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A Tale of Two Six-Packs

Delaney

By the time I reached the building, I had stopped pretending this was going well.

For the last six blocks, my old-fashioned yellow suitcase had been scraping along behind me – not because a wheel was broken, but because it had fallen off entirely somewhere between the guy screaming obscenities and the coffee shop I couldn't afford.

And don't get me started on the hydrangea.

Back when I was driving, bringing a potted hydrangea to Chicago had seemed like a terrific idea. But now that I was walking, it was shedding bright pink petals down the front of my already damp shirt.

I wrestled the suitcase forward another foot and then another. When the wheelless corner caught on the umpteenth crack in the sidewalk, I gave the suitcase a hard yank and muttered, "Son-of-a-bitch!"

I winced. So who was spewing obscenities now? But hey, at least I wasn't screaming.

Yet.

On the bustling sidewalk, a pair of well-dressed women stopped to stare, and I resisted the urge to give them the finger.

After all, it wasn't their fault I was losing it.

I was overheated, underprepared, and officially out of options.

Correction – I was out of good options, options that didn't make me look like a total basket case.

Twenty-one blocks ago, I'd still had a plan.

It involved a hotel room, a long shower, and a calm, normal reunion with my sister that began with me handing her the plant and saying something jokey like, "Look! I brought foliage."

Now, the joke was on me.

A few good yanks later, I finally reached Tessa's apartment building. With a little groan, I let the suitcase drop against my leg and shifted the hydrangea to my other arm, nearly dropping it in the process.

I caught my reflection in the glass and didn't love what I saw – dark auburn hair looking a little too wild, a grimy white shirt dotted with pink petals, and a long smudge of dirt along my left cheek.

I didn't bother wiping it away.

When I turned and gave the two women another glance, they scurried away like I was about to ask them for a sandwich and spare change.

Forget the change. I would've killed for the sandwich.

And for a nice latte? I would've done things so unspeakable, even a monster would blush.

My stomach rumbled as I turned back to the building and decided to fix my appearance inside, where nobody could stare but Tessa, assuming she was even home.

I looked up toward the skyline, taking in the full sixteen floors of brick, glass, and evenly spaced balconies.

It looked just like it had on their website, where it boasted updated apartments with city views and convenient access to everything. There were even two penthouses occupying the entire top floor.

Knowing my ambitious sister, she'd have a penthouse of her own someday. But right now, she lived on the seventh, like other Chicago climbers on their way up.

This wasn't the direction I was heading.

I bit my lip. Would she be happy to see me?

Maybe.