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I’m almost done emptying the glass when my phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text message.
Telford: Do you want to go suit shopping after work tomorrow?
Since my after work activities for the next month consist of watching shows on the streaming services Abby and Declan subscribe to that I don’t, I type out a response quickly.
Carrie: I’m in. Dinner before or after?
I lean my hip against the quartz countertop. This kitchen, with all of its high-end finishes and appliances, makes me almost want to offer to cook dinner for us here, but I can plan that out for a night when we’re not setting out on a search for just the right designer suit for Telford to propose in.
Telford: Before. You know I get cranky when I don’t eat early.
“Everyone knows,” I whisper.
Cindy glances at me before she goes back to lick her little red bowl completely clean.
Knowing Telford, I wait for him to close out the text conversation the way he always does.
Telford: Don’t stay up too late, Carrie. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.
A quick look at the corner of my phone’s screen tells me I have over two hours until I’ll be in bed. I stick to a strict bedtime. If I’m not fast asleep by a few minutes after ten each night, I have to drag myself out of bed at my five a.m. wake-up time.
I’ve followed the same sleep pattern every night for years, and it’s never failed me.
I respond to Tel before heading to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.
Carrie: See you tomorrow. I hope visions of new fragrance formulas dance in your head while you’re sleeping.
Surprisingly, my response triggers another from him.
Telford: Same.
I run my brush through my hair before setting it on the bathroom counter and taking a step back.
The mirror above the sink in Abby’s guest bathroom is bigger than the entire bathroom in my apartment in Brooklyn.
It’s an exaggeration, but the mirror is massive, and as I keep taking measured steps backward, more of my body comes into view.
I’m wearing a pajama set consisting of a light blue short sleeve top and matching shorts. The shorts are a little too short because I mistakenly tossed them in a hot dryer one morning when I didn’t have my glasses on.
I sleep in something similar every night. It’s comfortable, and if there is ever an emergency, I don’t have to worry about a big, burly fireman racing in to see me topless, or worse, topless and bottomless.
The fact that I’m not wearing a bra isn’t a big deal. I can always resort to crossing my arms over my chest if that fireman, or any fireman, carries me out of the apartment.
I shake the thought off with a laugh.
I step out of the bathroom but freeze in place when I hear a faint noise.
I know the building is more than a century old, and my sister has complained from time to time about the noises that emanate from the walls when the wind picks up outside.
There was a breeze racing through the city when I walked home from the restaurant, so I put my fears to rest because soon I need to really be resting.
It’s only an hour until I’m due in the very comfortable bed in the guest room.
Another noise sounds through the quiet apartment. I swear it’s the click of a door shutting, but that’s not possible.
I lean against the wall in the hallway and take a deep breath.
“So you want me in the bedroom?” A woman’s voice I’ve never heard before filters down the hallway.
