Thirty days later…
Well, it looks like Malcom was the scum of the earth, after all. It’s been a month, and I still haven’t heard a word from him. The son of a bitch took my virginity and didn’t even call me. Chris honestly probably would have paid me more attention, even if it wasn’t genuine.
On top of that, I spent twenty-nine days looking for a place to live and came up with absolute diddly squat. It was looking more and more like I may have had to accept defeat and move home with the ‘rents, which would probably be the worst thing I could do, considering how poorly our household functions when I’m a part of it. But then I met Caroline.
Unlike the other guys I’d been meeting with, who were all landlords (and quite obviously sleazy), Caroline is a realtor, representing properties she herself does not own. She showed me a couple of places out of my price range—after all, what really is there out there for a struggling waitress in this economy? But then she showed me a super cute little unit at the bottom of a big house that had been converted into smaller apartments, and it was just at the top of what I was able to pay.
“Everything’s pretty typical,” she told me as she showed me around. “Everyone else in the building has to walk to the laundry room, but you have your own right here in the closet.”
“That’s incredible,” I smiled, examining the washer and dryer. They looked old, but Caroline assured me they were both in great working order.
“You know how your grandmother always had an old kitchen mixer that looked like it came from the 1920s? Well, that’s these.” She smiled. “They just never seem to break down. You’ll never have issues with them. And if some freak accident does happen, well, you always have the shared units as backup.”
She continues to show me around the apartment, but I’m not really listening. I mean, I am, but I’m not really. I’ve already decided; I’m renting this place. I’m signing the lease. And it’s not just because this is the last day I have to get out of my old place—which has now become Bianca and Jeff’s place. I would have rented this place anyways.
Of course the fact that I’ll be homeless by tomorrow (or back living with my nightmare parents) does play a pretty big part in my decision. I’m so glad to have found this unit and to not have to go back to my folks’ house and face their I-told-you-sos and get talked down to like a child for however long it would have taken for me to find another place to live. I don’t know if they think speaking to me that way actually helps me or whether they’re just assholes, and at this point in my life, I don’t particularly care to figure it out.
“Well, I’ll take it!” I say enthusiastically to Caroline. “Where do I sign?”
Caroline smiles, but I notice a hint of…something in her eyes. “Well, there’s a little something we have to do before I can have you sign the lease.” Oh God. I knew it was too good to be true. “It’s nothing major! But the landlord likes to meet every new tenant before leasing. Just for a quick one-on-one. It should only take about five minutes.”
“Oh…” I say slowly. “For like a blitz chess game or something?”
Caroline laughs. “No, no. He just wants to know everyone who will be living in his building.”
“He doesn’t trust you? Isn’t that what your job is? To find tenants?”
“It is,” Caroline agrees. “But he says he has great intuition when it comes to people, and he just wants to make sure—I guess—that I haven’t missed anything.”
Caroline is already pulling her phone out and sending a text, presumably to the landlord of the building. Just another scum of the earth asshole, I imagine—that is if he’s anything like Malcom. At least he keeps his building in tip-top shape.
Caroline’s phone vibrates, and she smiles.
“There we go. He says he’ll be right down. Five minutes tops. You know, if I were you, I’d just start bringing your things in now.”
“Really?” I ask. “But you said–”
“He’ll love you,” she says, squeezing me on the arm. “I just know he will. And if he doesn’t? Then I’ll help you bring your things back out to your car. How’s that sound?”
Honestly? It feels like I could jump up and down and squeal with glee. A fantastic unit all to myself, with its own laundry, showing up on the day just before I’m about to be shit-outta-luck and have to go retreating home to my parents? “It sounds amazing.” I smile, staying on my feet.
Caroline and I go out to my car and start grabbing things. I have basically everything packed already, knowing that if this didn’t turn out to be the place, I was going to have to head home to my parents’.
I drag my suitcase into the bedroom, which comes with its own bedframe (and takes an enormous amount of stress off of me), drop it by the closet, and unzip it. Caroline comes in behind me and sets a small box down.
“I think this has hangers in it?”
“Yes, it does.” I smile. “Thank you so much. This is a huge help.”
“Not a problem,” she replies. “My mom says I’m a natural helper. I just like helping people—just like her.”
I mirror her smile, but it’s hard as a picture of their idyllic family pops into my mind, as if taunting the one forever staining mine whenever I think about how I grew up and how things are whenever I am forced to go back home for a visit. You all just get along so wonderfully, don’t you? They raised you so well, didn’t they?
I’m jealous of her, but I learned long ago not to let my jealousy turn into resentment. Caroline has been nothing but nice to me. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have this apartment. And although she’s dressed in a swanky dress, she’s lugging my boxes inside for me. Her mom clearly raised her well.
All of a sudden, from behind her, I hear the sound of the front door opening. No knock beforehand, no doorbell. The door simply opening followed by the sound of clearly masculine footsteps entering the apartment.
Caroline’s eyebrows raise, and she whispers, “That’s him. Come with me.”
She turns and steps out of the bedroom. I take a deep breath before I follow after her.
I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be. She just assured me he’s going to like me and everything’s going to go just fine, but still. What if it doesn’t?
One more deep breath, and I make my way out of the bedroom and into the living room and am instantly frozen as a javelin of pure panic pierces me straight through the chest.
There, standing beside Caroline, dressed in business casual, cell phone in hand, looking handsome as ever, is Malcom.
Some kind of recognition registers on his face, but I can’t tell quite what.
Caroline turns and raises a hand towards me. “Malcom this is–”
But before she can finish, Malcom smiles and nods.
“Yes, we’ve met,” he says. “Hello, Erika.”
