Instead of grinning like I expect, my cousin shoves her phone in my face instead. “Look.”
There’s an email from Gideon, our landlord, on the screen.
RE:Urgent Evacuation Notice for Critical Concern
Shit.I scroll down.
The safety and well-being of our residents are of the utmost importance to us, and as such, we must take necessary action.
I dart a glance at Millie, then continue reading. Something about “structural engineers” and “building’s infrastructure.”
“What does this mean?” I ask, just as my eyes land onThe evacuation is scheduled to begin on Sunday and is expected to last for approximately?—
My stomach drops to the floor. “One week?” I screech. Starting tomorrow.
Ezra takes hold of the phone and scans the email himself. We’re blocking the path of restless travelers, so we shuffle to the side, where he murmurs phrases like “leave your apartment” and “relocate to temporary accommodations” and “secure your personal possessions during the evacuation period.”
“Where the hell are we supposed to go?” My heart pounds so hard against my sternum I’m worried I’ll crack a rib. A week away to relax, and this is how I’m welcomed home?
While my IKEA pull-out sofa isn’t as luxurious as the bed (okay,beds) I’ve been sleeping in for the last several days, I was looking forward to the comfort of my own home. Drinking tea out of my favorite mug and lazy weekend mornings with my best friend nursing our hangovers. Even listening to Peg and Fran next door argue over which Campbell’s soup flavor is superior. (Peg: classic tomato; Fran: New England clam chowder.)
Millie’s frantically texting when Ezra speaks up. “You can stay with me.”
“Absolutely not.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone.
“Amelia,” I reprimand.
“Sorry,” she tries again. “What I meant was, thank you for the offer, but I’ll be staying with Sam.”
Her face is still buried in her phone, so she doesn’t see the way he flinches at Sam’s name.
“Sorry, boo,” she goes on, “but Sam says accommodations would be too tight for both of us. I’ll text Stevie at the club, but?—”
“Joey will stay at my place.” Ezra pipes up again, giving me a soft look. “Cam’s away for another week.”
I look to Millie for assistance.Do you see a flaw in this plan?
Her silent response:Sounds perfect to me.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he grins. “I wasn’t looking forward to going back to such a quiet apartment. You’d be doing me a favor.”
Feeling a tad resigned, I shrug. “All right.” Why the hell not?
“Are you shitting me?” My eyes practically pop from their sockets when Ezra sends me his address outside baggage claim. “You live four blocks away?”
I’ve been living this close to Cameron for a year?
After our geography surprise, we share an Uber into the city. Ezra offers to help me collect my things, but after catching him yawning for what has to be the twentieth time, I send him on his way with the promise that I will head over to his apartment later.
On the outside of the building, the only sign that things aren’t business as usual are a couple of orange cones, but inside, a sea of yellow caution tape floods the walls. While Gideon assures us it’s safe for us to enter, the elevator has already been disabled. That means we have to climb four stories with our luggage. After traveling for the past eighteen hours, I’m not confident my legs won’t give out. Maybe I should have accepted assistance after all.
Gideon gives us thirty minutes to collect our things. We’re too jet-lagged to do more than just gather our shit and leave.
On the curb outside our building, we say our goodbyes, and then I’m off. The differences between New York City and Greece bombard me, one after another, on my trek to Ezra’s—Cam’s—apartment. The aromas of thyme, sage, and rosemary are replaced by gasoline, hot dog water, and garbage. The symphony of cicadas is traded for the cacophony of New York City’s urban melodies—cars honking, construction trucks crooning, and sirens wailing.
I can do this. It’s no big deal. Cam isn’t even on the same continent, and I will be back in my apartment before he returns.
