“Yeah. See you around.” And next time I won’t let myself forget we’re nothing more than neighbors.
“Oh. Yes. Well then …”
I try to beat him to the door, but his legs are longer than mine.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “I enjoyed your company, Chelsea. Thank you.”
“Sure.” He’s such a phony. He “enjoyed my company.” Yeah, right.
He opens the door. “Good night.”
“Later.”
CHAPTER 8
Am I insane or just an idiot? That’s the question I fell asleep with and the one I woke up to. Jeremy said he enjoyed my company. Did he mean that or was he just being polite? If I look at last night objectively, like a date with any other guy, I’d have to say he acted like a gentleman.
And you acted like a crazy woman, Chelsea.
We didn’t do a lot of talking, so I think I remember everything we said. But I’m pretty sure, now, the conversation that took place in my head was not the one he thought we were having. He didn’t mention Gabi until I did. He didn’t say one single snarky thing. And he really did seem disappointed that I left so soon.
How could I miss all that when I was right there?
I can’t wait to find out what he and Gabi talked about at lunch. I check the time on my phone. She’s probably still sleeping. Why would Gabi set me up with Jeremy when she thinks I can’t stand him? Why did she say “talk to him”?
A thump sounds above my ceiling. Jeremy’s awake. I pull the sheet over my head. Is it too late to undo the damage from last night? No matter what he thought he was getting into when he agreed to come to the game, I know one thing: I screwed up my chance to show him I’m someone he’d like to get to know better.
Get real, Chelsea.
I throw back the sheet and sit up. What am I thinking? Jeremy agreed to come to the game for Gabi’s sake, not mine. Then he got stuck with me and was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. I didn’t screw up my chance. I never had a chance.
With a sigh, I get out of bed. Stay busy, my mom says. Okay. Today I’ll clean the closet for real. Tomorrow … hell, let’s just try to get through today. It doesn’t make sense to shower before I deal with the mess and dust, so I go straight to work. I can do this.
The piles I make, one for the trash and one for donating, grow embarrassingly high. Why do I put things like this off for so long? You could track the last five years of fads just by looking through these piles. It’s fashion history right here on my bedroom floor.
I’m on a roll, so after I bag the two piles, I take everything that’s left out of the closet. I might as well do the job all the way. I’m wheeling the vacuum to the bedroom when it hits me—Jeremy hires someone to clean his apartment. Gee, could that someone be named Renata? Gabi was right again. I really am a crazy woman.
My phone sounds Gabi’s ring. I swear we have some kind of mind link.
“You were right,” I say.
“Huh? Right about what?”
Scratch the mind link. “About Renata. She’s Jeremy’s cleaning lady.”
Gabi laughs. “I knew it was something like that.”
I plug in the vacuum, but can’t turn it on while I’m on the phone, so I go back for the duster. “Hey, how’s Matt?”
“Didn’t you get my text?”
“Yeah, but it’s polite to ask, isn’t it?”
“Oh, we’re practicing politeness now?” She laughs again. “He’s taking a week’s vacation, so he won’t lose pay. And his knee should be pretty much normal by the time he has to go back to work. I know he’s in pain but, God, what a baby. Anyway, I called about you, and I’m on my break so talk fast. How did it go with Jeremy last night?”
“How was it supposed to go?”
“Well … huh?”
“Why did you ask him to come to the game?”
“I told you that. Last night.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me you’d had lunch with him. What’s going on, Gabi?”
“Going on? Nothing. Look, he was shopping at The Village and just stopped by the boutique to say hello, and it just happened to be time for my lunch break, and he hadn’t eaten yet, so we went to Chantelle’s.”
“And then you just happened to mention the ball game, and he just happened to say he’d never been to one, and you just happened to ask him to come see it, which just happened to be convenient since Erik had other plans.”
“Yes. Sort of. I thought Jeremy might be interesting to talk to. And unless you’re insinuating I planned Matt’s injury, I had no idea you two would end up alone.”
“Why are you interested in Jeremy?”
She sighs. I know that sigh well enough to picture her shaking her head or rolling her eyes—or both.
“Gosh, I don’t know, Chelsea. Could it be because you talk about him all the time? I guess I got the crazy idea you might be interested in him. The only thing I’m surprised about is why you haven’t made that clear to him yourself. Usually, you go after—”
“Curiosity doesn’t mean I want to date him.”
“Chelsea. This is your BFF you’re talking to.”
“Yeah. Okay. Maybe I do. But don’t you dare say anything about him to my mom.”
She laughs again. I’m just amusing her left and right today.
“Your mom is the one who told me to check him out for you.”
“What?”
“So, what kind of guy did I send you home with last night?”
“We got tacos and took them to his place.”
“And?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “And I acted like an idiot and screwed it all up.”
“How—damn. Just a minute.” She muffles the phone while she speaks to someone else, and then she says, “My break’s over. I’ll hit you up later. I want details.”
Details. I don’t even want to think about how Jeremy would describe those.
When I’m done cleaning the closet, it feels so good to have accomplished something positive that I keep working until my whole bedroom is clean and organized. Then I go in to shower, but the bathroom looks disgusting to me now, so I tackle it too.
By the time I’m showered and dressed, I’m starving. I didn’t even have coffee this morning, which is like a sin. One look at the rest of my apartment and I know I have to keep cleaning, but first I need to eat. I take my tuna sandwich and Coke out to the patio, so I don’t have to look at the work I have ahead of me.
I’ve taken only two bites when Jeremy walks out onto his terrace. I tilt my head back. He’s visible in tiny slices through the gaps between the floorboards. Does he know I’m here? Should I speak, make a sound? After last night, it feels awkward to live this close to him.
Did he really enjoy my company?
Just as I open my mouth to say hello, he turns and goes back inside. I check my phone. Right on schedule. It’s time to start his afternoon writing session.
Five hours later, I’m lying on my sofa, too tired to blink. I should have taken before and after photos. No one will believe I did all this in one day. I pump my fist in the air. “Yay, Chelsea!”
Someone knocks on my door. I don’t want to get off the sofa, but what if it’s Jeremy? I jump up, run my fingers through my hair, and brush at my clothes. I avoid the mirror next to the door because I don’t really want to know what I look like. Then a key slips in the lock, and what I look like no longer matters—it’s just my mom at the door.
“Hi, sweetie. I tried calling, but your phone goes straight to voicemail.”
I take it out of my pocket. “It’s dead. I’ll go put it on the charger.”
When I come back to the living room, she’s looking around in amazement.
“Did you hire a cleaning service?”
“You know I can’t afford that. I just cleaned up a little.”
“A little? Chelsea this place was—” She stops herself and smiles. “It looks wonderful. You did a great job. Why don’t we go shopping for someth
ing new for your apartment? My treat.”
“I’m good, Mom. But thanks. Did you stop by for a reason?”
“I want to take you out for dinner.”
Translation: I know you were with Jeremy last night, and I want to grill you about it. If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d refuse.
“Give me a few minutes to fix myself up.”
“Go ahead. I’ll watch TV.”
“Um … sorry, I think the cable’s out.”
I duck into the bathroom before she can ask me about that. Plus, I need time to figure out how to handle the impending interrogation.
It’s freaking me out that my mom wants me to get together with Jeremy. I mean this is the woman who once tried to fix me up with a mime who kept up the act through half of our very short date. And once she paired me off with a coworker’s son who played with himself as he drove us to a restaurant. I cut that date short by excusing myself on the pretense of going to the restroom but detouring outside to call Gabi to come get me. And don’t even get me started on the guy with the foot fetish.
So what does it mean that she thinks Jeremy and I would make a good pair?
As soon as we pull away from my apartment she starts with the questions, but I’m ready for her.
“How’s your new neighbor?”
“My neighbor?”
“The nice Englishman.”
“Oh, him. Well, he gave me a ride home from Matt’s softball game last night.”
“Did he? That’s nice. And it gave you some time to get to know each other.”
“I guess.”
Let me tell you how my mom drives. She hunches over the steering wheel, both hands gripping at two and ten, of course, with her eyes fixed on the traffic.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Her mouth tightens. I’d better ease up. “Oh, did you think there was something between us?” I laugh. “I’m not his type, Mom, if you know what I mean.”
She frowns.
“Jeremy’s gay.”
Risking a fatal accident, she gives me a split-second startled glance. I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“What a pity,” she says.
I reach for my phone before I remember it’s charging at home, so I make a mental note to text Gabi to go along with what I told my mom to put her off the matchmaking. I hope Gabi gets the hint too. Some people won’t let you live your own life.
We’re in the middle of dinner when I remember it’s the first of the month and I forgot to pay my rent and now the office is closed, so I’ll owe a late charge. Crap. Like the rent wasn’t going to take a huge enough bite out of my bank balance. If I don’t find a job before next Friday, I’ll be living on ramen and water by the end of the month.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Wow. Seriously?
“Nothing.” Wrong answer. She’ll just keep asking. “I just remembered I forgot to pay the rent.”
“Don’t worry about that. I already paid it.”
“Mom,” I say, drawing it out to two long syllables. Like a child. Not cool, Chelsea.
“Oh hush. I can afford it. I want to help you out. But if it makes you feel better, you can pay me back after you get back on your feet.”
“Thanks, Mom. And I will pay you back.”
I feel bad about lying to her about Jeremy. But then I think of the horribly embarrassing things she might do to help me out with him and decide I was right to do it. It’s a matter of self-preservation.
I have to admit it feels great to walk into a clean apartment, and I promise myself I’ll never clutter again. Or try harder not to. Or not let it get away from me, at least. If only I could afford Renata.
I spread my arms in a most dramatic fashion. “I need a job, people.”
That reminds me to check my phone. Maybe I’ve got another chance at a job interview. I have six missed calls: one from Custom Carpet Care, one from Gabi, two from my mom, and two others from a number I don’t recognize.
I dial Gabi first. “Hi. You haven’t talked to my mom in the last two minutes, have you?”
“No, why?”
“I need to warn you about something.”
“Warn me?”
“I told her Jeremy is gay, and I need you to go along with that.”
“Why and why?”
“That’s the only thing I could think of to put her off the trail, and you have to support me because you’re my BFF, remember?”
“Why didn’t you just tell her he has girlfriend or a fiancée or a wife back in England?”
I hate when she gets all logical like that. “Okay, it wasn’t my best moment. But you’ll go along with gay, right?”
“And what happens if you and Mr. High Tea get a thing going?”
“Sometimes you’re a real buzz kill, you know that?”
She laughs. “Well, since you’ve turned into a basket case lately, one of us has to be sensible.”
“Whatever. I’ll talk to you later. I have to call the carpet cleaner back.”
I call CCC, but its office is closed. The calls from my mom came in earlier today, so that leaves just Unknown. I check the times. The calls were made three hours apart, one while my phone was dead and one while we were out to dinner. So both were after most offices close, which means they probably weren’t from a potential employer. Besides wouldn’t they leave a voicemail? Still. I hit the dial icon.
A man answers on the second ring, but it takes my brain a second to identify the voice as Jeremy’s. I hang up.
Crap. Gabi’s right. I am a basket case. Jeremy has my number in his phone—he’ll know who just called. Right this minute, he’s probably changing my name in his contacts list to Too Dumb to Live or Nut Case Downstairs or Brainless Neighbor.
My phone rings. Any guesses who it is? My brain flips through excuses as I answer. “Hello?”
“You rang?”
“Yeah, sorry. I had to hang up because something on the stove was burning.” Too late, I realize he could have seen my mom drop me off ten minutes ago—with a doggie bag in hand. So why would I be cooking? Dumb, dumb, dumb.
“I see.”
He pauses, obviously waiting for me to tell him why I called, and for once—yay me!—I have the logical answer. “You called me first.”
“I did, yes. I gave the carpet company your number, so they should—”
“They called.”
“Excellent.” Another pause. “Well then …”
No, no, no; don’t hang up. Think fast. “Oh. Did I thank you for dinner last night?”
“You did. But did I offend you in some way?”
“Offend me?”
“You left so abruptly, I thought—”
“No. I’m sorry. It wasn’t … I just had something on my mind.” Like my best friend stealing you away.
“I’m relieved to know I’m not at fault.”
“You aren’t.” Okay, now is when he’ll ask me out on a real date.
“Good,” he says. “It’s never a good thing to offend the neighbors.”
Pop goes my bubble. Neighbors. I’m just one of the neighbors to him. I do the tap-pause-fake-call thing. “Oh. That’s my mother calling, …”
“Yes, of course. Good-bye.”
Totally bummed, I collapse onto my bed. What’s the use? He might as well be gay.
CHAPTER 9
Job hunting sucks. Nine days and nothing. Except for the disastrous interview with Mr. Uptight Edwards, I haven’t had another. Not one single call. I applied at all the local job websites I know. I even drove to five of the companies listed there, hoping to get an edge by applying in person, which was a total waste of gas because they all referred me to their online applications.
Quitting my job was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Well, one of the stupidest.
It’s obvious I’ll have to move back to my mom’s at the end of this month. I wonder if it’s too late to cancel that carpet cleaning. The cleaning would help me get back my deposit, but what will Jeremy think if I le
t him pay for it when I knew I’d be moving. Oh, what does it matter? I’ll never see him again. Good-bye apartment. Good-bye independence. Good-bye life.
I force myself out of bed and into the kitchen to get a soda from the fridge—my last Coke. And look at that. I’m out of chips. This day can’t get any worse. I’m halfway down the hall, retreating to my bed, when someone knocks on my door. Please don’t be Mom. I’m not in the mood to be cheered up.
When the knock isn’t followed by a key unlocking the door, I set my drink on the coffee table—hey, extra points for using a coaster—and trudge to the door. I check the peephole.
It’s Jeremy.
I consider pretending I’m not home. There’s no law that says I have to open the door. I watch and listen. He clears his throat and tucks some strands of hair behind his ear. Remember, Chelsea, he sees you only as a neighbor. Just think of him as Mr. High Tea.
I take one quiet step back from the door. He knocks again, and a little yelp of surprise escapes me before I can stifle it. Well, so much for pretending I’m not home. I take a deep breath and order myself to act and speak like a normal person. Do not let him get to you, Chelsea. You can do this.
But when I open the door and look straight into his seawater eyes, my heart sobs at the idea of being just his neighbor.
“Chelsea.”
“Jeremy.”
“I need you—”
My heart soars. “Yes?”
“I mean to say, I have a proposition—”
“A what?”
“I’ll pay you, of course.”
My stupid heart crashes and burns. This is definitely not my dream reenacted. “Pay me?”
“Of course,” he says. “Whatever the current rate.”
My mouth has grown as round as my eyes. Seriously? He’s propositioning me? I want to strangle him. And cry. At the same time.
Look at him! How can he say such a horrible thing to me and then stand there like he ordered the Italian Special and a soda and he’s just waiting for me to quote him the total? Unbelievable.
He frowns. “Excuse my presumption. I’d hoped we could make a business transaction beneficial to us both.”
“Really? What the hell could I possibly have done to give you the impression I’d do such a thing?”
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