T W E N T Y S I X
T W E N T YS I X
- Oliver -
I cringed when I saw the leash on my way out. Turns out I’m the one who ended up being a dog… A dog who’d certainly found his bone.
I was surprised I didn’t howl at the moon last night after the way that woman brought me to my knees.
The memory of how she looked spread legged on the couch made it impossible for me to regret biting my tongue, though. After all, if I’d done or said anything differently things mightn’t have gone so well, and she’d had a good time, right?
So was I really so awful? I fixed the stuff in the building that was bothering her. Okay, so I only did it because I thought she was hot. And now I was literally creeping next door to my apartment. Ugh .
“Elaine’s” box was waiting for me on the counter. Cue another cringe.
I thought about tiptoeing back down the hall and leaving it outside Avery’s door. She was unlikely to hop out of bed in the next thirty seconds and check her peephole. Then again, what if she did and caught me in the act?
This must be what it feels like to know you’re going to get slapped before it happens. I sighed. I should’ve told her the truth. And I should’ve brought her a proper breakfast in bed instead of the unfulfilled promise of toast. Maybe I was the asshole next door, the asshole everyone thought I was. The asshole I was so convinced I wasn’t.
I gave Simba a generous portion of wet food so he’d stop pretending he liked me so much and collapsed on the couch. Spent. That woman. Hot damn. Maybe I should break the good news by making a door between our apartments. I laughed when the haunting scene from The Shining popped into my head, as if axing my way through the wall wouldn’t be the deal breaker to end all deal breakers.
What if I tore the box back open and put the skimpy number on? I could just wiggle my way into it and walk right over there. I’d be such a sight for sore eyes she’d have to laugh. Or would she? What if she cried? Either way, it would be a long time before she erased the image of me in drag from her mind.
No. Opening her mail once was arguably forgivable, but it would be weird to tear through the tape a second time.
Speaking of weird, I couldn’t remember the last time I got myself into trouble no one could help me with...
Hey Mac, I’m screwing my neighbor, but she hasn’t realized we share a wall. I want to reveal my identity without having to admit I’m the asshole who stole her kinky mail and left all those mean presents on her porch. Can’t help me? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Hey Dad. How’s the cookbook game? By the way, I think I met the woman I want to eat the rest of my meals with, but I accidentally built our relationship on a heap of lies. Got any advice for me? What’s that? Oh, right. Brace myself for the slap.
Hey Avery. I don’t know what the big deal is. I told you, remember? When I said I live on the sixth floor, too. Thought you got it the first time. Slap.
I shook my head and caught Simba staring at me with… was that pity in his eyes? Good grief. It seemed even he knew it was only a matter of time before this blew up in my face…
***
I’d never cranked an article out so fast. It was as if one night with Avery filled me with so much inspiration it pulverized the appeal of procrastinating. For a while, it felt like nothing could take me out of the flow. Until I heard someone walk up to my door.
Simba and I froze and our ears strained towards the sound.
It was her. It had to be. Was she thinking about knocking? I suppose it didn’t matter. Under no circumstance could I open the door. My eyes strayed to the box on the counter before I squeezed them shut, opening them when I heard a slip of paper slide under the door.
I didn’t breathe again until the footsteps faded away.
Meanwhile, Simba scrambled up his tower and glared at the inanimate intruder with suspicion.
I retrieved the piece of lined paper, which was folded in perfect thirds, and noticed how carefully the perforated edge had been torn away.
Dear Number Eight,
Did you by any chance receive a package I ordered under the name Elaine Seinfeld? I’ve asked around and the company insists it arrived.
Also, Tony told me you fixed the light and the sticky door. Very cool of you, thanks. Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I owe you one.
Kind regards,
Number Seven
A few weeks ago, I would’ve found her flawless folding and penmanship irritating, but after last night, I was convinced her attention to detail was heaven sent. I walked over to the coffee table and searched for my pen until I found it behind my ear. Then I scribbled a response under her cursive script, assuming I should presume her name was Elaine for lack of a better idea.
Dear Elaine,
Put on what’s in the package and we’ll call it even. Just kidding. But I must confess I did open it by accident. I didn’t try it on or anything, but considering the suggestive nature of the contents, I am somewhat embarrassed by my error.
Number Eight
Ps—you’re welcome about the light and the door.
I wasn’t sure why I was writing like a robot, but I did owe her a formal apology for invading her privacy. And I was happy to take credit for fixing that stuff. Made no difference to the handyman, and I was trying to woo this girl.
The following morning I woke up to a note that said, “That’s great news. Just leave it on my mat and back away slowly, thanks. And maybe don’t open my mail again.”
I left it outside her door as soon as the coast was clear, and for a moment, I felt like I’d gotten away with something. But the feeling didn’t last. It couldn’t. Because we were going out Friday, and I was going to tell her the truth. The whole truth. Or at least, the half I hadn’t told her.
I live on the sixth floor… in this building
I live on the sixth floor… next door to you.
I live on the sixth floor… and I’m the guy who fixed the light.
I live on the sixth floor and… and I want to keep seeing you.
I live on the sixth floor… and I should’ve told you sooner.
Whatever. I had all week to practice in the mirror and find the right words. The light words. So we could laugh about it and get back to falling for each other.
Because if I fucked this up, I’d never forgive myself.
She was the kind of woman you could put a ring on, and in my experience, they didn’t come around all that often. So what if we got off on the wrong foot?
She’d forget all about it as soon as I swept her off her feet… right?