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Then he was turning away and walking down the flight of stairs, likely laughing at the awkward girl next door who just admitted to not having any plans on a Friday night and was now feeding his cat. I would definitely be eating that fancy Gouda cheese I knew he hoarded. This called for retribution.
Pushing my house key into the deadbolt and ignoring the chipped wood near my face, I shoved my shoulder and pushed. Good thing about my apartment? I’d know in an instant if someone were breaking in, because between the rusted hinges and a sagging frame, my front door was like a boulder to move.
The box I called home looked exactly as I left it earlier that morning: Two piles of clothes waited for me on my twin bed. A small, thin paned window that hung over my small dresser let in a slice of light, and of course my kitchen, where I could spin in a single circle and reach anything I needed.
A familiar, discouraging feeling bubbled inside as I looked around. There was no air conditioning, and the humidity on the fifth floor was at rainforest levels. My freezer had broken two days ago, so there wasn’t even any ice that I could put in front of a fan for a makeshift swamp cooler.
It was moments like these that made me think of home. How August would be warm, but completely bearable at the high altitude, and how the shops in town bustled with people. How the flower baskets exploded with color, hanging from dark, antique lamp posts, lining the pristine, white sidewalks.
A heaviness settled in my heart, forcing my hand to bring up my cell and dial my mother. I’d been calling her more and more frequently over the past few months. I’d finally graduated from college, and I was struggling against a persistent wave of homesickness. I told myself I was just lonely. Still, I put the phone on speaker and waited for it to connect.
“Rae, honey, so nice that you called! Your dad and I were just talking about how we were going to call you tonight because we have something to discuss,” my mom said happily.
I walked over to my ancient, rattling refrigerator and tugged it open. “Really, what?”
I had nothing in the fridge but ketchup and some questionable carrots, and I wouldn’t until my next paycheck came in, which was a week away. Thankfully, I had bread, peanut butter, and honey.
“Well…” Mom hesitated, and it caused me to pause with my hand over the handle of my two-shelf pantry.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s just”—she started again, still slightly hesitant—“well, we know you’re not doing so wonderful in New York…”
I let out a sigh. “Mom, I’m fine, I promise.”
I wasn’t though, truly. I hadn’t been fine a single time since moving here, but I’d always kept that truth to myself.
“Nora called us.” She paused, and my eyes narrowed at the phone.
My best friend knew how dire my situation was, but she was under strict order not to ever tell my parents, so I only had one choice.
“She’s a liar, Mom. Whatever she told you, she’s lying. She’s on drugs now. It’s really sad.”
My mom snorted. “Hogwash. She moved back here about two weeks ago, and we’ve enjoyed catching up with her, but that’s not what we wanted to discuss.”
I didn’t know Nora had moved back, but it made sense that she hadn’t told me. Macon was a bit of a taboo subject for us.
“The reason we wanted to call you is because we’re starting a delivery service for the diner.”
I tugged the jar of generic peanut butter out and reached for the honey, but just as I did, something scuttled across the kitchen floor out of the corner of my eye.
“Shit,” I hissed, jumping up on the counter, as my mom continued talking.
“We thought it would be a good idea to drum up some extra business—you okay, honey?”
“Yeah, just…uh…”—I peered over the counter, my knees pulled to my chest—“I stubbed my toe.” If my mother knew that this building had rats and roaches, she’d send in the National Guard.
“Well, anyway… We’re having a difficult time getting the service up and running.”
Concentrating on the floor, while still slightly curious, I asked, “Why do you guys need to drum up extra business? I thought you were doing really well.”
A beat passed, which had my eyes focusing back on the screen as worry slithered through me. I cradled the phone and took it off speaker. “Mom?”
“Things are…” There was another pause and my heart thumped harder as my brows caved in.
“Things are what, Mom?”
She let out a sigh, one that seemed heavy, and if I were there, I imagined her chest expanding and caving with the levity of it.
