Indianapolis is a grid city with streets that crisscross out from a central roundabout called Monument Circle. The exceptions to these north–south–east–west roads are four main diagonal streets that begin about a block away from the center and head out of the city. Anders lives on the northeast of these diagonals—Massachusetts Avenue, or Mass Ave., as he calls it—and his loft apartment is inside a converted silk factory. The building is five stories, redbrick, with giant Crittall-style windows. The original factory chimney remains; it starts at ground level and is probably twice the height of the overall apartment block. There’s also a round silver water tank on the rooftop that has the wordsilkpainted across it in red letters.
“This is so cool,” I say with awe. “How long have you lived here?”
“Only since February,” he replies. “This whole area was covered with about two feet of snow on moving day.”
I wonder where he used to live with Laurie.
The corridors to reach the apartment are dull and uninspiring, but inside, the ceilings are high and the window takes up practically the entire end wall of the living room, although this is divided from the main body of the apartment by sliding doors and a sunroom. The kitchen is by the door and it’s open-plan, with a breakfast bar.
“The spare room is over there.” Anders points across the living room to a door on the left.
His room, I see, is up a few steps, around the corner from the kitchen. Aside from a waist-high dividing wall, it’s open tothe living room, I assume because it needs to steal light from the giant window—there are none in his room.
The walls are white, the floors are wooden and stripped-back, and the mostly modern furniture has a Scandi vibe, with brown leather chairs and sofas and sleek wooden coffee and side tables.
Hang on. “Is that an Eames chair?” I call over to him with unbridled delight at the sight of the yellow fiberglass rocking chair in the sunroom.
“Yep, got it from the market I was telling you about.”
“I am so jealous.”
I really,reallylike his style.
Oh, God. Why does he have to be so cool? Why can’t he put me off him once and for all by having a collection of freaky little figurines or cuddly toys on his bed?
Who am I kidding? I’d probably still fancy him, even then.
I feel irritably jittery as I go and put my bags in my room. Sunlight is pouring in through the window onto the double bed, which is made up with a crisp white waffle bedspread. It contrasts well with the precast concrete wall behind it. There’s an en suite that backs onto Anders’s room, so I use the facilities before I head out to the kitchen.
“Do you want me to make you a coffee before I go?” Anders asks.
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
“Let me show you where we are on a map.”
He helps me to find my bearings, then gives me a set of keys and promises to try to get back early so we can go to Fountain Square for a look around before his friend’s birthday gathering.
I love MidlandArts and Antiques as much as Anders thought I would. It’s set across two whole floors of a converted warehouse with raw finishes everywhere and I could probably spend the whole day in here alone.
I find a couple of aluminum reading lights with white glass shades that would look amazing fixed to Bambi’s wall. The power cords are yellow with age, the switches are a touch loose, and the choice of glass in a moving vehicle is probably a bad idea, but I can’t resist them.
Afterward, I wander the streets, passing independent coffee shops, stylish restaurants and wine bars with tables out front, hairdressers and barbershops, delis and boutiques, a gallery, and a museum. There’s a historic district called Lockerbie Square right near Anders’s apartment where the leafy streets are lined with old weatherboard houses painted in pretty colors—sky blue, mustard yellow, Key lime pie green—and all with picket fences at the front.
I never do make it to Circle Centre Mall. There are so many interesting things to see in this part of town that I hate the thought of catching a taxi to a soulless shopping center.
Eventually, I head back to the silk lofts to get ready, and once more, jitters ramp up in my stomach. I wish I didn’t feel so on edge. I could really do with a drink to settle my nerves.
I’ve taken several six-packs to the Fredrickson farm over the last couple of weeks, so I don’t feel too guilty about my decision to help myself to a beer from Anders’s fridge. On my way to his kitchen, I glance toward his bedroom and a white photo frame on his bedside table catches my eye, pulling me up short. It contains a color photograph of Laurie and it’s hard to missbecause the frame must be eight-by-ten inches in size. My curiosity reels me in as far as the steps to his bedroom, which is close enough to make out the detail. She has her long, light blond hair styled up in a ponytail and she’s smiling at the camera. Not a full megawatt smile like in her wedding photograph, but her expression is soft, her blue eyes kind. I have this strange feeling that I would have liked her if I’d known her.
It’s no surprise Anders isnowhere close to letting her go. She’s the last thing he sees before he falls asleep at night and the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning. He must miss her so much.
At that thought, the restless feeling inside my stomach settles. I don’t bother hunting out alcohol, returning instead to my bedroom to finish getting ready.
Anders comes backat around six, apologizing that he couldn’t make it sooner. He has a quick shower and his dark blond hair is damp when he reappears. He’s changed into a charcoal-gray button-down shirt with white snaps, and he’s wearing it over a white T-shirt with black jeans and desert boots.
I’ve opted to revert to my standard, safe black. I’m wearing the fitted, knee-length, sleeveless dress I wore the first time I went to Dirk’s, the one with white beading around the V-shaped neckline.
Anders insists he doesn’t want to drink much tonight, so I tell him about my day as he drives us south until we hit another diagonal street, this one running southeast away from the city. The farther we get from downtown Indy, the lower andmore spaced out the buildings become. They’re interspersed with parking lots and are mostly redbrick, some with ornate detailing, decorative cornices, and black metal fire-escape ladders, the sort that you see in films set in New York. There are a few funky graphic murals on the outside walls of shops and apartment blocks and it feels as though we’re heading into a younger, cooler district.
