Like Terri was going to swipe right on someone for me and say, “Congratulations, Mr. Kwon, we’ve found you a man with a spare room and a tolerance for screaming cats. May you live happily ever after in his apartment until your floor dries.”
“Twenty-four hours,” I repeated.
“We’ll call you tomorrow. In the meantime, if you’d like to gather any essential belongings from theunaffected areas—”
I was already moving.
I grabbed what I could: Princess Consuela’s carrier (she went in with the resigned fury of a war criminal being transported to The Hague), a suitcase of clothes from the one dry corner of my closet, my toiletries bag, my phone charger, and the garment bag containing my most structurally important sequined items, because if you think I was leaving those to the mold, you don’t know me at all.
I stood in the hallway with my cat, my suitcase, and my sequins. The door to my apartment was open behind me, industrial fans roaring, the smell of wet drywall and catastrophe wafting out like the world’s worst candle.
Across the hall, apartment 4B was dark and silent.
Newspaper Robe Man was either asleep, out, or simply existing in that specific brand of unbothered quiet that I was constitutionally incapable of achieving.
From inside the carrier, Princess Consuela produced a sound that I can only describe as a very small, very furious opera.
“I know, baby doll,” I said. “I know.”
I loaded us into the car, drove back to Barbacks, and walked in with the carrier in one hand and the garment bag in the other, wearing mascara I didn’tremember applying smudged under both eyes—oh wait, that was from crying in the car.
Finn took one look at me, reached under the bar, poured me a whiskey, and set it on the counter without a word.
“My apartment is a lake,” I said.
“I see that.”
“Princess Consuela has been screaming for an hour.”
“I hear that.” He glanced at the carrier, from which a low, menacing growl was emanating like a haunted handbag. “She okay in there?”
“She’s composing her manifesto.” I took the whiskey, tossed it back in one go, then set the glass down. “They say it’ll be six to eight weeks, Finn. And that’s their minimum.”
“Bloody hell.” Finn’s eyes went wide. “Weeks?”
“The drywall is destroyed, the floor has to come up, and apparently there’s a mold risk.” I said “mold risk” the way other people say “testicular abnormality.”
“Are they putting you up, at least?”
“Terri says the building is finding temporary housing. They’re doing some kind of placement program with other tenants, offering ‘financial incentives.’ She’s supposed to call me tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Finn leaned on the bar, going into problem-solving mode, which was his default state and one of the many reasons I loved him. “Okay, so worst case, if the building’s thing doesn’t work out, we figure out something else—”
“Finn. I can’t go to a hotel with my cat, your apartment is the size of a Prius, and Jacks is at Skyler’s no-pet fortress. Mark lives in fucking Brandon, and Rod’s apartment is so small that his stove and his front door are in a committed relationship.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Finn said. “We always do.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Then you’ll live here. We’ll put a cot in the office. Princess Consuela can guard the liquor.”
From inside the carrier emerged a single, outraged yowl that lasted longer than any of my Texan neighbor’s words.
“She says that’s beneath her,” I translated.
“I believe it.” Finn poured me another whiskey. “Drink. Work your shift. Worry about it later.”
“I don’t want to worry about it later.”
