32. Spencer
CHAPTER 32
SPENCER
I wiggle the key into my front door, having to jimmy it slightly to get it to open. I swing the door open, pushing through with all my bags that I hauled up the few flights of the three-storey walk up. Much of it is still the same as it was before I left. The girl I sublet it to left it as is, and now I’m thankful she did. Some familiarity feels good right now.
The sound of my bags dropping to the floor echoes through the dark, cold space, reminding me that I have yet to hang anything on the walls. Or really do anything to make this space my own. Putting pictures up, decorating, has always felt like I might jinx it. That if I let myself settle in here then it would get taken away somehow.
The space isn’t much to brag about, but it’s mine. I almost lost it. Had the contract not come through from Sasha when it did, I don’t know where I would have gotten rent money.
I flick on the lamp next to the sad, worn couch, and I flop down on it and pull out my phone to text Grady. We talked for a few hours on the road until I had to stop for gas and get something to eat, so I shoot him a quick text to let him know I got home safely.
It’s a strange feeling I get when I hit send. To know that there’s someone worrying about me, waiting for me to tell them I’m okay.
He texts back almost right away.
GRADY
Glad to hear. Now go take a bath and relax. Xo
I do. I run myself a bath and sink down into the warm water, letting it cover my ears and muffle the deafening silence of my apartment. The quiet and calm used to be comforting to me. I used to relish coming home and being alone after social events or nights out in the city, but now … Now I know how it feels to come home to someone who loves you. Who has a dry T-shirt waiting for you when you come in out of the rain. Who has a cup of coffee ready when you wake up, and a glass of wine waiting when you get home.
I stay in the bath until the water has cooled, and my fingers are wrinkled, and when I finally climb out, I dig around in my duffel bag until I find my sweats. When I put them on, they smell like him. The clean scent of Grady’s laundry soap and a hint of his warm vanilla and tobacco cologne.
I breathe it in and my chest aches, followed by an urgent growl in my belly.
The pantry is dismal and bare when I open the creaky bifold door and survey the staples I try to always keep stocked for nights like this. The small closet almost tempts me to climb into it, like if I will it hard enough, Grady will open the door from the other side and materialize in my apartment like that first day at Ally’s cabin.
I need some food to materialize in front of me.
Before I can think about it, I pull out my phone again. The line rings once, twice. Then his voice fills my head, and the effect is like he’s here with me.
“Just couldn’t wait to talk to me again, could you?” Grady’s voice rumbles through me, and I instantly feel warmer.
“I need help,” I say. It’s not entirely true. I could easily just Uber Eats something in a pinch, which is my go-to solution for these occasions, but I wanted to talk to him. To feel him here. “I have some rice, some stock, some frozen veggies, and maybe some chicken in the freezer. What can I make?”
“Oh, this is perfect. You could do an amazing risotto. You have some spices, right?”
“A few, yeah,” I answer, looking at the sad spice rack that houses a few different herbs I got for some other meals I never got around to making.
“Great. Risotto it is.”
“That sounds complicated. Remember the only skill in my arsenal right now is dicing onions. And I can boil a mean pot of water,” I remind him.
“No problem. Risotto is kind of foolproof.”
“I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” I say, a little self-deprecating.
“Don’t fret, Rebel. I’ll walk you through it.”
“Okay.” I put Grady on speaker and set my phone on the counter so I can work, and his voice fills the kitchen. I shut my eyes for a moment to imagine him standing behind me at the stove, guiding me and showing me what to do.
“You’re going to want to start by thawing the chicken and cutting it up so you can cook that first,” he explains. I do as he tells me and before I know it, the kitchen is filled with a delicious fragrance, the risotto bubbling away in the pan. How he managed to simultaneously throw together such a delicious- looking meal and teach me how to make it over the phone is baffling.
Once I’m done, I take the bowl of risotto over to the couch and curl up under a blanket to eat it while we talk.
“What did you do today?” I ask him in between bites.
“I helped Ally set up the bassinet for Hazel. They were discharged this morning from the hospital and didn’t have anything ready.” My heart clenches hearing that he spent the day with Ally and Hazel, and I wasn’t there. My three favourite people all hanging out without me. I blink past the stinging in my eyes.
“I’m glad you were able to help her,” I croak, and I realize I didn’t do as good a job hiding the wobble in my voice as I thought.I’m suddenly very aware of how alone I feel. It’s never bothered me before. Now, instead of feeling peaceful on my own, I just feel lonely.
“And I missed you,” Grady adds. I cover my mouth to hold back a sob. “I thought about what your apartment looks like and imagined you getting home. I tried to picture what it looked like, tried to picture myself there with you.”
“It’s nothing special,” I say, looking around at the blank walls with faded patches of paint where the previous renter had hung pictures. “I promise you aren’t missing out.”
“I’m missing out whenever I’m not with you,” he says matter-of-factly. “What is your place like? Describe it to me.”The task of describing my place makes the dull ache in my chest to subside.
“It’s old. I don’t have much here. I haven’t been bothered to decorate or anything, and most of my furniture is hand-me-downs from friends.”
“No decorations at all? I know you said you never decorated your room growing up, but I would have thought your apartment would be different. I just pictured you having a colourful, bright space. Lots of memorabilia and souvenirs from your travels.”I don’t even think I’ve ever bought a souvenir. I enjoyed travelling, sure, but it was less about the place I was going and more about the place I was getting away from. Something in me sags a little at the thought. I’ve had all these incredible adventures, but nothing to show for it except a dark, quiet, empty apartment.
“It’s funny, you know. That is what I wish this place was like. But whenever I think about doing it, or buying something new, I just get this feeling like it’s temporary anyways so why bother? That, and when you grow up on a single income, you don’t exactly prioritize spending money on those kinds of things.”
I’ve never really said that out loud before, but hearing it now, I suddenly make a lot more sense to myself. Everything in my life has been temporary. My living situation, my relationships. Everything had an expiration date, and I guess not getting attached is how I protect myself from being hurt when things inevitably end. It’s why I won’t invest in my place, because it will be easier to move when I need to. The realization that settles over me suddenly makes me feel very tired. Like I’ve just run a marathon, and it makes sense because, in some ways, I think I’ve been running my whole life.
“Well, your room is here whenever you feel like having a place that’s all yours,” Grady reminds me. It’s hard to think that on the other end of the phone line, he’s probably lying in bed in a room full of things that remind him of me.
“I love you,” I whisper into the phone.The words feel inadequate somehow. I emphasize each syllable, trying to convey all the emotions I’m feeling, but they don’t do enough to tell him how much I miss him, how much I long for him, how grateful I am for him.
“I love you back.” Grady’s voice is getting sleepy now, but neither of us wants to hang up. So, we stay on the phone in a comfortable silence, just knowing that the other is there is enough.
When I wake up the next morning, still on the couch wrapped in a blanket and my hoody that smells like him, the apartment is even colder and quieter than before. My heart feels heavy.
I blink until my vision is clearer and check my phone. I have an hour before I said I would be at the office for a meet and greet with the Mile High team.
I quickly brush my hair and my teeth and put on a bit of blush to make me look more alive. I dig around in my closet until I find an old dress at the back that seems appropriate for an office. And by office appropriate, I mean it’s the only plain black garment I own that comes down to an appropriate length on my long thighs.
By the time I pull up in front of the looming downtown high-rise, the dress is feeling tight, and itchy, and not me. But I’m here, and this is my first day of a job that has a salary, and benefits, and I feel a little bit like I’ve made it.
At least, that’s how I should feel. I can’t tell if the nausea roiling through my gut is nerves or intuition, but something inside me is not sitting right. It must be the tights. I never wear tights. I never wear anything tight like this at all.
I check the time again, not wanting to be too early, but not wanting to be too late either, and I see a text from Grady that came in while I was finding a parking space.
GRADY
Good luck on your first day, Aunty Rebel!
He’s attached a picture of him holding Hazel. She is currently the human equivalent of a potato and has no idea what’s happening, but he’s holding her tiny arms up as if she’s cheering me on.
The message makes me smile. It makes me unable to tear my eyes away from my phone screen. It makes everything inside me scream that I’m walking away from everything I love, everything I hold dear.
I suddenly see this job through a new lens, no longer a rose-coloured one, and Ally’s words come back to me. You can’t control everything.
She’s right. Even this job isn’t a guarantee. It’s just what I’ve always done. I’ve always strived for security, independence. I’ve had to work harder than most people who go to college, or who have a family that acts as a safety net. I’ve had to work so hard that I’ve forgotten to look up, to look around me and appreciate my life for what it is.
Nose to the grindstone. That’s what it’s always been. To outsiders, my life looks exciting and fun, full of travel and adventure, but to me, it’s always been about the hustle. I’ve missed so much of the enjoyment.
I’ve missed out on forming relationships, on being somewhere long enough to create a home that feels like a home.It’s all been meaningless. What is a home without the people who make it feel that way? People who fill your four walls full of love, laughter, and joy? I’ve worked for years to put a roof over my head, but for what? To go to sleep alone, to wake up alone, and to never have someone to share the day with.
My eyes brim with tears when I consider all the years I’ve wasted trying to protect myself. All I was doing was trying to protect the little version of me that still lives in my heart, who isn’t enough for the people who should take care of me, and who is absolutely terrified all the time. I trust myself to take care of her now. All I’ve ever done is take care of her. Now, though, it’s time to give her the life she deserves. The love she desires.
I scroll through my contacts, find Sasha’s name, and hit the phone icon. She picks up on the third ring.
“Sasha, hi.” My voice is wobbly. “We need to talk.”