claire tucks some hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, I really don’t. It’s like everything I believed about relationships before this was completely false. Like I was just operating from this place that didn’t know yet. Do you know what I mean?”
    “Yes,” I say, keeping my eyes down. I bite my lip, but the words come out anyway: “That’s how I felt with Trevor.”
    Claire’s voice gets quiet. “Right. Have you heard from him yet?”
    I shake my head.
    “I’m sure you will. I think he just thought you needed some space.” She plays with a hangnail, her eyes fixed on her fingertips.
    She keeps saying that: “He thought you needed space.” But he could have asked me. He could have done anything except just leave. I don’t know how to say that to Claire, though. Because she doesn’t have all the information. There are some things you