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I’m surprised Robbie isn’t texting and calling every other minute like he usually does when I take these little timeouts. I’m not sure if it’s a good sign or bad sign.
Maybe he’s finally done with me?
God, I should be so lucky.
Three days at even the cheapest motel I can find is still pricey, and like always, I end up back at home. My rideshare lets me off in front of my apartment building and I pause, looking up. What if Robbie’s still there? I bite my lip.
It’s better to just rip off the band-aid. Go up there like a grown-up and face my shit excuse for a boyfriend.
I square my shoulders and go to unlock the door to my building. Which is when I see that the lock has been replaced and there’s a note that says: Buzz Martin For New Key.
I frown. What the hell happened here? Was there a break-in or something?
I buzz Martin and he unlocks the door and meets me at the bottom of the stairs. He’s a tall man in his 60s, slightly stooped and fond of cardigan sweaters. He’s always been more than nice and accommodating to me.
“Damnedest thing,” he says, handing me two new keys. “It was all busted up like someone had been at it with a battering ram. But no one’s reported anything in their apartments stolen. We checked all the locks on each apartments and yours was the only one that was also broken.”
“Mine?” I asked in alarm. “Did they take anything? I haven’t been home for a few days.”
“I know. I’ve been waiting for you to come home so you could check your apartment to see if anything was taken. It didn’t look ransacked or anything. Your TV and stuff are all still there.”
Okaaaay. “Have you seen Robbie?”
Martin’s face darkens. “I never liked that boy. I’m glad I haven’t seen him around.”
“Really?” He usually camps out at the apartment when he’s in town. Which has been almost all the time lately.
“You in some kind of trouble, honey?” Martin looks at me in concern.
“What? No! I just thought— I was just wondering—” I take a breath. “I just thought that he’d be around to check on the place while I was out of town.” There. That sounds normal. “And he has a key,” I hurry to add, so Martin doesn’t think it was Robbie busting down doors. It is his style but… I seriously can’t imagine why he would. Robbie gets mad and does stupid shit, but this just doesn’t make any sense.
Martin nods. “Okay. I just think you can do better than that boy.”
I smile at him. Martin’s a good man in a world that doesn’t have enough of them. “All right, I’m going to go run up to my apartment and check things out.”
“Let me know if anything is missing and I’ll add it to the insurance claim.”
I nod and then jog up the stairs.
The lock on my door is just as new and shiny as the one downstairs and I fumble a second, figuring out how to fit the new key into it.
When I finally push open the door, yeah, I’m a little nervous as to what I’ll find on the other side.
But when I get inside the apartment, everything just looks…normal.
Like super, super normal. Just like I left it, except without Robbie passed out on the couch. So, you know, improved.
I drop my backpack and purse by the door and go exploring. But like Martin said, all my electronics are still here and when I head to the bathroom, the few pieces of gold jewelry I own are right where I left them. I can’t find anything out of place.
Huh. Weird.
I go back to the kitchen and start to toast myself a bagel when I notice my sad, drooping tulip. My eyes shoot to the clock on the stove. It’s only 3:30. The flower shop is still open for another hour and a half.
Does Shak work everyday? He said he bought the place from Latoya. He’s probably hired staff by now. Latoya was only in on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I butter my bagel and eat it, wandering to the window and looking down at the flower shop.
I have work I need to get back to. Buying a single flower every day is a silly extravagance. After staying at the motel twice now this month, I really should be pinching every penny.
I shove the last bite of bagel into my mouth and then wipe my hands off on a kitchen towel. I’m about to grab my backpack and pull out my laptop so I can get to work.
I swear I am.
But then, before I can think better of it, I’m over to the door and slinging my purse over my shoulder, new keys in hand.
What can I say?
Flowers are my weakness.
