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I glance down at my wedding ring. Troy certainly seems to like to see it on my hand. I snap out of that train of thought before it can catch. It was probably about the narrative for him.
“Do you think it’s a metaphor for something?” Chelsea is still staring at the wall.
“Yeah, a dead end, but not of your search.”
She pivots, her high ponytail swinging. “You think I should look somewhere else?”
“Hell, yeah.” My answer is two incredulous syllables long.
“But what if I lose out on the bursary?”
“Why would that happen?”
“I don’t know.” Consternation pinches her brows together. “But I would die if I did. I’m just so frickin’ tired of living with strangers.”
“You won’t lose it, I’m sure of it.” Especially as I’m the nameless benefactor. “This is only the third apartment we’ve seen.”
The impact fund will take months to get up and running, and I don’t want to wait before I start helping others. The idea of improving Chelsea’s life came to me when I was researching office space. A quick call to my new lawyers, and boom! Chels got an accommodation bursary through her acting school. She’s moving up in the world. Just maybe not as high as I hoped.
Her financial circumstances must be worse than she said. No surprise there, thanks to those old friends’ shame and the fear of judgment.
What is it with women and money—how we tell ourselves we’re no good with it? It’s just some historical misogynistic bullshit that seems to perpetuate. But getting on my soapbox isn’t going to help Chelsea. I just need to find a way to increase the figure without it looking suspicious.
Speaking of money, my old landlord forwarded my mail, including another demand from the IRS, courtesy of dear old Dad and his machinations.
Troy suggested (again) that he should go and see my dad to sort this out. Put an end to his games. As touched as I am that he’d do that for me, what would be the point? This is just his parental swan song.
I’m going to fight the IRS and prove the charge is unfounded. I’m done being walked on and I’m done being ruled by him.
“You’re right.” Her shoulders straighten with a sudden air of determination. “I’m being a doomer. I need to back myself up and manifest the shit out of a space that’s a reflection of who I am.”
I want to give Chelsea options, space for her thoughts, both figuratively and literally. A future to feel positive about over a life of disconnection and strife, which is what that share house was to me. I was grateful to have a roof over my head, but I hated living with strangers.
Living alone is just a matter of weeks away. My stomach dips at the unhappy thought.
“My last apartment was the worst,” I offer with a smile. “What do you think that says about me?”
“That you were destined for better things,” she replies in the tone of duh, obviously.
Better things. I want to do better things and soon. Thanks to Troy, I’m meeting the first potential member of my board this afternoon. It’s just a first meet—she might not even be interested—but I’m so excited to get the ball rolling.
“Hey, you haven’t told me what the marital abode is like.”
What’s Troy’s apartment like? Heavenly is my immediate thought. I imagined such close confines would be hell, but it’s turned out quite the opposite.
It’ll be an amazing home once the remodel is over. Troy was so animated when he showed me around the place after the crew had left a couple of afternoons ago. He was so proud, and quite rightly so. Not that he would admit it—and not because he’s humble. He’s just not going to show his soft underbelly. Least of all to me.
I’m not going to think of moving out again. Not right now.
But his apartment, like his company, is a symbol of how hard he’s worked. How far he’s come. It’s more than a possession, more than a home. It’s his fortress, a place he’s built that’s entirely his. Somewhere safe and stable. A place he’d never give up. Not for anything.
“Clara?”
“Sorry. Zoned out. I was thinking about lunch. But the apartment? It’s currently a construction site.” I twist off the top of my water bottle to avoid looking at her.
“How’s it going?”
“The construction?”
