“Ms. Avery,” the doorman said, coming out with a trolley and helping me load all my garbage sacks and boxes onto it. He showed me to the elevator and handed me a keycard. “Eighth floor.”
I was jittery as the large elevator took me up and jerked to a stop. The doors opened to reveal a private lobby that led to a large metal door. The lobby held a window and a small fountain with several plants. The space was not only bigger than the room I had shared with two other people, it had more natural daylight and greenery. I let Cesario out of his carrier to explore and used one of the furry ottomans to prop the elevator doors open.
“If this thing doesn’t work out with Blade,” I told the rabbit, “you and I are moving into this lobby. It has a window and running water. We could totally get tenant rights.”
I swiped the keycard and punched in the code the doorman had given me. The larger metal door that stretched almost up to the high ceilingswhooshedsoftly open, and I was confronted with one of the nicest condos I had ever seen. It put Cassie’s home to shame. I lugged my trash bags inside as I gawked at the space.
Blade hadn’t decorated, obviously, since the space was sparse and utilitarian, but the historic building didn’t need much dressing. Before me was one large, open room with minimalist furniture and a kitchen with gleaming black metal appliances to one side. I set my bag of wonky kitchen appliances on the counter, fully intending to break out my grilled cheese toaster as soon as I finished unpacking. The original hardwood floors were a rich brown that echoed the exposed beams above me. The historic brick-framed large windows looked out over the neighborhood. Off of the living room was a balcony brimming with plants.
I let Cesario out to rummage on the balcony while I hefted my possessions into Blade’s apartment. I looked around. If his brothers were trying to poke holes in our story, it wasn’t enough to dump my things in a spare bedroom. I needed to claim the space as mine.
I dragged the garbage sacks of clothes around until I found a laundry room that looked as if it was never used. I could not see Blade doing his own laundry. Not that I was one to talk; I rarely did my own laundry either, as evidenced by the fact that I was wearing swimsuit bottoms as underwear. I dumped my clothes into the fancy washing machine then set out my knickknacks in the living room. The Witches vs. Patriarchy mood board went up next to Blade’s framed map of the New York City subway system. The brass-and-glass terrarium with the succulent garden that had barely survived on my fire escape went on the shelf next to Blade’s award for a hackathon. The Hello Kitty gumball machine went next to an antique Arithmometerfrom the Victorian era. I set out my collection ofSex and the CityandGilmore GirlsDVDs on the shelf next to his special-editionLord of the RingsDVD box sets.
Then I arranged my furry blush and white ottomans that looked like alien sheep out in the living room. They were shedding little tufts of hair, but they had supported me through college, and I was sentimental. After fluffing them out a little bit, I attempted to hang up my swinging chair. It was made out of intricate pieces of thick white rope and big enough to seat two people. The rope was woven around a bamboo frame that formed a partial egg shape, the extra rope hanging as tassels below it. After changing over my laundry, I hunted through Blade’s apartment. I found a small ladder, plugged in the drill, and secured the eye hook into one of the heavy wooden joists. I threw a fuzzy white blanket in the chair and hopped on, giggling as it swung.
“So amazing!” I sang. I hadn’t had enough room in my last apartment to hang it. Now I could spin and swing in my chair!
Cesario was scratching at the door, so I brought him inside then went and took my laundry out of the dryer.
“We should put this in Blade’s closet, shouldn’t we?” I told the rabbit, scooping up the pile of warm, clean laundry and taking it to the master bedroom.
I held my breath as I pushed inside. It smelled like Blade—the expensive but understated cologne he wore mingled with his own unique scent. I resisted the urge to bury my face in his pillows.
“You aren’t sleeping here,” I scolded myself. “Just put your clothes in here.”
Blade’s suits were neatly lined up in his closet in cloth garment bags. His shoes were arranged on shelves, one individual cubby per pair. Shirts were starched in drawers. In another drawer was a glittering array of expensive-looking watches.
I forced myself not to browse anymore. I wasn’t planning a life with the man. I didn’t need to know all the intimate details. It was just business. There was a free area of the closet against a wall, and I shoved several skirts and blouses onto the rack then retreated.
In the drool-worthy bathroom, I set out a mirror tray and artfully arranged bath bombs, candles, and another succulent terrarium on it then placed my toiletry bucket under the sink. I set out some perfume bottles on a credenza in the bedroom and a selection ofCosmomagazines on a little table in the sitting area.
Finally, I sprayed mango-tangerine body spray all over the house to mark my territory then lit lavender and thyme candles. Though I didn’t own a lot of stuff, I had spread it as much around as I could, and it looked like a woman lived here now.
“Crap!” I said, looking around. There were no pictures of us. We needed to fix that immediately.
After texting Shirley to beg her to come do a photo shoot soon, I pulled out a loaf of Wonder bread, some American cheese, and butter and set about making a grilled cheese sandwich with my grilled cheese toaster. I was sitting in my swing chair, trying and failing not to drop crumbs all over myself and the carpet, when Blade came home and froze in the doorway.
18
Blade
My home was my sanctuary. My brothers were not allowed in. I did make the small concession of allowing Carlos, the doorman, to keep plants on the balcony and in the elevator lobby, however. It did add a nice healthy atmosphere to the place, and it was good for the environment, I supposed. Other than that, I was very particular about my space. It had neutral tones, all grays and blacks, and minimal décor. Even my appliances were black. It was a sanctuary from the chaos of my family, the nuttiness of the city, and the ever-present information overload of my office.
Except when I opened the door to my condo that evening, I was not met with the smell of fresh spring water. Instead it smelled like a mall—food court offerings mixed with those candle shops that smelled like fruit-infused death. I sneezed as I walked in.
A bowl of batter sat on my normally pristine countertops, yellow goop dripping onto the quartz. A big pink plastic contraption steamed and smoked. An obese rabbit hopped past me, a piece of what looked like cheese hanging out of its mouth.
“You’re back!” Avery exclaimed, jumping up. “How’s my future hubby? FYI, I added an event on your calendar. We desperately need to take couples shots. My friend Shirley’s going to do it. She’s really good at photography, she’s been doing engagement photos. She’ll do the photography for our wedding, of course. Oh, I think the cupcakes are done!” She opened the contraption, scooped up a cupcake, and slathered it with chocolate frosting and took a bite.
“It’s hot but good. I guess I should have waited,” she said, panting around the food. “Do you want a grilled cheese?”
“I need a drink,” I muttered, loosening my tie and walking toward the bar cart that was in one corner. “You need to come see if—” I stopped abruptly then cursed as I tried to untangle myself from a rope that was hanging from the ceiling. “What the hell is that?” I declared. I whirled to face Avery. “Why is there a swing in here?”
“I’m marking my territory!” she said, jumping on the chair and swinging back and forth.
“You put a hole in my beam!”
“It has a ton of holes in it,” she protested. “This used to be a warehouse. You can patch it once our marriage is over.”
