We went home that way, and when we entered my apartment I remembered: I had no clue where anything was.
The next month was glorious.
I woke up every morning to bustling traffic and pedestrians darting back and forth on the streets below. The view took my breath away, and it never stopped. And it was quiet. That had been my only concern, having a resident below and above me, but I shouldn’t have worried at all. I heard nothing to even indicate that I had neighbors.
However, I’d seen one a couple times when I went to the gym. She looked to be in her early thirties, and as soon as I entered to hit the treadmill, she grabbed her towel and bottle of water and left. I thought it was me, but the fourth time I arrived, she was just starting, and she stayed the whole hour. I saw her a few other times after that, but she kept her head down and focused on her workout until she left.
In a way, it was a nice break from all the attention I’d received after Liam’s death. So many people had approached me to express their condolences. I knew very few of them. They were the stranger neighbors or Liam’s coworkers. I hadn’t realized how exhausting it had been—the smiles, the warm wishes back to each of them, all people I didn’t know. This woman was frank. She didn’t know me. She didn’t care to know me. I rather liked it.
Once I realized that Monday, Wednesday, and Friday she went to the gym at eleven in the morning, and her Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday schedule was five in the afternoon, I adjusted my routine and went at a different time. Since then we’d passed once in the lobby. I was leaving the elevator, and she was getting on. She gave me her first smile, and I grinned back.
I felt like she was thanking me for leaving her alone.
I didn’t meet another resident until my fifth week living here. I’d started a routine where I grabbed the mail as soon as it came, which was around eleven in the morning. I went to the pool area to open it with a cup of coffee. After that, I’d either go upstairs to read a book, or I’d work out. It depended on whether not-so-friendly neighbor was using the gym or not. In addition to the normal television and movies I watched, I became a CNN addict. There was a restlessness in me, like life was passing me by, and I didn’t want to miss a thing.
Yet when I thought about finding a job or writing a piece, emotions surged up in me. I didn’t want to feel those emotions; I didn’t even want to name them. I just didn’t want them, so I’d go back to doing something that numbed me. Anything.
But everything was different in the mornings. It was a fresh start. Those feelings were pushed all the way down, and this morning was the same. I felt somewhat cheerful as I opened a letter from my realtor. My house was still being shown. I figured. Anything pressing would warrant a phone call or an email.
Then a man entered the pool area behind me.
I glanced up, startled by his presence, and my elbow hit my coffee. “Oh, no.” I bent quickly to snatch it up.
“Here.” The guy came over, grabbing a handful of towels on the way. He knelt, blotting the coffee to absorb it. “Sorry about that,” he said as he looked up.
Young. Tall. And when he looked up at me, close—personal bubble close. He was pretty, or that was how Sia would’ve described him. Tall, dark, and handsome. The cliché fit him perfectly. His body was lean, and judging from the swim trunks and white shirt, swimming was the way he kept himself in shape. He wasn’t gorgeous like the guy from the restaurant. Yes, I am still thinking about him. He didn’t have the same striking, intense eyes or physique. This guy had a rounder face. He was more filled out, but he was still good-looking, and he was waiting for my response.
I shook my head. “That was my fault.” I frowned at the dirtied towels. “Is that okay? Do I need to let Dorian know it was my fault? They’re stained.”
He glanced down as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. Seeing the towels, his shoulders shook with laughter. “No. The money this place gets, they can afford a few stained towels. These will get tossed anyway.” He dropped them on a nearby table and held his hand out to me. “I’m Jake Parker. I’m on the seventh floor. You’re the new resident, right?”
I shook his hand. “I am. Third floor. I’m Addison—” I was about to say my married name, but heard myself saying instead, “—Bowman.” I’d told him my maiden name. Why did I do that—nope. I wasn’t going to analyze it. It was done.
“Addison Bowman?” He pulled out the chair across from me. “Do you mind?”
“No. Please, sit.”
He sat down, and I straightened up. It felt weird to be sitting with another man, even though he was a neighbor.