6. Miles
MILES
As with all big changes in life, settling in wasn’t instant, but I was making progress.
The apartment felt like mine now, which was a huge step forward.
Marmalade had claimed her spot in the sun, just like I’d predicted she would.
I no longer had to stop and remember where I put an item when unpacking.
I’d rearranged the kitchen enough times that I could easily access everything as I was cooking.
I wouldn’t call my apartment building itself a completely comfortable place, but the neighbors were better.
I got some mumbled greetings now and then.
No real conversations, but a nod here or there was huge progress.
On my way to work this morning, I even got a “good morning” from someone other than Jon, and yesterday, a neighbor from the third floor held the front door for me when I came in with groceries.
I'd hardly call the residents friendly or say I was feeling like I was one of them, but I no longer felt like they wished I wasn’t there. That was except for Stellan. He apparently hated me. What other explanation could there be?
From what I could tell, he was a single dad.
I didn’t know if he was a widow or divorced or what, but no matter the reason, that had to be a rough road to travel.
Logic told me he was just being protective over his daughter, that he’d been worried that I was some creeper.
I knew my intentions, but the world was scary.
Marmalade was a good girl and hardly ever tried to get out.
That day, it was almost like she was looking for a friend, and she found one.
I hadn't tried to make it weird or awkward, but apparently, I did, because when I opened the door, he was furious.
I half expected to be punched in the face, but instead, he ran away like he was disgusted and needed to be far, far from me.
As much as I hated to admit it, that hurt.
I went over my words time and again. I couldn't think of anything I said that was that horrible. But then again, I wasn't a parent, so I probably crossed a line. I had no idea how I was going to be able to fix that, or if I should try in the first place.
Work was where I was making the real progress.
Not only had I managed to figure out my responsibilities and how to juggle them without a gazillion hours of overtime, but I was also making work friends.
We weren't like super besties, and never would be.
But we were work friends. This morning one of my cubicle mates brought me coffee just because. It was nice to feel like I belonged.
Despite all the progress I’d made, I was still shocked when my phone rang as I was finishing up dishes. It was my coworker, Joel.
"Hey. Last minute, we decided to go out for drinks. Barbara in accounting’s cousin owns the bar across the street from work, and apparently, they had a large party cancel tonight. They said that if we wanted the reservation, we could use happy-hour prices our entire time. You in?"
I looked down at the remaining mess in the kitchen, five minutes tops to clean up, and then I glanced over to Marmalade.
She was chasing the ring from around the milk jug through the living room.
I could stay here and be a slug. That would be easy and comfortable.
But I'd worked so hard to try to make connections at work, to really fit in.
It was best not to thwart that effort. "I just need to finish cleaning up here, and I'll be down. "
"Hey, Marmalade, Daddy’s going out tonight, so you need to keep yourself occupied. Maybe take a nap." She didn't pay attention to me at all. Milk rings were her favorite thing, and until she lost it under the fridge or in another impossible place to get it, she was going to be busy.
I made quick work of the dishes, called a rideshare, and headed down to meet them.
There were neighbors in the courtyard. I could hear them laughing, having a good time, and it only made me more determined to have fun with my new friends.
I might not ever be a part of the close-knit circle here, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have one of my own.
The bar was pretty empty. I could see why they offered Barbara the deal. It was surrounded by office buildings, so they probably relied on work groups to survive.
"Hey." I walked over to the huge table made by pushing many smaller ones together in the back corner. Everyone was already there. There were people I knew from my department as well as others I'd seen in passing, coming in and out of the office.
“We ordered pitchers of beer, margaritas, and mojitos. Pick your poison.” Joel pointed each one out, as if I couldn’t see which was which.
I wasn't turning down a margarita. I assumed the bar had given us such a good deal because it was watered down. It went down smoothly with no alcohol aftertaste. I very quickly realized they had not. They’d just used the high-quality liquor, and even with a basket of fries in me, I was feeling it.
We played a silly game where we passed a card around the table and had to answer ridiculous questions with a key word missing. It had us all laughing and me sipping more and more of my drink.
"So.” Joel was pouring more into a margarita glass. "How's your move going?"
"I moved…”
He set the pitcher down.
“Wait… did you give me more margarita?" I hadn’t made the connection immediately.
"Of course. An empty glass is a sad glass."
"Have you been filling it up all night?"
"Look around, everyone’s topped off." And sure enough, everybody's glasses and mugs were full, which meant I had no idea how much I'd been drinking. That explained the room spinning and why I kept getting lost mid conversation. My “just this one” was who knew how many. I pushed the glass away.
“I need to be done for the night.”
Someone put a glass of water in front of me, and I downed it and returned to the conversation, which had morphed into talking about a co-worker’s new puppy.
When everybody started to leave, I stood up and nearly toppled over. I hadn’t stopped drinking soon enough. Crap.
"I'm gonna get a rideshare." I half waved. “Thanks for inviting me.”
"My husband's coming," Barbara said. "We can drop you off."
"Um. No, I can—"
She put her hand on my shoulder. "We'll drop you off." Which was good, because my next memory was me being woken up in the car, told that I was home, and asking if I needed to be walked in.
"Nah, I got this."
Most of the apartment lights were out. I wanted to see what time it was, but I feared if I stopped walking forward long enough to get out my phone, I was going to end up stopping altogether.
I managed to get inside and to the stairs.
Up and up I went. Each step felt like a chore, and there were so many of them.
So, so many. Why did I live in a walk-up?
It was only one flight, but it felt like a dozen, each step I took was more difficult than the last. Finally, I reached the landing and pushed through the door to get to the hallway. I fished out my keys and fumbled at the lock.
“Why aren’t you working?” I tried again. “Please work, I’m tired.”
Would Jon be up now? Probably not. Fuck!
My head fell forward and hit the door with a thunk. Why won’t it open? Did they upgrade the locks or something?
And then the door swung open, and standing there was the father who hated me, the one who looked at me with disgust and ran away.
"You." I just stared at him. How can you be so sexy and so mean at the same time?
I bopped him with my fist halfheartedly.
And why is he in my apartment? Did Marmalade let him in?