When we reach the fifth floor, we head slowly down the corridor, and she props herself up next to the apartment door, breathing heavily as her teeth worry her bottom lip. “I’m going to have to call work and tell them what’s happened.”
I nod, taking the key from her bag and inserting it into the lock. It’s like muscle memory: It sticks in the same way it always did. I swore I was going to oil it, but I never got around to it. I blink rapidly at the small room with the worn couch and the mustard-colored walls. This place has loomed so large in my memory since that day on the roof that I’m almost surprised that it’s just a dingy, cramped apartment—not threatening at all. I would never have wanted things with Jane to end the way they did, but coming here … a sudden fierce gladness courses through me. In some ways, Jane is right: We were too comfortable with each other, and our relationship became a habit. We shared so many firsts, but over time it shifted into something built on safety and ease rather than anything vital, like how much we enjoyed each other’s company or were attracted to each other.
“I hope they don’t fire me.”
“Your work? Why would they do that?”
“One of my coworkers got pregnant, and they got rid of her. They made up some bullshit excuse that she wasn’t performing, but everyone knew it was because they thought she wouldn’t pull her weight.”
“Christ, are you serious?”
“Yeah, it’s one of the reasons I want to leave.”
She sighs as she moves past where I’m standing and gingerly lowers herself onto the couch. This is the most normal conversation I’ve had with her since I left here.
“Should I make some coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she says. “Sadie’s nice,” she calls out from the living room as I take two mugs out of the cupboard, and I stare at the old Formica of the countertop as I place the cups carefully down on it. Is she fishing? I don’t want to tell Jane anything about what’s going on with Sadie.
“She’s been a lifesaver at work,” I say.Wrong choice of words, James.“She’s an excellent programmer, and people like her are few and far between.”
Silence.I move around the kitchen on autopilot, filling the coffeemaker with water and putting grounds into a filter before switching it on.
“I think she’s got a bit of a crush on you,” she says, and I’m so glad she can’t see my face. All I can think about is those cool, interesting gray eyes fixed on me. The way she chews her lip when her book gets exciting, or she’s stuck on a programming problem.Her soft lips under mine. I hope shehasgot a crush on me because I’ve definitely got a crush on her. The machine starts spitting hot water through the grounds and steam curls up around the side of the lid.Don’t say anything, James.
I walk back through to the living room and sink into the couch a respectable distance away from Jane, but she shuffles along and leans on me as the coffeemaker chugs away in the kitchen.
“Her expression whenever she looks at you!” she says, chuckling. “Like you’re some kind of superhero.”
She’s goading me; I just don’t understand why. Did Jane not admire me at all? I always admired her ambition.
“I can’t believe Pops thought she was your girlfriend!” she adds.
Ah. I want to groan out loud. “Why’s that?”
She tsks. “She wouldn’t stand up to anyone about anything!”
Sadie sits with me while I cook and listens to me when I want to talk. She helped me back to the apartment when I was drunk and ran after me the night of the meal to check I was okay. What is standing up for someone? Is it confronting scary things on their behalf, or is it standing next to them and giving them support so they can do it for themselves?A quiet superhero. People like Sadie are everywhere, every day, being ignored by everyone, yet happy in other people’s ignorance of the role they play. They don’t need anyone’s affirmation. They know exactly what they do.Jane used to counter every story I told her about work with one of her own. Sadie’s calm listening and funny comments warm me from the inside out.
But God, I am done with this conversation. “Weren’t you going to talk to your boss?” I say.
She turns away with a long sigh. Then she makes a face, picks up her phone, and presses the screen.
“Paul, it’s Jane. How are you? Yes, I know … I’m sorry to call while the markets are open, but I’ve just left the hospital.”
I listen as she runs through what happened today and her injuries.
“Yes, yes, I appreciate that,” she says. “Yes, okay. No problem.” She’s quiet for a bit as she nods.
The coffee is silent now, like it’s finished percolating, so I shift away from Jane and head into the kitchen. As I’m pouring out two coffees, I pull out my phone. No messages. I should text Sadie, though I have no idea when I’ll make it back to the apartment.
Jane’s broken her arm and her collarbone. Just getting her settled. Not sure what time I’ll be back.
Oh God, that doesn’t sound good. And no worries, just message me when you leave. I can make some dinner later.
Her text is followed by a laughing emoji, no doubt a reference to her cooking, which is actually improving in leaps and bounds. She’s a quick learner. A smile curls over my face. I step over to the fridge and grab the milk, adding a splash to both cups.
When I head back into the living room, Jane’s off the phone, her face pale. “You’re going to have to move back in, James,” she says.
