The Fall Risk

by Abby Jimenez

“He has no record, by the way,” she said. “And his socials are clean.” “Good Lord, it’s only been five minutes—” “I only needed two.” I rolled my eyes.

“Why wouldn’t you do that? What else do you have to do? You’ve got the urban equivalent of a lumberjack across the hall. And he’s single.” “How do you know?” “Bitch, I know. His friend is single too.” “What? You didn’t even get his last name.” “Women solve entire murders on their podcasts, you think I can’t find out all I need to know about some rando I met on the lawn?”

I remembered the first time Seth came hobbling home on crutches a week ago. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He’d been struggling to get his door open while he carried a bag of groceries and I’d almost popped out to help. Then I remembered that’s how Ted Bundy had lured his victims, and I changed my mind.

“Yeah, you can’t just drop some random piece of tree trivia on me and then bail.”

“Female trees produce fruit. Fruit falls, it makes messes, it attracts vermin. So most trees planted in urban areas are male. They put out pollen with no female trees to absorb it, so it ends up in the air instead.”

I’m not sad she’s gone. I mean, I was at first, of course. Then I realized she wasn’t who I thought she was, and I’d been living a lie, and what I really missed was a person who didn’t exist, if that makes sense.”

“I miss having someone to do stuff with. To do stuff for. Inside jokes.” “Shows to watch together that you’re not allowed to watch without each other,” she said.

“Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.”

“Red flag guys aren’t your type. They’re your pattern.”

“Sometimes the start of something good begins during something bad,” he said. “We don’t get to pick when these things happen.”

“If you ever come back here,” I whispered, “you won’t find her, you’ll find me. And then no one will ever find you.”