After she hangs up, I continue to drive through Elk Lake in a state of supreme agitation. I have no idea if it’s worth my time to drive all the way to Chicago to hear the new offer. I’m not even sure I should be going at all.
I’m finally on the verge of getting what I know I want, but I can’t quite pinpoint why I’m not that excited. Life has been awfully strange lately.
Time passes quickly and the closer I get to the city, the more I start to feel supercharged at the thought of my meeting tomorrow. By the time I’m driving through downtown, I realize that I forgot to tell Lorelai I would be spending the night at my apartment tonight.
I call, and her voicemail picks up. “Hey, Chirp, it’s me. I’m in town and I need to stay the night. I’ll take the couch, so I don’t put you out.”
I continue to my apartment building and park in visitor parking. Leaving my duffel bag in the car, I get out and stretch my legs. Then I walk toward the exit and onto the street. There’s no getting around it, I love Chicago. I love the buildings, the people, the overall energy. Everything about this city feels like my home.
My first stop is my neighborhood coffee shop where I get my morning coffee. Even though it’s afternoon, I plan on recreating my entire Sunday routine. As I walk into The Brim, I feel raw expectations and enthusiasm to welcome back pumpkin spiceseason with them. I’ve been in Elk Lake since it officially started at the beginning of this month, so this will be my first cup in the Windy City.
But suddenly, instead of feeling the joy I’ve always felt coming in here, I’m hit with a wave of irritation. Has it always been this busy? Thinking back, I remember that I’ve waited up to thirty minutes for my order on past Sundays. I’ve never waited for more than five minutes at Rosemary’s.
When I finally get to the front of the line, the familiar barista asks, “What do you want?” She sounds so aggressive, I have to wonder if that’s new or has she always sounded like this?
Trying for a friendly approach, I ask, “Isn’t it crazy that it’s fall already?”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Is it going to be winter before you order or can you move it along?” she wants to know.
She clearly isn’t in a friendly state of mind. Feeling a tad affronted, I tell her, “I’ll have the pumpkin spice caramel latte.”
“Is that all?” Her hands are on her hips in a belligerent fashion.
“What kind of muffins do you have today?” I ask nervously.
“Dude!” she yells and points at the board behind her.
I’m suddenly afraid she’s going to jump over the counter and choke the life out of me. “I’ll have the pumpkin praline,” I tell her.
“We just ran out of that one. The guy before you got the last one.”
“Oh, okay. Then I’ll have the caramel apple, heated please.”
That’s clearly the last straw for her. “I recognize you, so I knowyouknow that we don’t heat them on Sunday.”
I forgot about that.Shoot.Well, no worries so long as I get out of here with my life—which by the look on the barista’s face is not a guarantee. I pay quickly and hurry to the side of the room to wait for my number to be called.
I used to love this part of my Sunday, but I’ve got to confess I’m not overly pleased right now. I wind up waiting for a full tenminutes before my number is called. I go to the counter and pick it up before sprinting out of there.
Once I’m back onto the street, instead of eating my food on the run, like I usually do, I find a park bench under a tree and sit down. I plant myself there for a full thirty minutes while I watch the hustle and bustle of Sunday foot traffic pass by. How did I forget everything was so busy here? I’ve hardly been gone longer than a month.
After I’m done, I throw my garbage into a nearby can and try to figure out what to do next. If I were still living here, I’d grab a sandwich to put in the fridge for my lunch, then maybe call some guys to hang out. But as I’m not going to be here for long, I kind of want to spend the day on my own.
I head back in the direction of my apartment building before retrieving my duffel from the car. Then I head up to my unit. I knock when I get there so I don’t surprise my sister. I wait for three minutes but when she doesn’t answer, I let myself in.
I look around the place and stare with my mouth wide open. I have never seen my apartment so clean. It almost doesn’t even look familiar to me. That’s when I realize Lorelai has gone ahead and started redecorating without telling me what she was up to.
The walls in the living room are no longer white, they’re some kind of silvery sage color that I imagine would look great on a mermaid tail. Although, it’s not as whimsical as it is refined. It’s actually very nice.
Walking around, I notice that she’s covered my dinged up leather sofa with a soft cream-colored corduroy cover. I like it. The throw pillows are a little on the feminine side, but I didn’t even have throw pillows before, so I suppose that’s an upgrade, too.
Sitting down on the couch, I see that I also have curtains, which is not something I’d ever even thought of getting before. My old wooden coffee table has been replaced by a sleek glass one that’s covered with thick coffee table books. There’s one on the architecture of Chicago, another on Monet, and one more on the history of the little black dress. Yeah, this isn’t my apartmentanymore. If I come back to the city, I’m probably going to have to move. Either that or get my sister to wave her magic wand until everything makes sense again.
Kicking my shoes off, I lie back on the couch and cover myself up with the softest blanket in the world—also not mine—then I close my eyes and take a nap. My last conscious thought is,I wonder what Allie’s doing right now?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ALLIE
