Page 42 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“Your brother?”

“I told you he has a disability,” she says, and I nod. “He has Down’s syndrome. Sometimes he’ll get upset and hard to console, so I’ve picked up some tricks along the way.”

A beat passes between us, and I think we’re both not sure what to say next. I hate how much focus is on me, so I ask about Elle’s brother. I think it’s one of her favorite topics to talk about.

“Do you miss him?” I ask.

Elle smiles to herself, still looking down at Thor. “Of course. But he likes to FaceTime me. The other day, he called to tell me he got a promotion at the grocery store where he works. He was so excited about getting to stock the shelves instead of just bagging.” She looks up at me, and I can see the cheerfulness in her eyes as she talks about him. “And then last night, there was a category about vegetables onJeopardy!and he got all the questions right. He had to call me about that too,” she adds with a chuckle.

Elle so rarely talks about herself. Usually on our expeditions she’ll ask me about work and my family. She doesn’t offer uptoo much information about herself, so when I get it, I feel like I have to soak up every morsel and hide it somewhere safe, so I won’t forget it.

I lean my arms on my knees and don’t shy away from admiring her. She takes a few moments to play with Thor, poking his nose and tickling him, prompting him to roll in his back. When she finally looks back at me, I can see a blush in her cheeks, and I wonder if she is thinking about the moment we just shared.

She reaches her hand out to me and squeezes my forearm, her hands a little less scorching than before. She gives me a half-smile. “All of us have a little crazy, Oliver. I guess we just have to embrace it.”

She watches me for a moment, and I manage to give her a sheepish smile. I don’t want her to let go of my arm, but her phone buzzes. Her face is confused when she sees the contact on the screen. “Why is the landlord texting me?” she mumbles quietly, more to herself than to me.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, he just wants to check something in my apartment. I’ll be right back.” She presses a quick kiss on Thor’s head and is out the door in a flash.

I finally stand from the treadmill and get a towel to dry Thor, but only a few minutes pass before I hear a sound that sends ice through my bones.

Elle screaming.

Nineteen

Elle

“Oh my God!” I yell, rushing into the apartment. “There’s water everywhere!”

I stand in the middle of my studio in horror. At least three inches of water lines the entire floor of the space. I feel my heart sink to my gut when I see the murky brown water touching the bottom of my bedspread, and gasp when I realize the water has reached the cushion on my favorite green chair.

“I’ll get the Shop Vac, grab anything you want to save,” Mikey, the landlord, says behind me. I don’t wait for confirmation on that plan before I race into the room, my socks and shoes already saturated inside my breathable sneakers. I squish with every step. The water is up to my ankles.

“Elle?” I hear a frantic voice behind me. I turn and find Oliver in my doorway, a towel in his hand. “Are you okay?” He’s breathless and panicked.

“No, I’m not okay! Look at my apartment!” I shriek.

Oliver throws his arm on the doorframe and plops hishead against it, like he’s exhausted. “Elle, I thought you were beingmurdereddown here,” he says, and I can practically see the adrenaline leaving his body in waves as he leans against the wall.

“And what were you going to do? Strangle my murderer with a towel?” I say, gesturing to his hand.

“I wouldn’t need the towel,” he says matter-of-factly. The deep tenor and seriousness of his voice travels right through me.

I shake my head and go back to my task, lifting everything I can on to a higher surface. My rug is destroyed, my comforter and bed skirt are as well, but luckily the clothes in my closet are at least a foot off the ground. As I gather my books off of the shelves by my TV, Oliver finally enters the room, surveying the damage.

“Has this happened before?” he asks, inspecting the window where it meets the ceiling.

“Yeah, that’s why I wassuperprepared for it and didn’t leave anything on the floor!” I snap, harsher than I mean.

“Sorry, what can I do?” he asks, stumbling through the water. He doesn’t seem concerned at all that he’s up to his shins in muck, something that would usually throw him into a tailspin. He’s too focused on getting to me, helping me, that his germaphobia took the back burner for a second. At least, I hope so. I hope he’s not internally panicking just for my benefit.

“Save my green chair,” I whimper. “I love that chair.” Oliver gives it the once over. It’s pretty low to the ground—it stands on wood pedestal feet with fabric lining the bottom. Oliver lifts it up and places it on the kitchen counter, upside down.

Oliver, Mikey, and I don’t spend long in the apartment.There isn’t much we can do. Mikey clears out the water and temporarily fixes the leak, but he said he’ll need a few days to fully clean out the damage. I was able to save most of my books, including my yoga sutras and my collection of books I’ve edited, but my television equipment is questionable. As is my DIY wooden nightstand and any toiletries and paper products I was storing on the floor in the closet.

Oliver saved my green chair. The bottom was just barely touched by the water, and he assures me I’ll be able to find someone in the city to restore the wooden legs.