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I scowl playfully at him. “Back home, I could pick up extra work in a snap, no problem. Are you gonna eat that?” I ask, then reach and grab the pickle off his deli plate, crunching my teeth into it.
Alan watches with a smile across his face. His smile is so big, his cheeks flush warmly. “You are so adorable, Connor. Do you even know that?” He gazes dreamily into my eyes. “Do you even know how fucking cute you are?”
I stop chewing, half the pickle hanging out of my mouth, and stare at him wide-eyed. “Cute?” I ask through my mouthful, lifting my eyebrows.
He chuckles lightly, glances at his phone, then squints at me across the table. “Want to come over to my place? See the stupid-high tower I live in? I don’t feel like being alone yet tonight.”
I swallow my last bite of pickle, then smile. “I’ll do it if you agree to one thing.”
Alan quirks an eyebrow. “One thing?”
I wave my hand at a nearby server. “Check please!” Then I whip out the twenty-dollar tip I got and fling it down onto the table. “Late-night deli sandwiches are on me.”
Alan smirks. “Is that the ‘one thing’ …?”
“Nope.” I wink mischievously at him. “My one thing is something else you’ll have to find out.”
He squints suspiciously at me.
Alan, I’ve learned, does not like surprises.
And I’m certain he won’t like the one I’ve got planned.
His high-rise building is sleek, appearing like a giant slate of glass reaching up towards the night sky. He even has a front desk receptionist, who gives a stiff smile at each of us as we pass through the pristine lobby and to the elevator, which takes us promptly to the seventeenth floor.
Alan’s apartment is easily five times bigger than mine and Brett’s. An entire wall of the living room is a floor-to-ceiling glass window, in front of which sits a stylish white sectional and a large mounted flatscreen on the opposite wall. An open-concept kitchen overlooks the living space complete with a long marble countertop with stools. Everything is perfectly in its place, from each throw pillow on the couch—which are an assortment of complementing colors, tones of aqua, sunset orange, and vivid teal against the couch’s white backdrop—to the dishes in the doorless cabinets. A single potted plant kisses an archway leading down a hall to two bedrooms—one being used as an office—and a bathroom.
“This is quite the pad,” I note as my short tour comes to a stop at his bedroom door. “And where is the door to this infamously terrifying balcony you’ve never stepped foot on?”
“There are two, actually,” he answers vaguely.
I lift an eyebrow. “And they are …?”
“One in the living room by the couch, and …” He nods ahead. “One here in my bedroom.”
“Good. Take my hand,” I tell him, reaching.
Alan stares at it suspiciously. “What?”
“Take my hand.”
“Why?”
He’s already caught on. He isn’t dumb. But I press on anyway. “Remember that ‘one thing’ you agreed to? This is it.”
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he says.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” I retort, then take hold of his hand, which I note is already sweaty. “I’m gonna be right there with you, Alan. Let’s do it. You’ll be a whole new man afterwards.”
“I’m man enough already, thanks.”
“The trembling in your otherwise husky voice suggests otherwise,” I tease him. “Hey, aren’t you a man of your word? You can’t back out now.”
Alan glares at me.
I’m not sure it’s entirely playful.
But in time, the pair of us stand at the opened glass door to his balcony, which I realize is a long and narrow one, like a walkway, wrapping around to connect to the living room balcony.
The wind plays in our hair. The city stretches out beyond us, noisy yet far away, its night lights twinkling like stars.
“One step at a time,” I encourage him. “I won’t let go. You’ve got me.”
“Okay.” Alan closes his eyes. “Okay, okay.”
“One step, alright?”
“Okay.”
We take a step together.
I feel Alan shaking through our clasped hands.
“Wow,” I murmur. “You really are scared.”
“Are we done?” he asks sourly.
We’re basically still standing at the door. “You have such a beautiful view out here, Alan. It’s such a shame it has to go to waste. One more step?”
“Ugh,” is his answer.
But despite my doubts that he’ll push himself much farther, he dares to take another step with me. That step is soon followed by another, and before we know it, I’ve brought Alan to the railing, seventeen stories above the streets.
“My heart is racing,” he whispers to the wind.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him. “Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Alan. There’s nothing to fear.”
He grasps my hips suddenly, clinging to me. I feel his whole body trembling. “It’s irrational, my fear, I know.” He takes a deep, steeling breath. “It’s a fear I’ve always had. I fell off a jungle gym once. I fell off a ladder, too. My dad once said he’d catch me when I jumped off a swing set, and he didn’t.”
