I tap Kari’s name before I think better of it. I quit keeping tabs on her after her second year of college. It was time to move on, quit holding onto the past and what might have been if things had been different. If she and my sister hadn’t been fused at the hip.
A green dot appears, signaling she’s online. My pulse quickens a fraction. For a split second, I consider messaging her. Just a simplehey, how’s it going.
Reality kicks in just in time. It’s a bad idea.
We knew each other as kids. I was old enough to know better. Old enough to stay away. And that’s all water under the bridge.
The guy leaves, and the door shuts behind him. The gym’s quiet, save for the low hum of the lights.
I click out of social media and set up the camera. Angle it right so my face is out of the frame. My workouts are always about teaching. The movement, correct form, and putting in the work.
I do it despite knowing that Fans is more for fetishes and ogling bodies than learning. But I’m in it with an end goal toteach. That helps me bury whatever it is I’m feeling about Kari, the past, and the fact fate wasn’t on my side where she was concerned. I drown out that noise with iron and repetition.
Because that’s what I’m good at.
2
Kari
The day after three job interviews that all end withwe’ll be in touch, I decide to make one impulsive, possibly unwise detour.
I’m dressed in interview-acceptable clothes—black pants, cream blouse, and flats that pinch just enough to remind me I’m not meant for corporate life. My stomach twists as I drive, mentally tallying how long I can survive on my savings if nothing pans out.
As much as I love my parents, I do not want to live with them indefinitely.
I spot the apartment complex by accident. Well. Not exactly by accident. I’ve been low-key scanning listings since Darby and I commiserated about our lot in life, bookmarking places I can’t afford and pretending that counts as progress. This one looks newer. Cleaner than others. A little aspirational without screaming luxury pricing.
On a whim, I pull in.
The leasing office smells faintly like lemon cleaner. Fake plants dot the corners of a large room that most likely serves as a clubhouse after hours. A large fireplace glows and crackles, butthe absence of burning wood smell is a dead giveaway that it’s all gas powered. Still, it’s homey-ish.
I pick up a brochure from the table beside the door, admiring the professional photos on the cover with pristine grounds and a pool that glistens in the sun. I flip open the brochure and scan the floor plans of varying size.
A woman with glossy blonde hair steps out of a windowed office and greets me with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Savannah Harbor.”
“I’m just looking,” I say quickly, like that absolves me of commitment. “Efficiency apartments?”
She lights up. Of course she does.
She talks through what I imagine is her usual spiel—first and last month’s rent, deposit, utilities, amenities. Efficiency units are small but bright, with enough space to make it feel cozy rather than claustrophobic.
At this point, I’d jump at the chance if it were a shoebox. That’s how desperate I am to be on my own again. Living with my parents feels like I’ve regressed to childhood instead of becoming a flourishing adult.
“We try to make our community feel like home,” she says, gesturing toward the lobby area. “Residents can reserve this space for meetings or small events. There’s a cleaning fee, but nothing outrageous.”
I nod, doing the mental math. If I can pick up a few more clients, I could afford the smallest unit in about… three months. Way too long.
Then she adds, “And of course, the pool and gym.”
My ears perk up.
The gym is attached to the office, doors propped open while staff are on-site. She explains the access rules—open during working hours, locked after eight, swipe card access for residents any time of the day or night.
“And guests?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Guests are welcome,” she says easily. “As long as they’re accompanied by a resident. We ask that residents limit guests to one per visit.
Good to know.
