Because Stella—and her behavioral psychology degree—is right. I’ve been a passive observer in my own life, and it’s high time I get into the damn game. Even better, the real estate agent I talked to thought I could get a pretty penny for my place, and if I move three blocks west, a little bit away from the train (and why is being near transportation such a big deal again when I work from home?), maybe even upgrade to a newer condo. One with… drumroll… central AC and a washer and dryer in the unit, a little piece of luxury I haven’t had since I waseighteen and living full-time with my parents. So, I’m cleaning out the whole place. Time for a spark-joy or get-the-hell-out super clean.
Plus, keeping busy helps me not think about Jack. Okay, I still think about Jack. Pretty much every morning when I wake up. Logically, it doesn’t even really make sense. We’d only been together a short time, but man, he’d wormed his way deep inside my heart. No matter how I tried to temper my expectations, part of me, my inner thirteen-year-old girl, had already planned our future years together, skipping through the aisles of IKEA and picking out our new furniture.
A hard knock comes at my door. No buzzer. Larry lifts his head and gives a cautious bark. I pull myself up from the pile of clothes I’ve been sorting into different stacks: keep, donate, hope-to-fit-into-one-day, and no-chance-of-fitting-into-any-day-but-I’m-keeping-it-to-show-I once-did piles. I swing open the door. Pam stands there, holding some of my junk mail.
“The mailman put it in my box by accident,” she says. Then her eyes grow wide as she sees the massive mess behind me. “What happened in there?” she interrupts me. “Did you get burgled?”
Of course Pam would use the term “burgled,” like she’s ninety. Then I remember we made up. We’re not enemies anymore.
“No, I’m doing some cleaning. I’m putting the condo up for sale.”
This stops Pam cold. “You are?”
“Yes. Long overdue, actually. My real estate agent says she hopes it sells fast. And then, I mean, look at the bright side, you won’t have to worry about Larry anymore. He’s the last dog grandfathered in, so the condo building will be dog-free.”
Pam perks up for a moment. But only a moment. “Yeah, but it’s still kind of a bummer. I was actually going to ask if you wanted to come over to my place for one of my girls’ nights? I have them the first Thursday of every month.”
“I know.” They get a little bit loud down there after the third bottle of rosé.
“Oh, right, well. I mean, you’re welcome to come by. Even after you move.”
“Really?” Pam nods. Well, will wonders never cease. “Thanks, Pam. I’ll come by one month. That would be great.”
We smile at each other, genuine smiles.
“Uh, and let me know if you need any help. With packing or whatever.”
“I will, Pam.” Wow, it’s nice having a neighbor who doesn’t hate you. She trots downstairs again. “And, uh… thanks!” I call after her.
“No problem,” she calls back up, throwing up an arm. I head back to my bedroom, taking a break from the deep clean to check email on my laptop. Larry trails after me, taking up his post curled up at the foot of my bed. I lean against my pillows, just as my laptop chimes, announcing my upcoming video meeting with Arial, which I had temporarily forgotten about. I take a deep breath and click the “accept” button for the meet. I don’t bother heading to the “conference room” of my kitchen. I think we’re both beyond pretending that I don’t work full-time in bed.
“Hey?” Arial says, sounding guarded but optimistic. She looks perfect as always, cinnamon hair in perfect waves to her shoulders, as she sits in front of the stunning view of Lake Michigan in her expensive high-rise office.
“Hey?” I answer. We both stare at each other.
“You did do a nice job of cleaning up?” Arial says. “And I talked to my bosses, one more time?” she offers. “But they’ve decided maybe not to hire another full-time writer. I mean, you did a nice job recovering that last series? But they’re just not ready to offer you full-time?”
“I get it.” I do a gut check. I’m actually relieved. I didn’t want a full-time position after all. Why? Larry only wants the cheap kibble, anyway.
“Well, maybe we could do a new series? Can’t guarantee I can get my boss on board, but maybe I can. We could call it ‘It’s Raining Men March’ or ‘March Men Madness’?” Uh-oh. I don’t think I’m going to like this very much. “Maybe go on tons of dates? Splurge on men after taking a break?”
My heart aches at the thought. I’m not ready. I’m still… not over Jack.
“Actually, I don’t think I’m the right person for that,” I admit. “But…” I glance around my disaster area of a condo, clothes, shoes, and boxes strewn everywhere. “What about a different lifestyle story? For April. I want to call it ‘Spring Cleaning.’”
“Cleaning?” Arial wrinkles her nose in disgust. “That’s not very glamourous? Or fun?”
“I don’t meancleaningcleaning, like cleaning your apartment. I mean, decluttering your life. I mean, unpacking all that emotional baggage in your life. Doing the hard work of self-care.”
“Pedicures?” Arial echoes.
“No, I mean, sure, get a pedicure, but I mean self-care like being the parent in your own life. Doing the hard things,making the tough decisions, and in the end, taking better care of yourself.”
This has been my mantra since my breakthrough with Stella. I’m selling the condo. I’m eating better. Okay, not perfectly, because, I mean, it’s me we’re talking about.
Silence greets me as Arial struggles to come up with a diplomatic answer.
“What do you think?” I prod.
