19. Chapter 19
Addy
The email hit my inbox with a happy little chime before I’d even brushed my teeth.
Hey Adelaide! So sorry — plans changed and we won’t need you after all for this upcoming project. Hope you understand!
I did not understand. I stared at the email for so long, my phone locked itself. Unlocking it again, I hoped the words might rearrange themselves into something useful.
Alas, they did not.
This was the third freelancing gig cancellation in fourteen days. By this point, it felt less like bad luck and more like the universe was playing a joke on me. A cruel, minimalist bit where the punchline was always ‘lol never mind’.
I rolled onto my side and did the math in my head, which immediately went off the rails because my brain hates numbers and loves catastrophizing.
Okay. Rent was due in ten days, and I hadn’t had a steady income for over two months, ever since the fucking Greg incident.
There was the regular gig walking Princess and one remaining pet-sitting job which might still evaporate if the cat “decides it likes the neighbor better.” My savings could generously be described as symbolic.
I flopped backwards, limbs stretched out like a starfish and stared at the ceiling, eventually pulling the covers tighter around me. Well, fuck.
Princess splashed her paws through the puddles left by last night’s rain. Her fur was wet at the tips and glistened in the late afternoon sun. The familiar smell of wet dog and asphalt wrinkled my nose as I tugged gently on her leash.
Honestly, she didn’t give a fuck. I wish I had as much chill as this furry monster.
My thoughts had been circling non-stop in an unstoppable, downward spiral.
As her owner’s house came into view, I could see him in the doorway, looking as awkward as ever. He was fiddling with the edge of his sweater vest as if he didn’t know how to exist outside his mother’s kitchen.
Total Momma’s Boy.
“Oh! Hey,” I called, jogging up a few steps with Princess plodding along beside me.
He smiled faintly, a little tight around the edges. “Hi, Adelaide. How’s she been?”
“Good. Perfect. Chaos incarnate as usual.” I laughed and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. I faltered for a moment, remembering the chaos currently consuming my life.
His brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I gave a nervous laugh, the kind revealing more panic than reassurance.
“Uh … I mean, yeah, fine, totally fine, except … I just found out I’ll probably have to move apartments and, well, now I have to move, like, everything, and the packing, and boxes, and sorting, and also …
Why is everything I own suddenly so heavy and why is my life like a Jenga tower, I just—”
I trailed off, breathless, realizing I’d gone into full-on verbal vomit mode. Princess leaned into my leg, probably judging me.
“Do you need help?” Eric asked quickly.
I blinked at him. “Uh … no! I mean, that’s so nice of you. But I can handle it. I’ve got this.” I waved one hand dramatically, trying to erase the tiny tremor of anxiety I could feel creeping into my voice.
“I can help,” he insisted, taking a small step forward. “Boxes. Packing. Moving. Mommy always says I’m … efficient.”
My laugh was breathless as I waved him off again. “No, really, I’ve got it. I’ve moved enough times to qualify for professional packer status or something.”
Eric didn’t retreat. He simply nodded slowly, the eagerness in his posture making me grin a little. “Professional or not, moving is hard. I could help. I like … helping.”
I sighed, my hands dropping to my sides, and looked at him properly for the first time. He seemed so earnest, so awkwardly eager to make life easier for someone else, and I had to fight the urge to laugh and pat his head.
“Really,” I said finally, forcing a smile. “I’ve got this. But … thanks. I mean it. Really.”
He tilted his head, eyes flicking to Princess, then back to me. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But if you change your mind, I’m available.”
I waved again, trying to keep it light. “Appreciate the offer. You’ll be on my emergency call list.”
He managed a small smile, looking like he actually considered it an honor.
“Okay,” I said, giving him an awkward wave. “I better get moving before I start crying over bubble wrap.”
He nodded once, watching me go.
By early evening, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by boxes. They were all different sizes, none of them stacked properly, and one of them still smelled faintly like bananas.
This was happening. I wasn’t renewing the lease.
I simply couldn’t afford this apartment anymore, not with how much bad luck I’ve had recently.
So I decided to be proactive: I sold as much of my stuff as I could and searched for an even smaller apartment — or maybe even a room to rent — before I ended up homeless.
Opening my closet, I began packing without the energy I usually had. It was difficult to stay positive when things never seemed to go right, no matter what I tried.
I folded sweaters I hadn’t worn in years and threw loose papers into a box labeled IMPORTANT?? which kind of made me feel like an adult. Mugs were wrapped in old T-shirts because I was out of bubble wrap, which immediately made me lose the feeling of adultness I’d just briefly experienced.
Halfway through, I found my dad’s old apron from the bakery. The one with the stupid embroidered loaf of bread and his name stitched crookedly underneath.
I sat down on the floor and held it like it might offer me some sort of advice, but instead I ended up in a downward spiral.
If I’d been better, the bakery wouldn’t have closed.
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve figured out a way to make it work.
If I’d been stronger, I wouldn’t still feel like I was falling through the same crack years later.
With tears stinging my eyes, I dropped the apron into a box and taped it shut, as if doing so would solve anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t have places I could go, and somehow that made it even worse.
My mom would say yes immediately. She’d say it with relief, even. She’d say of course you can come home, and you’ll figure it out, and I would nod and smile and quietly die inside every time she looked at me like she was trying not to worry.
I couldn’t ask my sister. She would look down her nose at me even worse than she already did and Nathan would be huffing and puffing in the background, making me feel like the biggest failure to exist. Every option would require me to admit to it, even if I never said it out loud.
I failed. Again.
My phone buzzed from somewhere under a pile of jeans.
I knew which app it was before I even saw the notification, which probably should have concerned me, but at that moment, when I was hitting rock bottom once again, it felt like someone was throwing me a lifeline.
Sasha: What’s my little devil up to?
My stomach somersaulted, a flurry of butterflies erupting inside me. I’d given up trying to convince him not to call me that, and the truth was it made me feel special. Another thing I could never admit out loud.
I stared at the blank text field, and my thumbs immediately went flying.
Hypothetically … if someone was very bad at long-term planning and maybe put too much faith in vibes … What would you say to them?
No. Too earnest.
Asking for a friend.
I hovered over ‘Send’, my thumb trembling like this was a confession and not a text to a man who might literally be a criminal mastermind, who was definitely locked up and in no position to judge me.
I almost deleted it, but Sasha was the only person I wanted to talk to right now, sad as it was.
The message was sent with a tap of my finger, immediately regretting everything I’d ever done, including learning how to read.
The reply didn’t come right away, which my brain interpreted as He hates you now and this was the final straw and congratulations, you have managed to embarrass yourself in front of a convicted felon.
When the phone finally buzzed, my stomach flip-flopped again. The reactions he was triggering were undoubtedly something any normal person should have been concerned about.
Sasha: I’d say your friend is exhausted.
Sasha: And pretending she isn’t is costing her more than she admits.
God fucking damnit. Why did he know me so well?
Stalker.
Sasha: Nah. Just exceptionally well-versed in anything concerning you.
I snorted and immediately resented how warm it made my chest feel.
Everyone else seems to have a place they can land and I keep … hovering.
This time, the pause felt deliberate, as if he was choosing his words carefully instead of simply reacting.
Sasha: Sounds like eventually something will have to give. Either you or gravity.
I looked around at the boxes, the half-packed life, and the complete lack of a plan not involving swallowing my pride whole.
It’ll be fine. Just gotta do a little recalibrating, I guess.
Sasha: You don’t have to convince me you’re fine.
I sucked in a sharp breath. The reality of the one person truly seeming to accept and understand me being entirely faceless and inaccessible was borderline hilarious.
Leaning my head back against the wall, I held the phone in my hand. I was surrounded by cardboard boxes, bad decisions, and the creeping realization I didn’t know where I belonged.
This was all very likely a terrible idea.
It was dangerous, and Sasha was definitely not someone I should be showing this side of myself to. And yet, I couldn’t seem to help myself.
I think the weirdest part is if I vanished tomorrow, no one would be confused about where I went. They’d just assume I was “figuring things out,” because that’s what I always say.
If I disappear for a bit, it’s not because I don’t want to talk.
It’s just … a lot right now.
There was a long pause before his next message finally came through.
Sasha: I know. I’m not going anywhere.
I stared at the screen for longer than was reasonable. There was no pressure, no questions; he was just there for me.
That should have scared me more than the half-packed boxes and the empty bank account.
Because wanting to lean toward something — even words on a screen — felt like admitting I didn’t have this under control after all.
And I’d built my entire personality around pretending I did.