The little girl studies me with a level of suspicion I reserve for overly enthusiastic life coaches.“Maybe the mouse caught his tongue—like that story you read to me once.”
My brow creases.She looks like a small child but sounds like she’s been negotiating with bureaucrats longer than I’ve been alive.
“He could be broken,” she adds with complete seriousness.
My jaw drops.“I’m not?—”
“Mila,” the woman whispers, mortified, leaning down.“Remember, we talked about keeping our thoughts to ourselves?And we don’t call people broken.”
The girl shrugs.“But he looks stuck, like my Elmo when it stopped dancing.”
Phenomenal.
My ego has already left the building, and I’ve been compared to fucking Elmo.
The woman straightens and steps forward, offering her hand.“Sorry.She’s been awake since five ...”Her eyes flick over me, as if calculating something.“New York time.It’s been a long day.I’m Mara.”
Of course she is.Mara.A name that fits her—bright and full of life, like a patch of sunlight after months of gray skies.
I stare at her hand.
I should shake it.
Introduce myself.
Behave like someone raised by actual humans.
Instead, I mutter, “I live here,” which might be the most embarrassing sentence I’ve said this year.“Are you visiting?Because the building has a no children policy.”
She raises an eyebrow—one that says she’s heard far worse from far grumpier men.Before I can backpedal, toned down just enough to feel disarming, still carrying that unmistakable spark that seems built into her.
“We’re not visiting,” she says lightly.“We’re ...it’s complicated.”
Mila brightens instantly.“We’re neighbors now.”
I blink at them.“You ...moved in?Here?”
“Tempo—”
“Stop saying that word, Mom,” Mila groans, dragging out the syllables like she’s being personally victimized by vocabulary.She practically slides down her raincoat in dramatic despair.
Mara sighs.“Fine.It’s not permanent.Better?”
Mila rolls her eyes so dramatically it’s hilarious.And I would’ve laughed—actually laughed—if I wasn’t too busy having a miniature existential crisis over the fact that these two rays of daylight are now living in this building.Temporarily or not.
“The point is that we’re moving here.”Mara straightens, her raincoat shifting with the motion.“Unless there’s an official form somewhere that says joyful people and children are prohibited.”She glances down at Mila, who beams up at her.“And if that exists, good luck trying to evict us.”
Mila leans forward again, her small face scrunched in intense concentration as she inspects me.“He looks worse than earlier.Should we help him or just go for food?”
Mara’s eyes widen, but instead of scolding her daughter, she gives me a sympathetic smile—sweet, apologetic, carrying a silent message any sane person would read as:You poor man.Brace yourself.We’re not going anywhere, and this little goblin is going to make your life miserable before she steals your favorite shirt.
She takes Mila’s hand and starts toward the exit.Halfway there, the little girl turns, lifts her umbrella like it’s a wand, and calls out, “Goodbye, Mr.Neighbor.”
They head out, and I’m left standing in the lobby with my pulse trying to climb out of my throat.
Maybe I’m wrong, and she’s a magical girl who’ll curse me in some way or another if I don’t do what she says.Either way, I’m doomed.
Fucking doomed.
