Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Olivia
Warning: My house looks like
I'm losing a game of Jumanji!
~ Unknown
I stick my key into the door of my new apartment, my eyes riveted to the brass numbers on the door: 2O. I take a quick glimpse in the direction of 2B, wondering who ended up beating me to the punch to get Gran’s place. No matter. I’m here. This will be my new home. I’m on the same floor as 2B. I’m in The Serendipity. That much is amazing.
The door squeaks on its hinges as it swings open.
A parrot calls out from the apartment on the other side of mine. “Lucky lady. Lady luck. Lucky. Lucky lady.”
I don’t remember a parrot living here when Gran was in 2B. Hopefully the owner puts a blanket over the cage at night.
“Laaaady Luck,” the parrot squawks. “Lucky, lucky, lucky.”
That bird’s as bad as Megan with its optimistic proclamations.
Though, I do feel something akin to luck at having found an apartment here. Of course, I know my situation is the result of nothing but coincidental timing and persistence.
I step into my new home and glance around. My eyes land on the three windows across the main room—and then to the view. Or lack of view. While 2B has an amazing view of the grass and trees out the windows, 2O has a view of the parking structure. It’s nothing but concrete and cars as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t far.
“Let’s move you in!” Megan comes in behind me, a smile on her face.
Her smile falls just the slightest when she sees what I see.
“Oh.” Her mouth pops open. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here. Views aren’t everything. You’re in The Serendipity. And this place is beautiful!”
Megan walks past me into the center of the empty living room. It’s about half the size of the main room in Gran’s old apartment. Megan spins like she’s auditioning for the lead in The Sound of Music , her head tilted back, arms outstretched.
“This place is magical!” she says with a sigh.
“Magical!” the parrot squawks from the other side of the kitchen wall.
“Oooh. Is that a parrot?”
“Sounds like it. With a voice like that, I sure hope it’s not the tenant.”
Megan cracks up while I take in the rest of my surroundings. The walls are high. There’s a historical charm to the place, including the radiator under the center window. The kitchen is open, with an island dividing it from the living room. It looks a lot like Gran’s apartment, only smaller, as if someone threw her place in the dryer and shrunk it, then took away the sweet view and replaced it with … that.
My younger sister, Lynette, shows up just as Megan stops twirling. Lynette’s carrying a plant in one arm and a two-liter of diet soda in the other.
“Happy housewarming!” she shouts before walking in and looking around. “Oh. And I think you might be getting a ticket for double parking. I saw a meter maid putting a piece of paper on the windshield. The guys are here too. They said they’re on their way up, and they’re ready to haul the heavy stuff whenever you open the truck.”
“Noooo!” I spin and run out the door, skipping the elevator and opting for the spiral staircase on my side of the building.
By the time I’m at street level, there’s no sign of a meter maid, but there is a ticket on my windshield.
I find parking, and we unload everything over the next few hours. There’s no sign of life in 2B all afternoon. I’m dying to see who got Gran’s place.
Once all my stuff is unloaded from the moving van, Lynette’s friends take off. Megan orders pizza while I leave her and Lynette in the living room so I can quickly jump in the shower. The bathroom has old penny tiles on the floor and a wide, framed mirror mounted over the sink. I turn the faucet to get the water to warm up, and it only comes out as a trickle. I keep turning the knob … and turning. A bit more water comes, but it’s hardly enough to be called a shower.
Great.
Well, maybe it’s been a while since someone ran the shower in here. Or maybe it takes a while for water to get to the second floor? This is an older building, after all. I step in and make the most of it, lathering up and letting the small stream do the best it can to rinse me.
Regardless of the low water pressure, I end up feeling refreshed.
“I had a little mishap in the kitchen,” Lynette says when I come out from my bedroom.
I sit in the overstuffed chair next to the couch and grab a slice of the pizza. “What kind of mishap?”
“I was getting some glasses down from the cabinet. When I opened the door, the handle just popped off in my hand.”
“It’s no big deal,” Megan assures me. “It just needs two screws, and it will go right back where it belongs.”
I set my pizza down and walk into the kitchen. The handle is sitting on the counter. I open the cabinet door to look inside. There are two holes where screws should have been, but no screws. That’s odd. How was the handle attached in the first place? Maybe it stuck to the paint? I look inside the cabinet. Something small and tan catches my eye in the back corner. I reach in and pull out a fortune cookie.
“Where did this come from?” I ask no one in particular.
“What is it?” Megan asks.
“A fortune cookie.”
“It wasn’t there when I put away the glasses,” Lynette says.
“You probably didn’t see it,” I say.
My sister is sweet, extremely loyal, and never has a bad thing to say about anyone. But she’s also gullible and rarely attends to details. It’s not like a cookie would just pop into the cabinet on its own. It must have been left by the previous tenants. Lynette simply didn’t notice.
“Open it up!” Lynette says.
“Yeah! Let’s hear your fortune!” Megan says.
“It’s not my fortune. I didn’t buy the meal it came with. This fortune belongs to whoever lived here before me.”
Lynette looks at Megan. “She’s so touchy about fortunes.”
Megan nods. “Especially for a girl who’s not superstitious.”
“Okay, okay.” I hold the cookie in front of me with pinched fingers.
I carry the cookie over to the living room and set it on the coffee table.
My sister and my best friend watch me.
“Whatever. It’s just a cookie,” I say, picking it up and ripping the plastic wrapper.
I crack the cookie and pull out the paper. I read it to myself and then look up at two sets of eyes studying me far too intently.
“Well?” Megan says.
It’s odd. Most fortune cookies these days say something trite and generic. Not like the cookies back in the days I’d share takeout Chinese with Gran. Those cookies had real fortunes. Not that they were real , but they did have a portent of some sort, something you could sink your teeth into, not a neutral platitude.
“Well?” Lynette says.
“It’s … Here, I’ll just read it.” I hold the paper up and read the inscription. “ The key to your future might be in the hands of someone familiar .”
“Oooh!” Lynette squeals.
“I wonder who it is,” Megan says, as if there’s every reason to trust a stray fortune cookie left in my cupboard by the previous tenants.
I set the scrap of meaningless paper on the coffee table and pick up my slice of pizza.
“The key to your future …” Lynette says, an airy note to her voice.
“That’s huge, right?” Megan asks Lynette.
“So huge.”Lynette nods effusively. “And someone familiar? Maybe it’s you. Or me. Or … it could be a lot of people.”
“You have to eat the cookie!” Lynette exclaims. “Otherwise, the fortune won’t come true.”
“That’s a myth,” Megan says.
“No. I’ve heard it more than once,” Lynette defends, as if repeated nonsense holds more weight somehow.
“Huh,” Megan says. “Well, maybe that’s right, then.” She looks at me. “Eat the cookie, Olivia.”
“What? Are you serious?” I glance between the two of them.
Megan stares at me. Lynette joins her.
I have learned one thing over the years. If I dispute these two when they are pontificating about imagined realities or insisting some fantastical idea is actually fact, I’ll only incite them into trying to convince me how right they are. So, I pick up the fortune cookie, pop one half in my mouth, and when the crisp vanilla wafer starts to melt, I swallow and put the other half in my mouth, downing it as well.
“There. Are you two happy?”
“Very,” Lynette assures me.
“I wonder who it will be,” Megan says to Lynette, that same wistful tone to her voice..
“It’s so mysterious,” Lynette answers her. “And exciting.”
I take a bite of my pizza and chew, take another bite, chew, and repeat until they have worn themselves out speculating about what this one miniscule piece of randomly preprinted paper has to do with my actual life.
“You know what I really wonder?” Lynette asks Megan, glancing over at me briefly.
“What?” Megan says.
“Who got Gran’s apartment?”
“I know,” Megan says. “Me too. Have you seen your new neighbor yet, Olivia?”
“No, I haven’t. Not yet. I’m curious too. I’ll keep you posted as soon as I see her—him … or them.”
After we finish the pizza, the three of us curl up on my couch to watch a movie. About halfway through, I start to yawn.
“It’s been a long day,” I announce. “You two are welcome to stay the night, but I only have the couch to offer you.”
“No,” Megan says. “I need to sleep in an actual bed. I’m going to head out.”
“Me too,” Lynette says, stretching her arms overhead. “Happy housewarming!”
We all stand and walk toward the door.
“Thanks. And thanks for rallying your friends to lug the big stuff upstairs for me. You two are the best. And thank Mom for taking Cassidy so you could be here.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Lynette says, curtseying dramatically and giggling.
“We love you,” Megan says.
I pull her into a hug. “I love you too. Drive safely.”
Lynette and I hug, and then I watch as the two of them turn to walk through the front lounge area toward the elevators. My gaze drifts in the direction of apartment 2B. I can’t see the actual apartment, but I know it’s there. A small, private, nostalgic smile bubbles up from my heart to my mouth.
I live in The Serendipity.
The next morning, I open my bathroom drawer to pull out a hair tie so I can go on my morning run. What I see in the back corner of my drawer has me rubbing my eyes. Right there, behind my brush and my curling iron, is a tan cookie in a telltale cellophane wrapper.
“What on earth?” I say to no one.
“Okay. This is just weird. Who leaves cookies in the bathroom?”
Annnnd now I’m talking to myself.
I was the one who put my hair stuff in this drawer. And I opened it after my shower to brush out my hair when it was wet. You’d think I’d have noticed a fortune cookie. I guess the lighting must have been different then.
And what’s with the old tenant of this apartment, hoarding fortune cookies in the backs of cabinets and drawers? It’s not like they’re Godiva chocolate.
I almost leave the cookie, but something in me can’t resist. Maybe all those years eating takeout with Gran made me revere these odd little treats. I don’t put stock in them, of course. But leaving it here seems wrong, so I pull the cookie out of the drawer and set it on the counter while I tug my hair up into a ponytail. Then I look down at the cookie like it’s a miniature intruder.
“You’re just a cookie,” I tell it. “And whoever lived here obviously loved fortune cookies enough to squirrel them away in the oddest of places.”
Annnnd now I’m talking to cookies.
I know what this is. It’s the stress of a whole week working with Logan Alexander. Not working with him, with him. But he’s there, like an ominous storm cloud, hovering, threatening to let loose and soak through the otherwise perfectly sunny day that is my job at Barnes.
I pick up the cookie and tear into the package almost irreverently.
I crack the cookie, tossing both halves in the trash. I’m not eating a cookie just because my sister has some false notion that consuming a crisp little cracker made of sugar, flour and butter will alter my future.
I flatten the paper and read the words: Love is a competition with no losers .
There it is. A meaningless platitude. That’s not about me or my future. It’s just a statement. An odd one, to be sure. But still just a statement. Love is a competition? Who ever heard of that? Love isn’t a competition. Not that I’d know what love is. I haven’t ever actually fallen in love. At least, I don’t think I have. I’m pretty sure I’d know if I had fallen in love before.
I throw the fortune into the trash, along with the two discarded halves of the cookie, lace up my shoes, and head out for my morning run.