If I Fall by Anna Cruise

colors on each massive canvas. I hated them. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace—why anyone needed a fireplace in San Diego was beyond me. And plants and flowers everywhere. Red and white roses arranged in wide black vases, spilling out of clear crystal ones; delicate ferns potted in black rattan baskets; tall, leafy miniature trees tucked in to the corners of the living and dining rooms.
    “ There's a second bedroom back here,” Dad said, motioning down the hall.
    I followed him and my flip flops squeaked on the wood laminate floor. A gilded mirror was mounted at the end of the hallway and I tried to rearrange my features, to wipe the scowl off of my face and replace it with a smile, as my dad stopped in front of an open door.
    “Your room.”
    I peeked through the bedroom door and grimaced. It was white, pure white. A four-poster canopy bed with a white down comforter, the bed piled high with eyelet pillows adorned with delicate pink ribbons. A white dresser with white knobs decorated with tiny pink flowers—probably hand-painted—and a white vanity table, a pink cushioned stool positioned in front of the oval mirror. Did she think I was ten and imagining myself a goddamn princess? This would never be my room.
    “ Cheri's down at the pool. I told her we'd come down, maybe go for a swim before dinner.”
    I couldn't think of anything worse than seeing her perfect body in some minuscule bikini. Yes, I could, actually. Seeing my dad watching her, looking at her, probably lusting after her in said swim suit.
    “ I didn't bring a suit,” I told him. At least it was the truth.
    He frowned. “I thought I told you to bring one.”
    If he had, I'd forgotten.
    “ Maybe you can borrow one of Cheri's.”
    “ No.” My voice came out harsher than I'd intended. “I mean, if it's alright, I think I'll just stay here. Get settled.” I thought that sounded good, sincere.
    He nodded his head, considering this. “OK. If you're sure...”
    I practically pushed him out of the door. “Yes. I'm sure. Go.”
    “ We'll be up in about an hour. The remote is on the mantle if you want to watch something.”
    He left and I heard him in his bedroom, opening drawers, probably hunting for his bathing suit. I put my bag on the floor and paced the room. I didn't want to sit down. I didn't want to touch anything, give any indication that I was here, that I was somehow leaving my mark or claiming this space for my own.
    The front door closed and I wandered out of that bedroom and back into the living room. I could sit here, I thought, my hand roving over the smooth black leather. Maybe imagine I was at some friend's house, or a hotel room or something. Maybe.
    I cradled my head in my hands and closed my eyes. Coming to my dad's had been a mistake. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to see him and Cheri together. Not when my mother lay in ruins in the house he used to share with us and not when I still wasn't sure what kind of condition I was in after the divorce. I felt broken and the only glue that was holding me together was Aidan.
    I pulled out my phone and texted him. I needed him, even if he couldn't be with me at that moment. I needed him.
    I tried to concentrate on something else while I waited for his response. I lifted my head and surveyed the rest of the condo. It was small. A tiny powder room adjacent to the front door, a kitchen—immaculate and modern with stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops flecked with black and brown—and an attached dining room with four, black upholstered chairs surrounding a round, glass-top table. Behind it, tucked into the corner, was a black hutch. I had a hunch what might be inside.
    I glanced at my phone. Nothing.
    Slowly, I stood, debating for only a second before I crossed the room and grabbed one of the handles.
    I scanned the labels before making my decision. Most of the bottles were open, about ¾ full. I didn't know how much they'd miss, if they kept track of how