Chapter 3
LOREN
MOM
That’s not true
One expensive sushi dinner followed by a night in a cheap motel later, my life is looking a little bit brighter. Not only is my car fixed, but also after Josh left last night, I found a place to call home.
Turns out, I can’t afford to live anywhere near Nashville. The closest I can get to the city is a suburb called Mt. Juliette. Sounds pretty, right? It is. There’s a lake and a ton of craftsman-style homes lining every street.
Did I find one to rent?
Not even close.
What I did find was a studio apartment that may or may not have been a closet at one point. If I spread my arms wide, I can almost touch the opposite walls at the same time.
But hey, at least there’s a balcony and a random door that’s locked and painted shut. Not creepy at all.
The real bonus is I don’t have to worry about a burglar hiding in here—something my mom has warned me about multiple times since I left.
There’s nowhere for him to hide.
My kitchen consists of three lower and three upper cabinets, a two-burner stove, and a mini fridge like you’d find in a motel.
Another upside? The place comes “fully furnished.” Meaning there’s a single bed complete with suspicious brown stains and a table with two mismatched chairs shoved into the corner.
There’s no couch, which works because there’s no living room.
However, there is a fat TV sitting on top of a chest of drawers that reminds me of the one at my grandma’s house. Is this one black and white too?
The bathroom isn’t much better. At first, I thought the grout between the puke-green subway tiles was black. Then I realized it was mold. There’s more in the corners and around the exhaust fan that sounds like a revving chainsaw.
Other than that, the place is great. Nothing a little bleach can’t fix.
Or a lot of bleach.
Add that to the list of things I need from the store.
The best part is, it’s only four hundred a month, and I budgeted five hundred for living expenses.
Unfortunately, I forgot to include the security deposit in there, so I’m down an additional four hundred, plus the two hundred from last night’s hotel, a hundred and fifty for gas, and the thousand it took to fix my car.
But my car is back in action, utilities are included, and tomorrow, I’m going to find a job.
It’s all a little bit backwards but everything is going to work out. If push comes to shove, I can always waitress to earn a bit of cash while waiting for something more permanent.
What matters is, I’ve done it. All. By. Myself.
Which is why I pick up my phone and dial my mom’s number.
She answers on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve come to your senses and are on the way home.”
And she wonders why I wanted to leave. Who answers the phone like that? “Even better. I found a place to rent!”
Silence.
“You still there, Mom?”
“Yes, but I’m trying to find someone to remove this knife you stabbed into my heart.”
I never considered Susan Piper to be a dramatic woman; it would appear I was wrong. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?” I don’t add “for once” but I think it. Boy, do I think it.
“Would you prefer I lie to you?”
Kinda. Yeah.
Unfortunately, Mom prides herself on her honesty. Who doesn’t want to hear that their prom gown makes them look like a twenty-dollar hooker? Or that the serving size for ice cream isn’t four scoops?
Why did I call her again?
Oh, yeah. Because I was proud of myself, and I wanted her to be proud of me too.
Looks like that was too much to ask.
“Hey. I have to go. Love you. Tell Dad I say hi.”
Aaaand END.
My phone immediately buzzes with a message, and I take great delight in tossing it onto the counter unread. I’m about to sink onto the edge of the bed when I spot that disgusting stain.
How much do mattresses cost?
There’s only one way to find out.
I collect my phone and purse, then venture from the dim confines of my apartment into the bright day.
Before I can lock my door, I’m nearly bowled over by a dark-haired man and a blonde woman, tangled in each other’s arms. It’s impossible to get a good look at their faces with the way they’re fused together.
Probably not the best time to introduce myself as their new neighbor.
Once they move past, I jog down the five flights of stairs to my car.
The moment my butt meets leather, my phone rings. Josh’s smile flashes on the screen and those tummy flutters start flapping around all over again. “Guess what? That place I found last night is perfect.” If mint-green walls are your thing. “I can send you my location if you want.”
“That’s great, babe. I can’t wait to see it. Listen, I hate to do this, but I’m still in the office, and it looks like I’m going to be here for quite a while. Can we go to the movies tomorrow instead?”
But…I was hoping to see him tonight.
Come on, Loren. The man has a life and a job. He can’t throw everything aside because you decided to move on a whim.
“That’s no problem.” On the bright side, now I can unpack and get settled in.
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
Happily-ever-after, here I come.
Mattresses come in boxes now. Who knew?
Not me.
Pretty convenient considering there wasn’t enough room in my car for an unpacked mattress, and I would’ve had to wait two days for the delivery folks to drop it off.
Now all I need to do is haul this sucker up to my apartment along with the rest of my purchases and I will officially be moved in.
Just because the mattress-in-a-box is compact doesn’t mean it’s lighter than any other mattress. By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I’m a ball of sweat and my arms feel like they’re about to fall off.
Which doesn’t bode well for carrying the disgusting old mattress currently hanging out in the concrete stairwell back down to its new home in the dumpster across the parking lot.
Come on, Loren. You’ve got this.
If all else fails, I can always slide the thing.
The problem with that plan is that the floor isn’t smooth but scratchy, like Velcro, and the mattress doesn’t want to slide anywhere. The stubborn thing doesn’t want to bend either, which is something I learn the hard way at the first ninety-degree turn.
Dammit. This was supposed to be the easy part. Gravity is on my side; however, the mattress is not.
It’s just me and the sweat dribbling down my back versus the world’s heaviest and grossest single mattress.
And I’m losing. Big time.
The damn thing has to fit; someone brought it up the stairs, after all.
Unless the architects designed the entire building around my bed, which, I’m starting to wonder…
“Hey.”
I whip toward the sound, finding the guy from next door standing in his doorway, a white lollipop stick poking from between his smirking lips.
Now that his face isn’t fused with someone else’s, I can safely confirm that he’s hot. Not that I’m interested since I’m dating the potential love of my life, but I can label him as objectively attractive.
First, we have the dark brown hair that looks freshly washed. The ends curl slightly, which isn’t surprising considering the amount of humidity in the air right now.
Then we have the black T-shirt that fits way too well. The word “tailored” comes to mind.
I’ve always wanted a tailor, especially for pants. When you’re as tall as I am, all the legs are a little too short. Going up the sizes increases the length, but then they don’t fit in the hips/butt region.
I could go on but there’s no point when there’s a mattress to wrestle.
My neighbor glances from the mattress to me and says, “Nice shoes.”
I don’t even remember which shoes I’m wearing. Oh yeah, the black ones I bought during my emo phase. I shove my hair back from my sticky forehead.
Now isn’t the ideal time to discuss footwear, but my mom taught me to be polite when receiving compliments. “Thanks.” They’re not the cutest pair I own, but they are the most comfortable.
“My grandma has the same ones.”
Very funny. Lucky for him, I have a fantastic sense of humor. “Sounds like your grandmother has great taste.”
The lollipop clicks against his teeth when he chuckles, which of course prompts me to say, “Nice lollipop.”
“Thanks, I got it at the bank.”
Yeah. Okay.
“What’s that snort about?” he asks, tilting his head and making his hair fall across his forehead.
Is he saying they mistook him for a child? I’m not buying it. “And you got one how? Based on maturity?”
“Wow. You talk a lot of shit for a woman who looks like she needs help.”
“You’re the one who came out swinging and dissing my shoes.”
Mr. Lollipop rests his shoulder against his door. “I’d hardly call ‘nice shoes’ a diss.”
“And the grandma part?”
“The truth. Now, do you want help or not?”
I’d love to say no but we both know I’m not getting this mattress down these stairs on my own.
Maybe I could launch it over the railing and let it fall.
Except then it might bounce and hit one of those cars parked in front of the building.
I don’t have the spare money to handle being sued right now.
“That would be great. Thanks.” Beats listening to him tell me his great aunt owns the same jean shorts or that his mother has the same ratty Southern High School T-shirt.
He closes his door and comes over to where I’m wrestling to free the far end of the mattress from where it’s stuck to the corner of the railing. “I’ve heard a mix of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap is great at getting out piss stains.”
Not sure why he felt the need to spout that random fact at me. Wait! “Is that something you suffer from? That’s why they gave you a child’s lollipop, isn’t it?”
He gestures toward the brownish-yellow splotches coating the entire back side of the mattress. “This is your bed, sweetheart. Not mine.”
Okay, I’m an idiot. “I’ll keep that in mind. Unfortunately, I’ve a policy against sleeping in someone else’s urine.” Not sure why I said “unfortunately” but there’s no taking it back now.
He lifts the back side of the mattress, forcing me to catch the front or be shoved down the stairs. “But sleeping in your own is fair game?”
Walked straight into that one, didn’t I? “Obviously.”
Carefully, I descend the stairs. Walking backwards carrying a heavy mattress wouldn’t be so bad if my fingers weren’t starting to cramp. Why don’t they put handles on the ends of mattresses?
My new neighbor doesn’t seem to be the least bit winded by the time we reach the second floor. I, on the other hand, sound like I ran a marathon and look like I bathed in a puddle. “Can we stop for a minute?” Otherwise, I may end up passing out.
He eases the mattress against the railing once more while I stretch my back and try to quietly catch my breath.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what do you plan on doing with this thing when we get to the bottom?”
Sweat burns my eyes, forcing me to use the hem of my shirt as a towel. “Why? Do you want to keep it? You’re more than welcome. No judgement here.”
“Funny.”
I thought so.
“You know you’re not allowed to put it in the dumpster, right?”
Crap. I didn’t know that. “Yeah, I know.” I lift the mattress and wait for him to do the same with his end.
I’ll just… Um… Tie it to the roof of my car? Wait. I can’t do that because I don’t have any rope. Haul it back to my apartment? Leave it on the balcony?
My neighbor sighs. “I have a truck. I can take it to the dump for you.”
“Really? Thank you.
I help him load the mattress into the bed of his truck and it isn’t until he drives away that I realize that I never asked for his name.