by M. Mabie
“Yeah, LA. Just packing everything up to ship. I leave for Chicago on Friday.”
“Work is still okay with you taking time off? Who cares if they’re not? You’ve got more than enough money.”
“No. They’re still fine. I’ve been doing some things from my computer, and the woman they hired around the same time as me as back-up has been a major help.” She really had. Even if Brooke had little experience, she was a warm body in the office, and she followed my instructions superbly.
We’d hosted a few conferences together before I’d left, and she had done excellent with the few proms she’d booked that spring in my absence. What I’d been focused on the most was marketing and improving our advertising. I had a few tricks I was using that had worked well in California.
“I like my job, Mom.” This was where we butted heads. Money.
“I’m only saying, you’d be fine. Did you find an apartment?” I heard the flick of her lighter. I could picture her on the back deck of her log cabin, smoking her after dinner Virginia Slim.
“I did. They’re letting me move in next week. I’ll only have to stay at the hotel a few nights.” I was picking my keys up the following Monday. My stuff wouldn’t be there until later in the week, but I could make do. “How’s James?” I asked, but then I took a minute to make sure that was the right name.
“Oh, he’s fine, sweetie. Did I tell you he bought me a Mercedes?”
I rolled my eyes. Then lied, “Yeah, I think so. Hey, listen, I have a lot of packing to do. Can I call you in a few weeks when things get back to normal?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course. How about this summer we take a trip, sweetie? Go to a spa or something fabulous.” What she meant was, she wanted to go away to a spa, and she thought it was nice to invite me so I’d pay.
When I’d been put in charge of my father’s estate a few years ago, she’d called a lot more, then as time went on and nothing changed, it wore off. Now that he was dead, she’d probably be calling again.
Hell, she might even divorce James now that her daughter could support her for the rest of her life. I wouldn’t put it past her.
“I’ll think about it. I still have to make a few more trips to Switzerland this year. So I’ll have to wait and see.”
“Oh, you do? I thought all of that would be straightened out by now.”
“For the meantime it is, but it takes a while to sort out so much. And I’m giving a lot of it to Joel and Robin.” I shouldn’t have mentioned that part.
“Oh, Nora. Why would you do that? If your father had wanted them to have it, he would have given it to them. What’s wrong with you?” I could hear the disdain in her voice. She loved money. She loved men. She really loved keeping half their money when they split.
I don’t know how she did it, but I didn’t feel sorry for them anymore. Hello, prenup.
“I did it because it’s mine to do with as I please, and they have families. Children. And it is what’s fair. I’m having a lot of things sold, and then we’ll divide the properties and assets. I’m not arguing with you about it.” I threw a box of mac and cheese into the trash harder than was necessary.
I hoped that was the last time I’d have to say it. I was tired of people second guessing me. Even my brothers had been shocked. They probably assumed I was up to something.
I didn’t need that much money. Hell, a small country didn’t need that much money.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Call me soon, sweetie.”
I leaned my head against the door to the cabinet I was beside with a thud. “I will.”
“I love you, Nora. You know that, right?”
Sometimes I didn’t know if she meant it, but then I’d feel so guilty for thinking it. She was my mother.
“I love you, too, Mom. Bye,” I said and hung up. I should have let it go to voicemail and started on the refrigerator. Everything was so much work.
I was just ready to be moved and settled in Chicago.
ELEVEN
PAST
REAGAN—Monday, June 23, 2008
It was finally the week she was moving in.
I’d fought the urge to call or text her well. I respected her boundaries from afar—in my own way, best I could—while I waited.
Everything was going well at work, I’d been moved to the InformaTrade account and, although it had only been through email at first, I’d be dealing with Ives—one of her friends. I still didn’t want to cause any tension, certainly not at the office.
It was bad enough that I made a few calls to make sure she got on my floor. I knew how it might look to her, but I’d arranged for her to live right down the hall.
I didn’t give a shit.
Even if I couldn’t have her, I wanted to be close. I still wanted to see her. I still wanted to find out more about her. Maybe she’d change her mind. Or maybe I would after getting to know her more. I wanted to look further into that option as well. I needed a clear answer to why I was still thinking about her and whether or not it would stop on its own.
Still, I knew she’d react to being on my floor, so I was going to do my best to give her some breathing room.
Timing.
I saw her walking into the Lunar that Monday morning as I pulled out of the parking garage. A flash of excitement jolted through me. I was getting my way. Even if I was going the long way around about it.
Was it crazy? Fuck yeah it was, but no one but me knew my thoughts.
When she found out she was down the hall from me, she was probably going to have a fit, but I’d take my punches, as long as she didn’t threaten to move out. Another thing this extra time gave me—a chance to prepare.
Being organized always helped my issues. My anxiety. My stress.
The opportunity fell into my lap. She’d emailed me, kind of. I hadn’t sought her out after the party. Yet. So, I hadn’t seen it coming.
It was fate that she’d loved the building.
I’d learned that Nora came from money, but worked her ass off, and that wasn’t something trust fund babies typically did. I respected that. She could have bought the whole floor if she wanted to, but she hadn’t.
No. She didn’t even buy a unit, having only applied for a lease. That troubled me.
Why not buy?
Was she only planning on being there temporarily?
Maybe she wanted to see if she liked living there first? I wasn’t sure yet, but those were things I wanted to dive deeper into, and ideas I needed to tread lightly around.
Disappointingly, I didn’t see Nora around the building that whole week, but on Friday as I walked past her door I heard something going on in her apartment. I paused a few feet down the hall to listen, and I heard her shout, and then a blow against the door.
I could have kept going, but I was slightly worried, so I knocked.
The doors in the Lunar were solid, but I could hear that she was yelling something, but wasn’t sure what. The metal deadbolt slid audibly on the other side, and I stepped back a bit.
Historically, she’d been feisty. The woman might come out swinging.
When Nora opened the door, she wasn’t swinging but hopping instead. She groaned as she saw me and remained bouncing.
“Reagan?” she asked but didn’t wait for me to reply. “What do you want?”
I shifted on my feet to see around her. “I heard something when I was walking by and wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”
Her face was pained, eyebrows drawn tightly together, lips puckered.
She squinted. “How did you know it was me? And walking by?” she asked through gritted teeth, then leaned on the door frame to peek past me down the hall.
She was sharp.
I was ready to see her blow-up. It was strange, but I’d kind of been looking forward to it. So I answered honestly, pointing to the door at the end of the hall. My door.
“That one’s mine.”
She hung her head looking quite defeated. “Are you fucking serious? What are the odds? Th
is is a gigantic building.”
Yes, it was a massive building. Still, she didn’t know how great the odds had been stacked. In my favor. By me.
“It is,” I replied, but I was more concerned with why she looked injured than if she cared about where I lived at that point.
I could see that one of her feet still had a shoe on it—the one she was jumping with—and the other was crooked back behind her, barefoot.
“What happened?”
“Oh, this?” She kicked out her hurt foot and held herself steady with the door frame. “This was the big toe on my right foot. Now it’s just fucking junk.” I didn’t remember her swearing that much, but obviously she was having a rough time.
I looked past her into the apartment again. There were boxes everywhere.
She looked behind herself and said, “Yeah, and I’m dealing with that. So you see, me and my nine remaining toes have a lot to do. We’re fine. Thanks for checking.” The skin around her eyes pinched, her lips remaining closed as she offered me a mocking smile. She was obviously in a shitty mood. Possibly overwhelmed.
I’d been overwhelmed before, and I didn’t much like it.
“I’ll help and look at your foot.”
She blanched, my decision not interesting her, then as she thought, I could almost see her accepting how help would be beneficial.
“You don’t need to look at my foot. The toe can’t be saved anyway. I need to move forward. There’s no going back. It’s just me before the toe, and now me after.”
I chuckled. She was pissed, but cute at the same time. Additionally, she wasn’t too cross with me, merely aggravated in general, and her scowl faded when I laughed.
“My condolences on your loss,” I teased, humoring her as I scratched my eye, trying to hide my amusement at her expense.
She tapped her foot against the ground and flinched, quietly sucking air through her teeth from the discomfort. “It’s not that funny. It really hurts, Reagan.”
I don’t know if it was the use of my name, or the fact that she was in pain, which I didn’t appreciate at all, but I stepped forward, and on cue, she hopped backward into her apartment.
She limped beside me as she repeated, “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.”
I tugged her hand to get her attention.
“Stop. Sit down,” I told her, and then I walked into the kitchen. I began searching for a dish towel, but her cabinets were all bare.
I pulled my handkerchief out of the pocket beside my lapel and opened the door on the freezer. It was also empty except for a cold bottle of wine, and not wanting it to freeze on her, I moved it to the refrigerator. Then, I plucked a few ice cubes out of the bin.
I dropped them into the cloth and walked back into the living area. She’d perched herself on the arm of a chair since the seat was full of boxes.
You are capable of listening to me.
Wide-eyed, she watched and waited for me. No arguing. No fighting.
I knelt and lifted her leg by the calf. She wasn’t over exaggerating. It was a nasty stub.
“What did you kick?”
“I ran into the foot of the love seat over there,” she said nodding in the direction of the bastard furniture and winced as I pressed the ice to her toe. It was already turning purple, and the smallest amount of blood pooled around her painted toenail. I placed my hand over the silk so it wouldn’t slide off.
I was between her legs, and I think we both realized it at the same time.
If only.
Nevertheless, she had enough to deal with at the moment, I wasn’t going to add to her stress. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “You should be more careful.”
Both her volume and tone regulated, and she calmly admitted, “I usually take my shoes off first thing in the door, but as you can see, my boxes arrived today, and I’ve been trying to make a path to my closet. I hadn’t even paid any attention.”
I scanned the room. It appeared that whoever she’d hired to move her belongings only came into the living room and piled everything. Boxes on top of more boxes.
My thumb rubbed along her instep. “How does that feel?”
She gave me that small smile I’d replayed over and over since we met. “I’m going to miss that toe. My shoes might never fit the same again.” Her silver eyes confessed she was only half serious.
“I’m sure,” I said to be agreeable. It was hard not to humor her.
She wore tan dress pants and a neatly tucked, black silk top. I glanced down at the uninjured foot and saw her black shoes. The heel was at least four inches high.
“I don’t see how you get around in those things.” Then, I thought to myself, but I sure fucking love the way they look.
“I only wear them to work, or if I go out.” She readjusted herself like she was uncomfortable on the edge of the chair.
I looked under the make-shift ice pack, and she tried to wiggle it, but then quickly shook her head. Too soon for that.
“Do you think you broke it?” I asked.
“What? My old toe? No, it’s dead. Beyond broken.”
I set that foot on the ground and made sure the compress would stay, then lifted the other and removed the last shoe.
She took a deep breath and shifted a little more.
“Listen, I need to keep working. At this pace, it’s going to take me all night.”
I didn’t have anything to do, and I wasn’t going to let her tackle it alone.
“I’m helping. Tell me what rooms they go into.”
She looked somewhat relieved, but that didn’t last long. Soon her expression transformed into that look. The skeptical one I didn’t like. The mistrust. The assuming. The annoyance.
“Reagan,” she accused.
“Nora,” I defended.
She slumped and let out a huff. “Don’t start, okay?”
I tried to look innocent and offered her a big toothy grin. “Start what? I’m simply helping a neighbor.”
She saw right through me, but I didn’t give a fuck. I’d get to ask her more questions. Moving boxes was a small price to pay for her time.
She conceded, “Okay then, I could use the help.” Then, she pulled her foot out of my hand and stood, without tipping the handkerchief off her injury.
“All of the boxes are labeled with what room they go into. That’s my room over there,” she said and pointed to the one across the living area. “The spare is down the hall off the kitchen, down by the laundry and other bathroom. Two baths, mine and guest. Kitchen is kitchen. Dining over there. We’re in the living room. Pick a pile and start moving, I guess.”
A plan. I worked well with instruction.
She bent over and looked at her toe, then took a deep breath and wobbled around to start with the boxes she was closest to on the chair.
I decided to walk to the other side of the room and see what I could find.
The first one was spare bed. Easy enough. I liked how all the boxes were not only labeled by locations but also what number out of how many went in that room.
Organized.
I walked through the kitchen down the hall and found the spare room easily. I’d been in the smaller units, but the model I’d walked through had been a mirror of hers, and it felt different because last I’d been in one they were empty and still being painted.
The room had a bed frame and a king-sized mattress leaning against the wall opposite the closet. At least the movers put the big things where they belonged. I made a note to find out who they were, and therefore if they should have sorted the boxes. I didn’t want her to be taken advantage of. I’d see what they should have done and make sure it was right.
I set the box down inside the closet, out of the way, and headed back to get the next. I took my suit coat off on the way and placed it on the small kitchen island. As I walked around it, I unbuttoned my collar and tucked my tie into my shirt. Then proceeded to unbutton and roll up my sleeves.
When I finished, I caught her staring at me. Stopped where she wa
s, holding a box.
Hello. Like what you see?
“Do you need help with that?” I asked. There hadn’t been many moments where I’d had the upper hand with her so far, and I was finally happy for one. “You’re staring at me. It’s making me uncomfortable,” I said using her words, trying to tease her because she looked a little lost. A little distracted.
“No, I’m not,” she argued and shook her head, then kept moving closer to the kitchen. “I suppose I’ll be wearing flats for a few days. I was just trying to remember what box I put them all in. I wasn’t staring at you. I was concentrating.”
Then, she smiled brightly. I knew that smile from the party.
Bullshit smile.
“If you only wear heels to work, and when you go out, like you said, you should be fine. Unless you have work tomorrow, or you’re going out.” Both, equally possible and none of my business. I was prying, but I didn’t try to hide it, and frankly, she should have been used to it by then. It was my second nature.
She warned, “I told you not to start.”
She noticed.
My hands went up in defense. She had said that, but I’d never agreed to it. She’d warned me not to start, which was vague. I’d made no promises.
She pressed, “I’m off the weekend, but if I were going out, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
I wished she’d quit doing that; she was always trying to pick a fight. Then I thought, to hell with it and gave her one.
“Listen, I’m here to help. If you don’t need my help, I’ll go. I assume you don’t know that many people in the city, so I’m being friendly. How in the fuck do you expect me to be friends with you if I don’t ask questions? Please, tell me where I’ve been so offensive.”
There.
“You know what you’re asking, and I’m not stupid. First the long cab ride. Then the e-vite to dinner. Now this with the apartment down the hall. I’m not a fool. I see what you’re doing.”
She limped up the single stair that separated the living area from the dining and kitchen—putting us on even ground—then set her box down on the counter next to my jacket.