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He shrugged.

I shook my head. “Now I’m thinking I did you a favor, losing it. And I’m also thinking I have to find the car I put it on and apologize.”

He snorted. “Dick.”

I climbed down and looked at my watch. “I’m gonna run to Home Depot and pick up the ceiling fan. What else do you need me to do?”

He looked around. “The faucet’s leaking in the kitchen, the windows need new screens. Oh, and the dishwasher isn’t working right.”

I glanced at it. “That’s because it was born in 1974. You need a new one.”

He puffed air from his cheeks. “Fine.” He dug in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Get whatever one you think is best. Are you sure I can’t pay you for the labor?”

“Consider it a housewarming gift. It’s not every day you buy your first condo,” I said.

He handed me his Amex. “I think I’ve just hit the age where I get why people are so excited to win appliances on game shows.”

“Just wait until you have to start paying those HOA fees.”

He laughed. “You sure you have time for this?”

I didn’t have time. But I was going to do it anyway.

My brother had been there for me last year during my breakup. It was by far the shittiest time in my life, and I had not been good company. The least I could do was make sure he didn’t electrocute himself to death.

I made quick work of the trip. I stopped for sandwiches and pulled back into the parking garage an hour later. The white Honda was there. The back right tire was a little low. It made it easy to recognize.

The complex was huge. A mixture of apartments and condos with an enormous parking garage and no assigned spots. The chances seemed unlikely I’d see this car again. I figured the universe was sending me a sign that yes, I did need to apologize to the poor recipient of my brother’s free peen voucher.

I dug in my glove box and found a pen. Then I scrawled a note on the back of my Subway receipt and slipped it under the windshield wiper.

Holly

CHAPTER 3

Iwas on my way to my car when I saw the paper flapping on the passenger side of the windshield. I pulled it off and got into the front seat. It was a note, written on a receipt.

Hi. I was tasked with putting a Valentine’s Day card on my brother’s girlfriend’s car yesterday, and I guess I got the wrong car? I’m sorry. I understand there was a coupon in there that nobody should ever have had to lay eyes on. I hope I didn’t cause any problems with you and your S/O. —The worst wingman ever (Obviously)

I laughed dryly. I folded it in half and put it in the cup holder.

The mystery Valentine’s Day card was yesterday. It was still in my glove box, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I was thinking maybe there was a community corkboard for the building somewhere that I could tack it to? It didn’t feel right to throw it away.

I drove home. When I got inside, I shrugged off my sweater and dropped it on the arm of the couch. Then I stared around my apartment wearily.

I didn’t know this place yet. It was full of my stuff, but I hadn’t been home an entire day in the eight weeks I’d lived here. Not since they sent Grandma home on hospice. I hadn’t unpacked, I hadn’t made it my own. It was as foreign to me as the rest of my life at the moment—somewhat familiar but alien too.

I wandered around, watering neglected plants. I sifted through mail, paid a few bills. Folded a pile of laundry. Then I dropped into bed and passed out.

The next morning when I pulled back into the garage at Grandma’s complex, I left a Ziploc bag containing the Valentine’s Day card under my wiper with a short note.

It’s what I get for having the most common car in the US, I guess. Even I can’t figure out which one is mine sometimes. I don’t have a boyfriend so you’re in luck, nobody cared lol. I thought you might want the letter back.

If it was still there when I returned, I was going to look for that corkboard, but I figured it was worth a shot. Save me a trip around the building.

I came out three hours later to put Grandma’s walker in the back seat, and the Ziploc was gone, replaced with a page torn from a ceiling-fan-installation pamphlet.

Thanks. Maybe a bobblehead on the dash would help? Haha