It’s my new place.
Mine.
I’d rented the apartment after finding it through a simple internet search. The photos made it look so gorgeous, I started towrite my next chapter right there in the living room of my suburban house in Colorado.
But the photos didn’t do the apartment justice. I stand in the open doorway, gawking at the hardwood floors and the exposed brick walls, admiring the rustic wood beams and all the natural light.
I can feel a smile spreading across my face. It’s even better than I imagined.
I take a few steps inside, suddenly energized despite the fact that I’ve been driving for almost two days straight, a pared-down version of everything I own packed in a small trailer attached to my Jeep Cherokee.
“Oh, you made it!” A short woman with glasses and a rounded bob of sand-colored hair strolls in through the still-open door. She’s wearing loose jeans and a striped pink button-down shirt with a pair of white tennis shoes, and her whole face lights up at the sight of me.
“I heard this unit had been rented, and when I saw you walk in, I thought,That must be her! Our new neighbor.I know because I know everyone around here.” Her Chicago accent is thick. I expect her to tell me about “da Bears” and pronounce the wordcaughtlikecot.
Wasn’t it only yesterday I’d worked hard to get rid of that same accent? Yesterday and a million years ago.
“I’m Lorraine Ashby”—(Lah-rain,she says it)—“and I live across the courtyard in apartment 2.” She turns and points outside, indicating the apartment that sits kitty-corner from mine.
When she looks back and smiles, I note the wrinkles around her eyes and across her forehead, wondering if it was years of laughter that put them there.
“I’m Claire,” I say. “Claire Karadec.” It’s strange using my maiden name now, but a new season called for a new name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Claire.” She closes the door, steps over my suitcase, and walks into the living room. “Do you need a tour?”
It occurs to me that I can probably find my way around the two-bedroom apartment on my own, but then I think about number two on my list:I want friends. Real ones.
I’m guessing Lorraine is at least two decades older than me, but that could be a good thing. Wisdom comes with age, and my first impression is that she’s outgoing. Maybe she can teach me how to make friends, because I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten. Without the common ground of my child’s activities or my husband’s work, it feels hard.
How do I make friends as an adult?
“Claire? Still with us?”
I look up and find Lorraine’s eyes fixed on me, her expression bright and inviting. I must’ve zoned out. I’ve been doing that lately—the danger of overthinking.
It’s like I’m trying to calculate where each choice I make will lead so I don’t end up in a country club fountain with my wet sweatpants falling down.
I fix my face with a kind smile and say, “Yes. Sorry! Ugh, I get lost in—” I wave a hand in front of my forehead. “I’d like that.” I prop my suitcases against the wall and turn toward her.
“Good! Thought for a second you checked out.” She laughs. “So! This”—she gestures to the room we’re standing in—“is the living room. Probably the space you’ll be spending most of your time in entertaining friends and family and so on, so eye-wise, this is the best blank canvas you’ve got.” Lorraine quirks a brow in my direction.
If only you knew the truth, Lorraine...
I used to entertain. Heck, I used to plan galas. I used to have the means to care about things like that, but my budget these days is exceedingly more modest. I have money, thanks to the sale of the house—nothing to sneeze at—but I’m trying to set up a whole new life here.
Also, right now the only person I know in this city is standing in front of me.
I nod but stay quiet and follow Lorraine as she moves into the kitchen, spanning her arms out.
“Don’t you just love the space? It’s so open. Apartments are often cut up into little boxes.” She scrunches her nose in disapproval. “I’d rather see everyone and be able to hold a conversation without shouting from one room to the next!”
I smile. I immediately like Lorraine.
“Did you see the courtyard on your way in?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s beautiful! It’s one of the reasons I was attracted to this place.”
“It’s a shared space,” she explains, “where all the residents gather, meet, mingle. We’re a friendly bunch.”
