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“In fact, none of your sorry-ass music until after noon.”
I bared my teeth, but I had to remind myself I was negotiating for this job. If I had to give up playing hours to ensure he didn’t pull this shit again, it was fine. I was just holding on until I could afford to leave.
“Fine.”
“No more banging on the wall when I’m working,” he said. “You respect my hours, I respect yours.”
“Fine,” I repeated, the word like a sharp bite. “AndIwant—”
“I don’t know why you thought this was quid pro quo, Candace, but it’s not.”
“Clarice,” I absently corrected, then slapped a hand over my eyes because who the fuck cared about that. “You don’t get to just list your demands and give me nothing in return. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when you’re up until two in the morning listening to that”—I stopped the insult from leaving my lips—“music.”
He laughed again. “Again, that sounds like ayouproblem. You can try sleeping in like normal people who don’t have kids do. Thanks for the talk, sweetheart. Enjoy your next lesson.”
I wanted to argue, but the buzzer at the front door sounded through the half-busted speaker, and just like that, the agreement was signed, and I’d given up everything for almost nothing at all.
Chapter5
Ihated to admit it, but the agreement was working. I’d found a cheap pair of earmuffs in a dollar bin at the little Target pharmacy when I went to stock up on toothpaste and small bottles of cheaper shampoo, and while they didn’t do much to muffle the noise once my delightful neighbor got to working, they did enough that I could compose.
And, a few nights, I pulled out my cello and followed along to the whining and screaming. The neighbor either didn’t mind it or didn’t hear it because he didn’t shout at me again, and he didn’t turn up the music so loud I couldn’t think straight.
I almost liked to think we’d slipped into some kind of truce.
The week wore on into the next, and though, as predicted, one of the students dropped me, Vanessa managed to find me two more. That plus my weekly trip to Jason’s high-rise was enough that my first check would fit comfortably into my savings.
I’d be able to pay my phone bill, buy real food, and maybe even add a bit more décor to the place.
It wasn’t the best I’d ever felt, but it was so freeing to be away from London and Nicolai’s presence everywhere that even the sound of the neighbor’s saw stopped bothering me as much.
In fact, I was in such a good mood that when Joy called and asked if I wanted to have dinner with her, I agreed without hesitation. I’d been avoiding her happy little home for fear that it might make me break down over my situation, but I wasn’t as exhausted and lonely as I might have been.
I even splurged on an Uber, despite wincing when I read the total on the app.
Joy lived in Manhattan. They weren’t well off. She was a kindergarten teacher, and my brother-in-law held the manager position at his dad’s company. But her place had decent walls and an elevator, and it smelled floral and clean as she opened the door for me.
The first thing I noticed was that the place was quiet, and I glanced around with a small frown. “Did you drug your kids?”
She rolled her eyes as she gestured toward a coat rack near the door. It was snowing, so my scarf and coat were dripping steadily on her hardwood. “Georgie took the kids to a birthday party in Jersey. They won’t be back until late, and I wanted some time with you without having to play parent.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. There was a small piece of me that felt like Joy was keeping me away from her family, but there was another part relieved that I didn’t have to play attentive uncle with the weird backstory about why I never came to visit. How the hell did you tell a seven-year-old that you’d been trapped with a narcissist for the better part of a decade and forgot how to live as a fully functional adult?
The answer to that is: you don’t. You don’t tell them, and you let them quietly resent you for not being present because the last thing in the world any parent wanted was for some perpetually single, childless man to storm cloud all over their childhood innocence.
So this was the easy path.
“I didn’t cook. I hope you don’t mind, but today was exhausting. Some kid was trying to hide gummy bears from me and literally shoved the whole bag down his throat. I had to give him the goddamn Heimlich, and he vomited all over me.”
I pulled a face at her. “Why would you actively choose that job?”
She didn’t answer apart from giving me a flat look, then she gestured at the table to an impressive spread of Chinese food. “Whatever we don’t eat, Georgie will finish. He’s on this whole thing about how takeout grows dangerous bacteria, so we can’t use it for leftovers.” She walked to the fridge and reached in, coming away with two bottles of beer that looked like imports. She had a convenient little magnetic bottle opener stuck to the fridge, and she opened them both before taking the chair next to mine.
“Is that just an excuse to eat all your food?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Probably. It encourages me to cook more, though, so I can’t complain.” She slid my beer toward me, then dug into one of the first boxes that was filled with noodles.
I grabbed the one next to it, peering down at the chicken fried rice before grabbing paper-wrapped chopsticks and cracking them apart. It had been so long since we’d done this. Hell, I wasn’t entirely sure we ever had. Maybe on the occasional weekend when Uncle Raymond was out of the house, but never as adults.
