by Marilyn Grey
I had saved up a little over the last few years, but not enough to do much of anything. Now the possibilities were most definitely endless. Endless, I say!
But endless as they were I knew what I wanted to do with it. College wasn't really my thing, didn't care for a new car since mine got me from point A to point B without issues, and although traveling sounded fun it wasn't as appealing to me as starting my own fashion design business or clothing line.
I had been sewing since I was seven. Mom taught me as part of my proper Jane Austen life skill sessions, but she never imagined how far I'd run with it. I got by for the last ten years on a dinky cheap Shark machine, but I really wanted a nice Brother. Maybe even an antique Singer for kicks.
I couldn't wait to get the business going and surprise everyone. First step, Internet search galore.
I spent an entire two days looking up how to establish a legit business, plus any tips I could find on fashion design. By the end of my research spree I had mailed in a sole proprietorship registration form and a fictitious name form. My new clothing line would be called Adrian Elyse. Adrian based off of my favorite non-Batman movie, Rocky, and Elyse for no reason. Just looked and felt good after Adrian.
It was really happening.
Next step, Mom would not appreciate, but probably saw coming.
Autumn came over to help. She drove while I navigated. We pulled up in front of the building and I could already tell that I wanted it.
"You sure you can do this?" Autumn said. "I know that's a lot of money, but not that much. What if you rent this and realize it's too much? What if the business doesn't take off?"
"A girl after my own heart." I laughed and pat her knee. "You know I've already thought about every single question imaginable."
"And?"
"And I'm renting. Worst thing that could happen is I have to move back out, but come on, have a little more faith in me than that. Plus, if you decide not to go away to college you could always rent with me."
"Unlike you, I don't have a various assortment of creative talents to pursue. College it is!"
"You have plenty of talents." I opened the door when the landlord showed up in front of the building with a folder tucked under his arm. "Let's go."
Autumn and I greeted Jerry and he allowed us to go inside.
"The first floor was used as a pet grooming spa for a few years, but they moved to a different part of the city last month." Jerry walked toward the center of the room. "You said you were starting a clothing line?"
I nodded.
"Impressive for a girl your age." He gestured toward the front desk. "If you want, you could get rid of this desk here. We just need to talk through logistics and any improvements made to the building will be paid by you, but I will reimburse them by crediting your rent."
I looked around the room. Light wood floors. Glossy. Beautiful. Sleek. I could easily see the room as a gorgeous boutique filled with my custom clothes and the excitement made my heart flutter like crazy. Kinda like it did when Alistair's arm touched mine. I pictured him on the sidewalk, giving me those eyes.
Autumn snapped in front of my face. "Come back to reality," she said, drawing out her words to emphasize my spaced outness.
"Sorry," I said. "Could I see upstairs, please?"
He led us up the stairs to a modern-looking loft apartment. I gasped. So did Autumn.
"This is amazing," I said, taking in the light that poured in through the windows. "I didn't expect it to be so modern in such an old building." I walked to the back windows. "These windows are incredible."
At the back of the building the windows covered the entire wall and faced west, so the sunset would paint my room at night. Right now sunshine beamed through and lit the entire room. Light wood floors. Clean, modern kitchen with new stainless steel appliances. I walked up the cute little stairs to the bedroom area that sat above everything and realized it extended back further than I thought, even had a second room that could be used as a spare bedroom if anyone wanted to room with me. It felt more like an exposed attic than a one-bedroom loft.
"I absolutely love this," I called down to Jerry. "Let me guess, it's out of my budget."
He cleared his throat. "What's your budget?"
I thought for a second. Did a quick calculation of everything I needed to buy and yeah, Autumn was right, I probably wouldn't have enough, but I was determined to try.
"A thousand a month?" I should've said it without the question mark.
He nodded. "Well, you know this is a prominent and popular part of the city and includes the storefront downstairs."
"You're saying it costs more than a thousand."
"I've been renting it out for three thousand, but I would be willing to allow you to stay for the first six months at fifteen hundred, then if all goes well and your business improves we can move up to the full price."
"And what if it doesn't improve?" I said. "Six months isn't a lot of time."
"We can talk about it then." He rummaged through some papers in his folder and handed them to me. "If you're interested we'll need to do a credit check and have you fill out this paperwork."
I nodded. "My credit is perfect. Have barely done much with it yet."
"Okay." He handed me a few more papers. "That should be all you need. Would you like to take the next step?"
Autumn stood behind him and waved her hands like a referee while she mouthed, "Don't do it."
"Yes." I flipped through the papers. "I would love that."
He went over a few details as I glanced around the room, imagining my own furniture and art on the walls. My own place. My own store.
Really?
Donovan texted me: Hey, let me know when you're free. We need to talk.
Me: Yes. We. Do!
Donovan: No... I mean... we need to talk.
Me: Tonight? Our spot?
Donovan: 5pm.
Me: K.
I took one last look around the loft, inhaled the clean, fresh paint smell, then followed Jerry and Autumn downstairs. Soon this would be my home. In the city. Alone.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. "So," I said. "I can think this over a few days if I want and get this paperwork back to you when I'm ready?"
"Sure," he said. "I do have quite a few people coming to look at it today, so I can't guarantee that'll still be here, but you're more than willing to think it over and see."
Hm. I didn't like the idea of losing out on the opportunity of a lifetime. "Can I fill the paperwork out right now?"
He laughed. "I'm not allowing anyone to do it right here, so go ahead and take your time."
"What's the deposit?"
"One month of rent, plus your first month of rent is also due upfront."
"So ... three thousand?"
He nodded.
I reached into my bag and grabbed my check book, wrote out a check for three thousand buckareenos—which I never in a million years thought I'd ever do—and handed it to him. "Just in case. I don't want to miss it if I want it."
"Okay, I'll hold on to this and rip it up if it doesn't work out."
I smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so, so much."
With one last pivot, I was on the floor staring at Autumn's shoe and ... thinking of Alistair.
His face was fading in my memory now and it had only been weeks. I should've taken a picture. Why didn't I take a picture?
Wait a minute. Why did I care?
"Jane." Autumn tugged on my shirt. "Are you enjoying the smell of the floor or something? Let's go."
Jerry helped me stand with a smile on his face. Autumn's face was as red as a Tarantino film set. I brushed my jeans off and laughed. "Sorry. Got deep in thought."
Jerry pat my back as he opened the front door for us. "That can happen while pressed against linoleum."
We laughed. Autumn didn't. Oh, great, I thought. The lecture was coming in like a storm cloud.
I thanked Jerry and got into the car. He walked back into the building as Autumn s
at down, threw her hands into the air, grabbed the steering wheel, and glared at me.
"That look haunts me in my dreams," I said.
"Jane!"
Here it comes. The epic lecture. Wait for it. Wait for it. And....
"Do you realize what you're doing? I mean, this is Philadelphia. The city. Alone. Young girl. Pretty girl. Alone! Not to mention the price tag. Fifteen hundred a month. Really, Jane? You're gonna blow all that money your parents spent eighteen years saving and then end up moving back in with them with nothing. And"—finally she took a breath—"what in the world were you doing on the floor in there?"
I did my best Bill Cosby impression. Shaky face, pursed lips.
"I'm serious. Do you really wanna blow all of that money? Some people would kill for that kind of graduation gift."
"Oh, don't make me feel bad. I was going to wait until you left for school, but I'm giving you some of it. Donovan too."
"No." She waved her hands around. "I don't want your money, Jane. I just want you to use it wisely."
"So, apparently I have not one, not two, but three mother's. I'd say I'm lucky, buuuuut...."
"I know, I know."
"I'll be okay. You need to tone the responsibility dial down a few notches. If it doesn't work out within two months I'll ask Jerry if I can leave."
"That's if you get the place." She pointed to a fancy couple walking into the building and greeting Jerry. "Those people might beat you to it."
Donovan is almost always late, but so am I. So when we decided to meet somewhere I normally planned to get there ten minutes later than he said, then I ended up twenty minutes later, and by the time he would get there it would be thirty minutes passed our planned time. Never failed. Well, I guess sometimes it failed, but not most times. I like to try to be accurate if I catch myself. Never is a strong word.
I sat on the hood of my car and he pulled up ten minutes later. The sun was still pretty high up there, not quite ready to wake up the other side of the world. Donovan sat beside me, pulled his knees up to his chest, and sighed. Bad sign. I waited for him to speak first, but he sighed again and that meant he wanted me to ask.
"Don't make me ask." I poked his knee. "I know there's something you need to say."
His lip quivered as he squeezed his eyebrows together.
"What's wrong?"
He gasped for air, then let out a soft cry. Last time I saw him cry he was ten and had accidentally ran over a baby bird with his bike.
"Donovan?"
Awkward. I wasn't experienced in handling boys that cried. Sappy Mom's and Dad's, check. Boys? Not even a half of a check.
I poked his knee.
He buried his face into his elbow and wailed.
I, um, I poked his knee again, feeling more mature by the minute.
He reached into his pocket and whipped out a box. A ring box.
And laughed hysterically. "Got ya again!"
I swatted him. "You're such a jerk."
He opened the box and the ring sparkled in the sun. "What do you think?"
"You already tried this one on me."
"No. This one is real. I got it for Zoe."
I raised my eyebrows. "Zoe? You've been together, what, a week?"
"Two."
"Two weeks." I shoved the ring box closed. "No way. You're not proposing."
"I am." He put the box back into his pocket. "But I need your help to pull it off."
My nose stung a little, almost as though chlorine had snuck its way through my tear ducts, into my nose, and wanted to come back out. My eyes burned. They burned. What? I was not about to cry. I wouldn't. But why was I?
I played it off. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks." He stared dreamily into space. "Getting all emotional on me, huh? Alistair really did a number on you."
Thank God the burning water dried up and my eyes went back to normal. Nose too. "It's not Alistair." Or was it?
"You don't want to look him up? Not even the slightest bit?"
"Haven't thought about it much. How could I find him anyway? No last name."
He pulled his phone out and set it on his thigh, clicked a few things, then showed me the screen. "This him?"
"Nope. Nice try."
He did it again. "This?"
I was all geared up to prove that I was right when Alistair's eyes looked at me. Well, his eyes on the tiny phone screen.
"Guess so. Just looked up his name, put the word band in, plus added where he's from. Cake work."
Those eyes were still there.
"You done drooling yet?"
"What's his bands name?"
"Kitten Corner."
I laughed. "What is it, dork?"
"Jingle Jam."
"And his last name?"
He clicked around on his phone. "Alistair Anonymous."
"Can't you be serious for one minute of your life?"
"No." He showed me the phone. "That's what it says on his band's page."
"Must be a stage name." I shook my head. "All this time I had his name."
"See, you wanted to look him up."
"Noooooo. Just saying. Weird, that's all."
"Uh, huh. As soon as we leave your lips are going to be pressed against your phone."
"Anyway, about the proposal."
"About that. Let's brainstorm."
"You realize you're brainstorming with the most unromantic person in the universe, right?"
"Exactly. That's what'll make this proposal unique."
"Or terrible."
"Brainstorm?"
"Kay."
He leaned back on the car window and didn't pull me into him this time. Cuddles were off limits when he was taken. Which would be forever now. I'd never press my ear against his heartbeat again.
Burning nose.
I crinkled my face and shoved the sensation away, then reclined next to him and stared at the sky. I was supposed to brainstorm proposal ideas, but all I could think about was Donovan's heart beating over there without my cheek against it.
Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong with me.
Brainstorming sesh was as uneventful as it gets. And, hate to say it, but Donovan was totally right. As soon as he pulled away, laughing at me, I grabbed my phone and looked Mr. Alistair Anonymous right up. Who makes their stage name Alistair Anonymous anyway? Talk about weird.
I found his band page. Alistair Anonymous, drummer and backup vocals for Hatchenfield. So moody in his pictures. I searched his name again and scrolled through the results, hoping maybe to find a Facebook account or something. Not that I'd contact him. If I wanted to I could just send a message through Hatchenfield's website like a regular old stalker. But I didn't want to. If I ever saw him again, which I probably wouldn't, it would be when he said and how he said. No sooner. No messages. No stalking. No desperation from my side of the ocean.
Because I wasn't desperate.
But I was curious....
And so maybe I was a stalker. I kept looking for a Facebook account to no avail. Kinda gave me hope that maybe his last name was fake. Not that it mattered. Why did I keep thinking things that freaked my own mind out?
I tossed my phone into the other seat, cranked my car into drive, and drove away with Alistair's moody pictures and Donovan's sparkly ring competing for attention from my tired mind.
I ignored them both and thought of the apartment. What would I do? Could I swing it? Did I want to try?
And most of all ... when would I tell Mom?
Chapter 7
So, not only did I have to tell Mom that I would be moving into my own apartment in one week, but I also had to tell her about Boston. I guess I could've tried to hide it, especially if I no longer lived there, but Mom had this sweetness and deep, amazing love for people and pretty much any living thing from a plant to an unhatched egg, that it was kinda hard to lie to her. I did once in tenth grade and I expected a major punishment like my friends. Grounded or something for weeks. But nothing like that happened.
Instead Mom came to me all teary and said it hurt her feelings that I didn't feel like I could be honest with her, then she hugged me and apologized. For some reason that kinda bothered me, so I shrugged it off and told her she has nothing to apologize for and she looked me right in the eyes and said, "But I do, sweetie. If you don't feel comfortable enough to tell me the truth, then I must not be the mother I want to be."
Truth is, it was me. All me. Mom had a tendency to be so hard on herself, especially with parenting. I remember one time when I was about six and she had to work part-time from home to help with bills. She came into my room thinking I was asleep and knelt beside my bed, wet my sheet with tears, and told me she was sorry for being a bad mommy and for not paying attention to me enough that day, but I didn't think a thing of it. In my mind she was perfect. The best. And always would be.
I still felt that way, even if I wanted to meet my real Mom.
So, yeah, about that.
I couldn't lie to the woman, so I needed one of those beat around the bush easy methods to break the news. Why was it so hard? Honesty is one of those things. It's so necessary, so healthy, so needed for any kind of functional relationship, but it's very, very hard. My tongue always seemed to hide in my throat when these situations would come up.
But I had to do it. So I stayed up late and waited for Dad to take his nightly shower when Mom finished cleaning up the kitchen. She pulled out a freshly baked loaf of banana bread just as I walked in the room.
"That smells so good." I reached for the warm, delicious, lovely bread to snatch a corner from the top, but she gently put my hand back down.
"Wait until it cools," she said in an English accent. "Then we can make a cuppa and have some treats together."
"That sounds nice," I said. "A cuppa. Is it English accent week?"
She nodded and turned the stovetop on to boil the kettle of water. My parents spoke only with English accents once a month. There was a time when Eddie and I were too young to realize how weird it was and we tried to play along. Then we realized how weird it was. And we did not play along.