I sat up taller, my senses sharpening. Had she actually pulled off a miracle and gotten me in somewhere that quickly? “What kind of place?”
“Might be forward of me to suggest, but, uh. I’ve got a second bedroom. I don’t use it as much as I thought I would. Do you want to just stay here?”
I had never been anywhere near as grateful for anyone or anything as I was grateful for this woman right now. I waited, tempered my reactions, before I said, “If that’s an option, it would… work in my favor.”
“I can have it ready by Sunday morning, if you want to move in.”
“How much is the rent?”
“Nine hundred.”
“Nine hundred. Sure. I can pay you all of it upfront if you need.”
“Okay, let’s stop and breathe. You’re going to be okay. You don’t need to do all that. I’m moving out of this place in February, is the only catch, but—”
“That’s perfect. That works perfectly for me, I mean. Ideally by then I’ll have a new job and I’ll be able to move into a new place, get out of your hair—”
“Victoria, breathe.”
“I apologize.” I laughed nervously. “I’m normally more composed than this. Thank you. Honestly. I… don’t know what to say.”
“It helps me out too. Don’t worry about it. Um… so, tell me what you need for the apartment.”
I was not a crier. I was a fully grown woman. But I dabbed my eyes nonetheless, which were damp for reasons unbeknownst to me. “Just some of those snickerdoodles will be great.”
“Oh. Uh.” She paused. “You got it. All the snickerdoodles you like.”
∞∞∞
A cross-country drive with all my belongings packed into the car was not how I intended to spend the weekend, but here I was, feeling vaguely sickened and comforted at once in a strange combination as I drove through the familiar sights of my oldhometown. The GPS led me steadfastly onwards, through where all Seattle’s rain had given way to snow up here, even early in November, piled up on the sides of the road as I drove up to the neighborhood of Merrimount. Didn’t really need the GPS, not when I’d visited some family friends who lived in Merrimount a million times, but I kept it on, just to make it feel like this wasn’t a place I knew like the back of my hand.
Bridget lived in a sleek new apartment complex at the end of the street, beautiful contemporary construction with a stylish post-industrial chic lobby, metal beams and exposed structural pillars melding with dark wood and glass and plenty of greenery, a cute little lounge area with access to an outdoor firepit and a touchscreen drinks machine. I buzzed to go in the front doors, and I rolled my suitcase inside and into the elevator, up to the fourth floor, where Bridget’s door was the first on the left, and I steeled myself before I knocked.
I wasn’t a failure because I needed a roommate. I wasn’t a failure because I quit my job. I wasn’t a failure because I was moving back.
I knocked on the door, and there was a rustle from inside before it unlatched and swung open to where Bridget looked surreally the same as ever: a bit on the short side, almost a full head shorter than me, with big, blue eyes and an enviously smooth, warm complexion, long brown hair, wearing a soft yellow blouse and slacks. She was so polished, well-kept—she had lash extensions and beautiful hair that clearly saw the salon frequently, a fresh rosy pink manicure, and applied her makeup far more expertly than I would if I weren’t going into an office regularly to be judged on my appearances.
Also, the place was packed with Christmas. I hadn’t taken Bridget as the type to decorate first thing in November, but the low-lit living room behind her was dressed with a big Christmas tree, garland, stockings, tinsel and all, and even a soft jazz coverof Mariah Carey’sChristmasplayed from the room. I could smell hot chocolate and cinnamon immediately, and it made my mouth water and my eyes water, for different reasons.
“Victoria,” she said, beaming. “Good to see you again. You must be exhausted.”
“Hi,” I said, a little awkward—not knowing where our friendship was, if we had any. If I could hug her, or shake her hand, or not touch her at all—but luckily, she took the initiative, stepping across the threshold and putting her arms out, and I met her with a hug, squeezing her lightly. “Thank you so much. It’s good to see you again, you look… I mean, you look radiant. I can tell the independent work has been good for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” she laughed, stepping back. She didn’t look quite at me. I wondered if maybe the independent work wasn’t going well… maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I wouldn’t ask. I wasn’t about to ruin this relationship as soon as I got here. “Well, come in, sit down, please, relax. I can grab the rest of your stuff from the car, if you like.”
“Absolutely not. What do you take me for? I’m not making you a pack mule the second I get to your home.”
She laughed, gesturing me inside. “We’ll figure out how to split the duties of getting your stuff inside, but for right now, the important part is getting you inside. Sit down, please. Coffee? Cookies?”
My suitcasebump-bumped over the strip into her front door, and I propped it up by the door, looking around, taking it in. It was beautifully decorated… the red tartan curtains and fern-green cabinets in her kitchen, combined with the deep green velvety couch and the big throw blanket over it, a thick plush rug, a gas fireplace burning behind a glass door, it felt more like home than the place in Seattle that I’d barely touched for all the year and a half that I’d lived there. “That soundswonderful, thank you so much,” I said. “I don’t mean to be a bother when you’re already doing this much for me.”
“Relax. It’s your move-in day. Sit down and take it easy. Besides, I could totally pound an entire pot of coffee right now,” she said, practically skipping past me towards the kitchen before she caught herself, clearing her throat and walking more naturally. Or… maybe unnaturally. If she wanted to skip around her home and talk about pounding something, she could do that. I wasn’t about to dictate what she did in her own home.
I wasn’t making a point of it right now, though. She was probably just formal around strangers, and despite our relative friendship, I was still mostly a stranger.
I sank into a plush seat at the kitchen table under Christmassy string lights, and when she came back with the pot of coffee and a plate of cookies that were so beautifully prepared that I’d have believed it if she said they came from the bakery, I gave her a grateful smile and said, “This place is beautiful. Big fan of Christmas, huh?”
“Oh, yeah, that, uh…” She laughed nervously before she sat down across from me. She sat uneasily, like the chair wasn’t quite right, and I tried not to frown. “You know, tis the season. I cleaned the place up a little for you to arrive. I hope you’re not a certified Christmas hater.”
