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I shrugged. “I’m not doing anything else. All I have to do is put it in the machine and wait.” Maybe me doing something I clearly hated would help jog some memories loose.
“Well, I’m on my way out to my weekly lab, but I can help you get it into the elevator and downstairs.”
“Really?”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing a white plastic laundry basket nearby. “You can just put it all in here when it’s clean and push the basket into the elevator with your crutches.”
“Great idea,” I said, shoving everything into the bag and then using the bed to stand.
Lainey tightened the string at the top and tossed it into the basket, then added a container of detergent. “Ready?”
I snatched the journal off the bed and tucked it into the basket with the bag. I could read through it while I waited for my clothes to wash. After that, I pulled on my small crossbody bag and grabbed the crutches.
Using her body to hold open the room door, Lainey gestured for me to go first, and when I did, my attention instantly went to the stairwell door at the end of the hall. More specifically, someone slipping through quickly and pulling it closed behind them.
An odd feeling came over me, and I stopped in the center of the hall, staring at the now-closed door. I don’t know why it struck me as odd. I mean, people take the stairs all the time. I took the stairs all the time. Hey! Another memory! It was good exercise, and sometimes it was faster than these old elevators. Especially in the morning when everyone was rushing out to get to classes on time. They often took forever because they had to stop on every floor on the way down (or up).
So why were my senses tingling? Why was my breathing suddenly uneven and the pounding of my heart erratic?
“Jess?” Lainey asked, stopping beside me with her armload. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just saw someone in the stairwell.”
She made a sound. “Did you remember them?”
I guess she would assume I recognized someone considering the way I was staring. Pulling my eyes away from the door, I smiled at her. “Nope. Barely saw them at all. They were moving fast.”
“Probably late for class. Which is what I will be if we don’t get a move on. Let’s go,” she said, going to the elevator and hitting the down arrow.
I followed along, the crutches slowing my pace. She held the door, and then we rode it down to the basement. Luckily, the elevator opened right into the laundry space, which was less horror movie chic than I expected.
“See?” she said, hauling my laundry to the closest washing machine and setting it down. “Not so terrible.”
Considering the memories I had of my childhood home—and I use the term home loosely—and those of the laundromat I used for my uniform in high school that was the equivalent of a rundown gas station bathroom, this place was a palace. The walls here were brick but painted over with white. Large pendant lights hung from the ceiling, keeping the shadows at bay, and a long butcherblock counter for folding clothes ran across the wall to the right. There were some comfortable-looking chairs, a large round coffee table, and two vending machines. One filled with snacks and one with drinks. On the far end of the room, there was another vending machine, but it had laundry essentials in it like detergent and dryer sheets.
The floor was dark slate tile and there was a large slip-proof mat that ran in front of the row of washer and dryers.
“Do you need help with the machine?” Lainey asked, pointing.
I shook my head. “Nah, I got it. You better go so you aren’t late. Thank you so much.”
“Sure thing,” she said with a little wave. Instead of hitting the button for the elevator, she crossed the room to a propped-open door with the word stairwell posted on it. “See you later!”
I called out a goodbye and then listened to her footsteps echo as she jogged up the stairs. Balancing on the crutches, I gazed around, realizing no one else was down there. I took advantage of that and separated out two different loads of laundry, using a washing machine for each. At least this way it would take less time.
As I was closing the top of the second machine, the music coming through the speakers around the room faded away and a voice I knew filled the room.
“And there you have it. The newest smash single from current chart-topper, Envious. Hit me up and let me know what you think about his latest release. Should he put a pin in it or keep unpacking bangers? I personally would like to hear something with a little more tooth, but we all know Triple A likes to go hard…”
“Triple A,” I repeated, my own voice conjuring up information. “Arsen Aaron Andrews.”
Arsen was a DJ at the campus radio station and also at campus parties. Sound recording technology was not the first class I’d had with him. We had one together last semester too. Both having music majors, we crossed paths often on campus. No wonder he seemed so familiar with me. And Ben with him.
Groaning, I turned to hit a few buttons on the washing machine. He probably thought I was insane freaking out the way I had. He was hardly a stranger. You didn’t know that at the time. Still, I was embarrassed. He tried to help me when I stumbled, and I nearly had a panic attack!
Another thought occurred to me, and I paused, finger poised over the start button on the controls. If we’d known each other since last year, if we were familiar enough to share notes, why did he seem so surprised when Ben called me his fiancée? He acted like he didn’t even know we were together.
I started the second machine and spun, leaning against it. Confusion rose within me, along with a healthy heaping of self-doubt.
