Geez, I sound pathetic. I don’t consider myself a selfish man, but truth be told I wouldn’t give a second thought to another TA or student out for a week due to illness. I’d take their email updates at face value and go about my day.
What the hellam I doing?It’s Tuesday afternoon, and I’m driving slowly through her apartment complex, studying the numbers on each building to find Alis’s apartment. When I sent her another email checking in and she didn’t respond, again, I decided to drive to her apartment to make sure she’s alright. I’m fully aware this is highly inappropriate for a professor, but hopefully not for a friend. The fact that I have to repeatedly convince myself that we are friends speaks to the weak foundation on which I stand, but I’m here now so there’s no point turning back.
2300–2310… 2311–2320…ah hah!Deborah’s text said she lives at apartment 2318, so now I just have to find an open parking spot. I swear this parking lot has so many twists and turns, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way out.
I park in an undesignated spot on the side of the building and shut off my car, hands at ten and two as I press my forehead into the steering wheel. I laugh to myself, imagining the scowl she’ll give me when she answers the door.
I am just making sure she’s okay. Any friend would be worried if someone they care about was homesick for a full week without explanation.
Grabbing the pharmacy bag filled with cold medicine, cough drops, and a sports drink, I exit the car and make my way toward the door. I really hope I don’t need an access code to get into the building, otherwise I will have made this trip for nothing.
Just as I reach the top of the steps leading to the entryway, anelderly woman pushes it open. I grab onto the handle and hold open the door for her, deeming my act of chivalry to be payment for barging in on Alis so unexpectedly. Once the way is clear, I step inside and let the door close behind me, looking right and finding the directory on the foyer wall. Her apartment is on the first floor. Good. I don’t have to climb any stairs on my quest.
I head down the hallway, noting the even-numbered apartments on the left side. I stop in front of 2318 and hesitate before knocking three times. I hear movement on the other side of the door. She’s up and moving, not bedridden. That’s a good sign.
“Coming!” I hear a high-pitched voice come near the door and turn the lock. I’m having trouble placing that voice with Alis, and as the door swings open I see why — the person projecting that voice is half the size of the woman I’m here to see.
I stand there, frozen, not sure what to say. I didn’t expect to see a child. Is she Alis’s? Her hair is darker, but then again her father could have dark hair.Her. Father.Oh God. Please don’t tell me Alis is with someone. Surely she would have said something. Surely she wouldn’t have kissed me that night at the club had she been involved with someone else.
The little girl cocks her head to the side and inspects me from head to toe. Shit, I still haven’t said anything.
“Who are you?” she asks, her tone filled with curiosity.
I swallow nervously, still thrown off by the appearance of this young girl in the doorway. Do I have the wrong apartment? “Hi. I might have the wrong apartment. My name is Dexter. I’m here to see Alis?” The girl eyes me up and down once more; I can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to decide how to respond to me.
Suddenly she turns, door still ajar, and yells at the top of her lungs, “MONTY!”Who the hell is Monty?Oh God. He’s probably some bouncer-sized man coming to tell me to get the fuck out of here.
Then I hear her — Alis. “Sunny, why are you answering the do—” Just as she pulls the door open wider, she stills as her eyes lock with mine. “Dexter. What are you doing here?”
The girl sidles up next to Alis, looking back and forth between us. “Looks like you have the right house, dude. Here she is.” Then she shrugs — shrugs, as if this is not unusual — and walks deeper into the apartment.
“Dexter?” Alis prompts, knocking me out of my momentary stupor. I shake my head to clear it and look Alis in the eyes.
“Hi,” I say, my signature half-smile aimed directly at her.God, she’s beautiful. She doesn’t look happy to see me. She looks, annoyed?
“Hi, ” she deadpans. “What are you doing here? And how do you know where I live?” She props her hip on the door frame, arms crossed over her chest.
“I, uh, wanted to make sure you were alright. You’ve been out sick for a week now and I was worried something was wrong.”
Her face softens, just a tiny bit, and she looks at the floor as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh. Well, thank you, I guess. I’m fine.” She offers no more words. No more explanation. No clue about the girl. What do I expect? She keeps treating me like just a professor and I keep wanting to read into our interactions as if she is somehow affected by me the same way I am by her. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined our chemistry and easy conversation the night we first met.
“Right. Well, I wasn’t sure what type of illness you have — or had? I brought you a few things in case you have a cold or a stomach virus. Electrolytes and such.” I present my offering and she looks down at it before her eyes return to my face. She doesn’t make a move to take the bag, so I’m standing here holding it out, looking like an idiot.
The silence between us grows awkward and just as I’m about to apologize for intruding and then leave, the young girl returns to the door and says, “We’re not contagious. You can come in!” Alis gives the girl a disapproving look before looking back to me. “You don’t have t?—”
“I’d love to. Thanks.” I cut her off mid-sentence and take a step forward. Thankfully, Alis moves from the doorway and allows me to pass.Thanks for the break, kid.
Her apartment is cozy. Not very spacious, but it looks comfortable.I am a man and I do not decorate things — Laura decorated our apartment when we lived together — but even I can tell this living area doesn’t have any specific theme or design. Her couch, up against the wall, is covered in different colored and shaped throw pillows and a superhero-printed throw blanket lies balled up on the floor to the side. Next to the couch, in the corner near the sliding glass door, sits a club chair piled high with more random pillows, books, and an open laptop. The chair is — purple? No, more maroon? The floral print on the upholstery looks straight out of my grandmother’s sitting room back in Montreal.
As I continue looking around, Alis clears her throat and asks if I’d like to have a seat, gesturing toward the couch. I look at her and smile, happy to be in her space and see more of her life.
“Sorry about the mess. We, uh, weren’t expecting company.” She’s looking at her feet while she talks, refusing to look me in the eyes.We. Who is we? She and the girl? She and the girl and the girl’s father? Maybe she’s just babysitting? If she’s sick, babysitting wouldn’t make sense.
I set the pharmacy bag on the round dining table to my right in the open kitchen/dining space and then take a seat on the couch. “Tea?” Alis asks, and I nod. “Thank you, that sounds great.”
I can sense her discomfort, and it pains me to consider that I might be the cause. My intentions were genuine – to ensure she was okay. Admittedly, perhaps a part of me just missed her presence and sought to shorten the gap between us sooner rather than later.
My eyes linger on the eclectic decor of her living room, providing a momentary distraction until a young girl makes her entrance. With an unceremonious plop onto the floor in front of the club chair, she grabs a throw blanket, swaddling herself within its folds, and then lifts her gaze to me.
