No Memes of Escape
Page 25
She chuckled. “No, not that. But I think it might be good to relocate my studio. There’s a great shared space overlooking the river where I can work surrounded by other artists, and we can inspire and encourage each other every day.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said. “I can’t wait to see what you create next. You’ll have to send me photos. Or we can always Skype.”
“About that.” My aunt glanced at Izzy again. “Once I move my studio, I’m going to have a spare bedroom. The new space is wonderful, but it’s an added expense every month. I might have to take on a roommate just to make fiscal sense. And it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands around here.” She winked at Izzy.
My face lit up and I turned to Izzy. “This is your new apartment? How wonderful!”
I couldn’t have been happier for Izzy if she’d won the lotto. She deserved a nice, safe place to live. A real place to call her own, that wasn’t overrun with mice or accessed only by a broken fire escape. A place where she could have a real bed—not some ratty old sleeping bag—and hang up her own curtains. A place where she didn’t have to fear eviction or worry about some horrible roommate beating her up in the middle of the night and stealing all her stuff. A place with a working elevator.
Izzy nodded, and I jumped up and gave her a big bear hug. “This is so extra!” I continued to gush. I turned to my aunt. “You’re going to love living with Izzy. She’s an amazing cook, and she always picks up after herself. Rufus adores her, and she’s the ideal roommate.”
“I’m glad you think so,” my aunt said. “Because you’ll be sharing the room with her.”
Goose bumps sprouted on my arms. “Wait, what?”
“Man, Odessa, you can be so dense sometimes. I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”
“Wait, this was your plan all along?” Izzy nodded. I turned to Aunt Melanie. “But the bus ticket? You made it pretty clear that you wanted me to leave.”
My aunt flapped a dismissive hand in my direction. “If we’re going to live together, we need to learn how to communicate better. I thought you wanted to leave. I’d hoped you’d stay, especially when Izzy came to me with her idea, but this had to be your decision. The bus ticket was there to give you an option so you didn’t feel like you were trapped here.”
“Trapped? In Williamsburg? Don’t be ridiculous!” I exclaimed. My head was dizzy with the possibilities.
“What do you say, roomie?” Izzy asked. “You and me, splitting everything down the middle. We could build a shelf for our cornhole trophy, once the police release it from evidence. I’ll print out our photo from the escape room, and we can frame it and hang it on our wall.”
I couldn’t help myself, I jumped up and down in place for a minute before realizing it was incredibly late and the downstairs neighbors were probably trying to sleep. “Yes!” I screeched.
“I don’t know,” Izzy said, shaking her head sadly as she addressed my aunt. “I was legit hoping she would be more enthusiastic.”
I punched her playfully in the arm. “Are you kidding? I’m so happy, I could kiss the cat!” Then I scooped up Rufus and proceeded to place a big wet smooch on the end of his nose. “I have to call my mom!” I whipped out my cell phone and started dialing.
My mother answered the phone, sounding frantic. “Odessa? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Ma.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Yikes. “Oh, sorry about waking you.” After two months in New York, I’d already adjusted to the city’s habit of going to bed late and sleeping in late, but I had to admit that it was way too early—or too late, depending on how I looked at it—to be making phone calls. “I just have the best news!”
“You can tell me all about it when you get home,” my mother insisted. In the background, I could hear my father’s sleepy voice asking what was wrong.
“But I’m not going back to Piney Island.” A huge grin broke out on my face. “I’m staying right here, in Williamsburg.”
My mother sighed on the other end of the phone. I heard her bedsprings squeak as she sat up. “Odessa, don’t be silly. Your family’s waiting for you.”
“That’s just it, Ma,” I said. I squeezed Izzy’s hand.
Tomorrow, instead of traipsing to the bus stop in the wee hours of the morning boarding the first Greyhound heading south, I was going to sleep until noon, then walk the eleven blocks to Untapped Books & Café and beg Todd to give me my job back. Then I was gonna eat breakfast in the café, utilizing my employee discount to treat myself to whatever Parker was cooking. I’d take a coffee to go and wander through Domino Park until it got too warm, and then I’d come back to my aunt’s apartment—my apartment, I corrected myself—and take a dip in the rooftop pool. “I’ve found a wonderful family here, and I am home.”
#TheEnd
Acknowledgments
A very special thanks goes out to the friends, family (family don’t end with blood!), and total strangers who bought Killer Content so I could write No Memes of Escape. Y’all put up with a lot from me in exchange for Odessa adventures and puggle pictures, and I’m grateful for all of you—especially Potassium, Liz, La, Ris, and Dare, who are always there for me, 24-7, “whether you like it or not.” Whether you boosted me on social media, texted me supportive messages in the middle of the night, or bought ten copies to give out to everyone (thanks Toni <3), you wonderful weirdos are the real heroes.
There’s a huge team behind this book—my very patient agent, James McGowan, at the BookEnds Literary Agency; my fantastic editor, Kristine Swartz; and the entire magnificent Berkley team. This includes cover design, page layout, meticulous correcting of my less-than-stellar grammar, the wonderfully talented audiobook production team, marketing, publicity, and a million other moving pieces from the distribution centers (hi, Stewy!!!) to the booksellers.
Last, but never least, for the absolutely amazing authors in the #Berkletes 2021 debut group that supported, entertained, enlightened, and encouraged me and Odessa—through a pandemic nonetheless!—here’s a very special :heart_eyes: emoji. #ILY
Photo courtesy of the author
Brooklyn Murder Mysteries author OLIVIA BLACKE writes quirky, unconventional, character-driven cozy mysteries. After shuffling around the USA from Hawaii to Maine, she currently resides with her husband and their roly-poly rescue puggle, but is forever homesick for NYC. In addition to writing, disappearing into a good book, and spending way too much time on social media, she enjoys scuba diving, crocheting, collecting tattoos, and baking dog cookies.
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