Page 38 of Turning Back

“I have a place there,” Bric says. “But I don’t live there.” He almost snorts. “With all those rich assholes? No thanks. I’m fine at the Club. This place rents out on one of those internet sites for a thousand dollars a night. But it’s gonna be home base for Rochelle and the pumpkin from now on.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” I say, looking around. My dream, right? But when I glance at Quin, he’s not reacting quite the same way. “Hey,” I say to him. “I’ve never seen your place, Quin.”

“No,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “Never have.”

“Well, this is your bedroom, Rochelle,” Bric says, pointing to my fantasy bedroom. “That one’s for Adley.” There’s a second bedroom down the hall—if you can call it a hall, since it’s eight feet wide, wide enough to have a small settee against the wall and not even notice. “I have a crib coming, but it won’t be here for a few days. Assholes said they only had the floor model left in the store. And we’re not letting our baby sleep in a floor model.”

Our baby.

Quin’s look quickly turns to annoyance. “You picked out a crib?” He leaves off the words, Without me. But we all hear them anyway.

Bric looks a little regretful. “Sorry, man. It was all last-minute, you know?”

“Whatever,” Quin says, exhaling loudly.

A buzzer breaks the awkward silence that follows and Bric says, “That’s the food,” as he walks over to the elevator. “Rochelle, look.” I follow him over to the elevator and watch as he points to the security panel. “When someone comes to visit, they buzz from the lobby or garage. There’s a camera here, so you can see who it is. And a speaker, so you can ask them what the fuck they want. Then you buzz them up the elevator by pressing in the code. The code is just 1234.” He pushes the buzzer and we watch the delivery guy get in the elevator. There’s cameras in there too. “I only had two parking spots, but I bribed another tenant out of his this afternoon. The paperwork’s not done yet, but it’s open for you. It’s right next to the one you parked in, Quin. We’re all three right by the elevator.”

“How many people in this building?” I ask.

“Ten. One condo for each floor. But there’s two elevators. One on this side of the building, one on the other. So you only share the elevator with five.”

“Cool,” I say.

“Where’s the outside space?” Quin asks.

“Well,” Bric says. “This place doesn’t have any.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Quin says, his tone slightly sarcastic. “I guess Rochelle will have to bring Adley to my place for outside time.”

“There’s a park,” Bric says, pointing to the window. “Down there by the river. Chella is only a few blocks away.”

“Not really,” Quin says. “It’s not walkable. You have to go all the way around Union Station and then down 20th.”

“Well, it’s just temporary,” Bric says. “And besides, Rochelle has a car. She can go to any park she wants.”

Quin shrugs, like he’s not crazy about the idea of me living here at all.

“Where do you live, Quin?” I ask, mostly to take his mind off whatever he’s dwelling on right now. But also because I’ve never been there. And I’m interested. “A man’s home says a lot about him.”

“Down by the convention center,” he says, a hint of regret in his answer. Like it’s not a great place for parks either.

The elevator doors open and Bric walks off to get the food delivery.

“I’d like to see it,” I say. “Whenever you have time.”

“Sure,” Quin says, looking around at Bric’s amazing condo. “But it’s nothing like this. So I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Do you have outside space?” I ask, hiking Adley up on my hip. She’s getting so heavy now. Her tiny baby days are almost over.

This is the right question. Because Quin smiles big. “You’re gonna love my terrace. Bigger than this whole condo.”

“Really?” I ask, trying to imagine his place. Then why would he think this is better than a Central Business District condo with a two-thousand-square-foot terrace?

“I have my own park.” He laughs, feeling better about the arrangements. “Just wait.”

“OK,” Bric says. “Food’s here.” He holds up three giant white bags that say “Anna Ameci’s South” on them. “I hope you like pasta.” And then he looks at me. “I wanna see that pumpkin eat noodles.”

“She doesn’t eat noodles.” I laugh. “She’s six months old.” But when I look back at Quin he’s… thinking again.