Taking a Chance

Chapter 1 #2

My hands go to my chest like my grandmother’s do when I’ve just cursed in front of her. Oh, Liza, is that how a lady talks? she would say. I haven’t dared tell her that, in New York, I’m considered a lightweight in the cussing department.

“Shoot, I’m really sorry,” Brown-eyed Guy says.

Shoot? This man is so not from around here.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, and start to turn back around. I really don’t want to chitchat. Although staring into his chocolate eyes does sound appealing. But I think I’ve done enough ogling for one day.

“Is this your first time in the city?” he asks, clearly not reading my body language. Of course, I was doing a half-not-wanting-to-talk, half-wanting-to-stare-into-his-eyes thing, so who knows what vibe I was giving off.

“Uh, not my first time, no,” I say, turning back around to face him.

“But it’s your first time in the Empire State Building.”

“Yes,” I say, keeping my answers simple. Simple is good.

“It’s my first time,” he says, his hands moving to the pockets of his shorts as he rocks from ball to heel on his feet. “First time in the city and in this building.”

I just nod my head, not saying anything. Like an idiot. My hormones, which had started chitchatting as soon as Brown-eyed Guy made a reappearance, sigh with disappointment.

“Don’t you want to look over the side on this floor before going up?” he asks with a head nod toward the observation deck.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’m thinking I can only survive one look over the edge, so I’m just going to the top. Don’t you want to?”

Would you look there? I’m actually conversing.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise by looking over yet,” he says. “Besides, I can catch it on the way down, right?”

“Sure,” I say with a dip of my chin. I’ll be happily on the ground by then, and this whole thing will be over.

In my peripheral vision I see people moving up in the line, so I turn around and take a few steps to catch up.

Every step gets me closer—closer to checking off something on Elena’s bucket list. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to complete one.

A terrible bucket list fulfiller, that’s what I am.

She should’ve asked someone else. Only there wasn’t anyone else to ask.

My parents are both scared of everything, like me.

“So how many times have you been to the city?” Brown-eyed Guy asks from behind me. I guess he’s not giving up on me. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t scared him away yet.

“I don’t really know,” I say as I spin around to face him. “Quite a few times. I grew up about three hours from here.”

“Really?” he asks, giving me a once-over as if he doesn’t believe me.

Maybe I don’t look like a New York native today, with my cutoff jean shorts, T-shirt, Converse, and the black cross-body bag over my left shoulder.

My goal was comfort. Comfortable enough to run away from this building as fast as I could, if I somehow talked myself out of going up. No such luck.

“Yep,” I say. “Born and raised.”

“A native New Yorker.” He bobs his head toward me, a small smile perched on his lips. Some of his straight brown hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back with his hand. His hair is dark. Darker than mine ... darker than Elena’s.

“So what made you come today if you hate heights so much?” he asks as we move forward in the line, walking next to each other.

“Just trying something new,” I say simply.

He looks at me for longer than a few seconds, as if to read between the lines of what I’m saying.

Not like he could know any of it, though.

The promise, the bucket list, Elena. Unless he’s a mind reader, in which case, I hope he’s enjoying the view.

I’m what Elena always called “a special kind of special.”

“I can respect that,” he finally says.

“So what brings you here?” I ask, now wanting to keep up the conversation because it’s helping pass the time and also keeping me from thinking of the task at hand (elevator and subsequent looking down from a zillion feet in the sky). He’s also a rather nice view, if I’m being honest.

“I’m here on a layover on my way to London,” he says. “I only have a day.”

“Work or play?”

“Both, actually.”

“You’re by yourself?”

“Yep,” he says. “Just me.”

We move up in the line, closer to the elevators.

With the doors in my line of vision, I’m starting to feel my heart rate pick up again, and the room is suddenly fifty degrees warmer.

Why did Elena want me to go all the way to the top?

If I just stayed on this floor—the eighty-sixth floor—I could’ve looked over the side by now and have been down the elevator and on solid ground.

Surely that would count? I’m already in line, though.

I might as well just get this over with.

“I’m Jay,” he says, holding out his hand to shake mine.

“Liza,” I say, but don’t return the gesture. “My hands are a little sweaty; I’m not sure you want to shake them.”

His lips pull up into a half smile, his hand still out. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His hand feels warm in mine, and his grip is strong, with genuine feeling—none of those dead-fish handshakes here. And there go my hormones again. My already-racing pulse picks up a couple of beats.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Gross,” he says, taking his hand away from mine, his face contorting into something resembling disgust, and wiping it on his shorts.

“Sorry!” I say, rubbing both my hands on my cutoffs, feeling utterly repulsive. “I did warn you.”

“Kidding,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face.

“Wow, you’re kind of a jerk, aren’t you?” I retort, trying to suppress a smile, unsuccessfully.

The line moves up and my smile dissipates. We’re getting closer.

Jay clears his throat, and my eyes dart away from the elevators and back to his face. Yes, I should focus on that face.

“So did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” he asks, his face taking on a more serious expression.

“Huh?” My eyebrows furrow.

“Great food, no atmosphere.” He gives me a little wink.

My chin drops. “Wow, that was bad,” I say.

“Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?” he continues, unfazed.

I’ve heard this one before.

“It was two tired,” he says before I can recall the answer.

“Oh my gosh, you are not telling me dad jokes.” I glower at him.

He laughs, his head tipping back as he does. He’s got one of those contagious laughs. Under different circumstances I would probably join him. Not because of the jokes, mind you.

“How do you tell if a joke is a dad joke?” he asks.

“Because it’s super cheesy?”

“No, because it’s apparent.”

“Oh gosh, I walked right into that one.”

“You really did,” he says. “I could tell you more.”

“Please don’t,” I say, my lips moving to smile without even consulting with me first. Traitors.

“Next!” a woman yells, and I look up to see that we’ve made it to the front of the line.

“You ready?” Jay asks, motioning for me to look at the opened elevator waiting for us.

“How—”

“Next!” the woman yells again.

“Shall we?” He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the elevator doors. I hadn’t even realized that we’d moved up in the line; he’d kept me occupied with his dumb jokes.

“Thank you,” I say as we enter.

“You’re welcome,” he says, and then, noticing that his hand is still on my back, he removes it. The spot feels instantly cold. He’s crossed so many of my personal boundaries, and yet what bothers me is that it doesn’t bother me. I’m kind of a disaster in my head—for so many reasons.

A man in a red vest enters the elevator after about ten of us have filed in, and once the doors close, he slides a metal grate across.

“What the—” I mutter under my breath.

“This elevator has an attendant,” Jay half whispers to me. “I read about it online.”

“Why are they double locking us in this box?” I ask, wondering if they have to take extra precautions because we’re going so high up. I really wish I could turn back now. Would it be awkward to scream until they opened the doors and let me out? Probably.

“Okay, next stop is floor one-oh-two,” the attendant says, like he’s done this a million times. Actually, he probably has. “Over to your left”—he points to the left of the doors—“shows how many feet up we’ll be. One thousand two hundred fifty feet.”

My gulp is audible. I know because most eyes in the small space turn toward me.

The attendant starts telling us more about the elevator and something about meters. I can’t even concentrate. The world around me—well, the box—feels like it’s spinning.

“What’s the best thing about elevator jokes?” Jay leans down and whispers in my ear.

I’m basically holding my breath at this point, so I can’t say anything. I just shake my head.

“They work on so many levels.”

No words will come out of my mouth.

“That one was the worst, right?”

I look up at him and he’s smiling. I nod my head.

“So bad,” I’m able to squeak out, my voice so high I sound a little like a dog toy.

And just like that, the elevator dings. I’m not sure how Jay did it, but I survived the ride without a complete breakdown. It took exactly thirty-six seconds (I timed it on my phone). It might have been hard to have a complete breakdown in that time, but I wouldn’t put it past me.

Maybe I should offer to buy him coffee after this. Or ask him to father my children because, clearly, he gets me. Well, at least the acrophobic part of me. I’m not sure I’m daring enough to ask, though. One daring thing at a time.

The attendant pulls open the grate, and the doors to the elevator open. Unlike last time, when I made sure I was the first one off, I find that it’s not so easy to leave. This is it. I’m at the top of a tall building—the ninth tallest in the United State. Oh gosh.

With much trepidation, I take a step outside of the elevator, Jay right behind me. Once I do, I see that this floor is much smaller than the eighty-sixth. Like, we’re basically right here. All I have to do is walk over to those big windows and look down. That’s it.

Jay puts his hand on my back again to help guide me, but I’m rooted to the floor.

I can’t take a step. My heart is pumping and I feel too hot and too cold at the same time.

Like I’m freezing but I’m also sweating.

I feel dizzy and my hands are clammy. But most of all, I feel drained.

It’s like all of my energy was put into getting here, and now that I am, I don’t know if I can do any more.

I don’t know if I can walk the five feet to the window from where I’m planted.

“Hey,” Jay says, moving to stand in front of me. “What’s going on?”

I don’t say anything. I don’t move. I’m stuck.

I can’t do this.

“What do you think will happen if you look over?” Jay asks, putting a hand on my arm so he can guide me out of the way of the elevator doors I was unknowingly blocking. I slowly move to the wall next to the lift and lean up against it, willing myself to not hyperventilate. Or hurl. Or both.

I take a couple of slow breaths in and out before I answer. “I’ll fall.”

“But there are windows,” he says.

“I didn’t say it was rational,” I snap.

“Right,” he says, putting a hand through his hair.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I say, feeling tears form in the corners of my eyes. Oh yes, perfect. Let’s add crybaby to my list. Just perfect.

Jay rubs the back of his neck with his hand. I can see him trying to come up with something to say—some words to convince me. But I know me and I won’t be convinced.

A tear escapes and travels down the length of my face and down my neck. Another follows. I really hate crying. But I’ve failed Elena. I broke a promise. And if I can’t do this one task—the easiest one on her list—how will I ever do the other ones? I might as well give up now.

“I’m going back down,” I say, forcing my eyes to the floor, hoping Jay hasn’t seen the tears. “It was nice meeting you,” I say to his calves. He really does have nice calves. All manly and muscular looking. I would love one more glance into his eyes, but I don’t dare.

I move slowly from the wall and over to the elevator we just got off. The doors open and people trickle out. I look to the attendant, and he takes a look at my tear-streaked face and gives me a sympathetic smile. With a hand, he ushers me into the lift. I’m guessing he’s seen this before.

I move to the corner of the space, once again gripping the railing. This time, though, I’m not as scared of the elevator. Maybe going down isn’t as unnerving as going up. Or maybe my shame is masking everything else.

Other people get on the elevator with me. Good thing it’s proper etiquette for people to turn around and face the door so they can’t see the tears that are flowing down my face rather rapidly now.

The doors start to shut but then suddenly open back up.

“Can I help you?” the attendant asks.

“I need to get on here,” Jay says, his voice intense. My eyes shoot up to catch an eye roll from the attendant, and then I see Jay worming his way into the nearly full-to-capacity elevator.

The attendant doesn’t look thrilled but doesn’t fight him either.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he joins me in the back corner.

“I’m going back down with you,” he says.

“But ... don’t you want to look over?” I ask, totally confused.

“I did.”

“For a millisecond?”

“It was enough.”

“Jay,” I say his name like my mom says mine when she knows I’m lying.

“Look,” he says, his eyes on me. “I saw the city; it was a city, and now I’m going back down. Besides, I’m pretty sure you owe me coffee for getting you up here at all.”

“I do?”

“Yep. It’s the polite thing to do.”

I let out a long breath. On the one hand, I could just go home and rest my shame-filled heart.

I failed; I should bask in my failure. On the other hand, coffee with a stranger is definitely out of my comfort zone, and I’d actually be taking a chance like Elena wanted me to.

Yet, on the other hand (I have three hands in this scenario), what if behind those amazing chocolate eyes lays the heart of a serial killer?

He doesn’t really seem the type, but that’s the thing about serial killers.

“Okay,” I say. “But only if you’re not a serial killer.”

“I am,” he replies. “But only on Tuesdays.”

Despite everything, I smile. “Thank goodness it’s Saturday.”