Nineteen
Elle
“Oh my God!” I yell, rushing into the apartment. “There’s water everywhere!”
I stand in the middle of my studio in horror.
At least three inches of water lines the entire floor of the space.
I feel my heart sink to my gut when I see the murky brown water touching the bottom of my bedspread, and gasp when I realize the water has reached the cushion on my favorite green chair.
“I’ll get the Shop Vac, grab anything you want to save,” Mikey, the landlord, says behind me. I don’t wait for confirmation on that plan before I race into the room, my socks and shoes already saturated inside my breathable sneakers. I squish with every step. The water is up to my ankles.
“Elle?” I hear a frantic voice behind me. I turn and find Oliver in my doorway, a towel in his hand. “Are you okay?” He’s breathless and panicked.
“No, I’m not okay! Look at my apartment!” I shriek.
Oliver throws his arm on the doorframe and plops his head against it, like he’s exhausted. “Elle, I thought you were being murdered down here,” he says, and I can practically see the adrenaline leaving his body in waves as he leans against the wall.
“And what were you going to do? Strangle my murderer with a towel?” I say, gesturing to his hand.
“I wouldn’t need the towel,” he says matter-of-factly. The deep tenor and seriousness of his voice travels right through me.
I shake my head and go back to my task, lifting everything I can on to a higher surface.
My rug is destroyed, my comforter and bed skirt are as well, but luckily the clothes in my closet are at least a foot off the ground.
As I gather my books off of the shelves by my TV, Oliver finally enters the room, surveying the damage.
“Has this happened before?” he asks, inspecting the window where it meets the ceiling.
“Yeah, that’s why I was super prepared for it and didn’t leave anything on the floor!” I snap, harsher than I mean.
“Sorry, what can I do?” he asks, stumbling through the water.
He doesn’t seem concerned at all that he’s up to his shins in muck, something that would usually throw him into a tailspin.
He’s too focused on getting to me, helping me, that his germaphobia took the back burner for a second.
At least, I hope so. I hope he’s not internally panicking just for my benefit.
“Save my green chair,” I whimper. “I love that chair.” Oliver gives it the once over. It’s pretty low to the ground—it stands on wood pedestal feet with fabric lining the bottom. Oliver lifts it up and places it on the kitchen counter, upside down.
Oliver, Mikey, and I don’t spend long in the apartment.
There isn’t much we can do. Mikey clears out the water and temporarily fixes the leak, but he said he’ll need a few days to fully clean out the damage.
I was able to save most of my books, including my yoga sutras and my collection of books I’ve edited, but my television equipment is questionable.
As is my DIY wooden nightstand and any toiletries and paper products I was storing on the floor in the closet.
Oliver saved my green chair. The bottom was just barely touched by the water, and he assures me I’ll be able to find someone in the city to restore the wooden legs.
By the time most of the water has been excavated, it’s almost 9 p.m., and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is cry, but I refuse to do that in front of Oliver, who’s hovering outside the door to my very soggy apartment.
“Why don’t you grab some stuff and meet me upstairs?” Oliver finally says, the towel he originally came down here with slung over his shoulder. I lean against the wall and stare at him in confusion.
“For what?”
“So you can stay at my place tonight,” he says, like that is not a totally absurd suggestion.
“Don’t joke with me right now,” I say, defeated.
“It’s not a joke. You can’t sleep in here.
You know the amount of mold that is currently growing on your baseboards?
Not to mention the—other grossness that is here already,” he says, cringing.
I’m honestly not sure if he’s telling me I can’t sleep here because of my safety or because it simply grosses him out too much.
The germs finally caught up to him now that the water is gone and he can see all the dirt lining my floors.
I look around my apartment. There is a layer of black muck on every inch of the floor. Even though Mikey got the water out, the remnants of the city sidewalk are strewn everywhere. Leaves, cigarette butts, and just gunk. Black gunk. On my floors.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Oliver says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I’m not actively crying, but I must look like I’m on the verge of tears.
I slump against the wall even more. “This will get cleaned up and everything will be fine, right Mikey?” he calls out into the hallway, where Mikey is still fiddling with his tools.
“Give me a few days to answer that,” Mikey says back.
“A few days?” I snap, my mouth agape.
“I have to check the appliances, check for mold, make sure the floors will survive—”
“Stop, I can’t hear anymore,” I say, holding my hand up. I let my head fall into my hands and fold over against the wall. I feel Oliver wrap his arms around me and pull me into his chest. I’m so caught off guard, I let him do it. And then I melt into him.
We’re both still in our wet clothes from our respective outings in the rain.
Our skin is sticky, but Oliver smells like oregano and minty cologne and him.
I let him hold me, because it’s been so long since anyone has, and I don’t care how much I enjoy it.
I don’t remember the reasons why I shouldn’t be getting so close to him, and I just let myself be.
“It’s just some walls and floors,” he says, rubbing his hands on my back. “Those things can be fixed.”
“But they’re mine,” I say, pulling away from him to look at the destruction again. “Mine,” I whisper. Oliver nods.
I only take a few minutes to gather some clothes for work, my toiletries, and my electronics.
Oliver says I should come back for some more clothes tomorrow, so they don’t get musty.
I ignore him, pretending like I’m not going to stay at his place for more than one night. Because this is not happening.
“I’m sleeping on the couch. I don’t want to hear anything else out of your mouth about it,” I say sternly when I wobble into his apartment with my bags.
I look like a college student on move-in day.
I only have one small overnight suitcase, so I stuffed everything else into my reusable grocery bags.
I throw them all on the couch and see Oliver open his mouth to speak.
“No! I don’t want to hear a peep!” I say, pointing at him. His eyes widen and he raises his hands, like he’s really not sure what he’s done wrong. But I’m not in the mood to explain.
“Okay, I’m going to take a shower then,” he says, backing away from me slowly.
He pulls his shirt off as he walks towards the bathroom and I’m sure my mouth drops.
I can only see the back of him, but Good Lord, it’s a nice back.
His shoulders are defined by taut muscles, two of which line his spine and travel downwards.
I have to shake myself to stop staring, and I’m grateful that Oliver didn’t catch me openly ogling him.
I plop down on the couch and Thor hops up beside me, putting his two front paws on my lap, so half of his body is curled on top of me.
I don’t see how that’s comfortable, but I let him do it.
He must be able to tell I need comforting right now. I pull out my phone and text Lucy.
Elle
BURT
BURT!!
BURT!!!!
Lucy
Are you okay? This is Lucy. An almost asleep Lucy, I might add
Lucy
Since when do you know someone named Burt? Like and Ernie?
Lucy
OH! Our code word for danger!
Elle
I’m disappointed in how long it took you to get there
Lucy
My apologies to Joey and Chandler
Lucy
Wait… what kind of danger?
Lucy
Have you been kidnapped?? BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP!
Elle
We’re texting, how would I blink??
Lucy
That sounds like a kidnapper talking. Quick, tell me something only Elle would know
Elle
Your code word for danger is Burt
Lucy
Damn, you’re a smart kidnapper
Elle
LUCY! We do not have time for this! I am in a crisis
My apartment flooded…
Lucy
Oh no! Hold on, I’ll call you
Elle
No I can’t talk
I’m in Oliver’s apartment
Lucy
YAAAASSS
Elle
THIS IS NOT A TIME FOR CELEbrATION!
I cannot sleep in the same room as this man. HE IS NOT WEARING A SHIRT
Lucy
Take a picture please
Elle
I cannot be here, but he insisted
There is ONLY ONE BED
Elle
My life is in shambles
Lucy
This stuff doesn’t happen in real life
Elle
Says the girl living a small-town romance!
Lucy
But what are the chances your apartment floods and you just HAPPEN to have a beautiful man upstairs who offers you his couch?
Elle
I’M AWARE OF THE ODDS LUCILLE!
Lucy
Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to sleep on his couch, hear him snore, get up, and go to work in the morning. It’s not like you have feelings for him, so it’s just physical attraction. He’s a nice-looking man in close proximity. You can handle that. Right?
Lucy
Right?
I plop the phone on my lap and turn to Thor. He’s laying upside down, with his head in my lap. He looks up at me, an ear flopping to one side, and I chuckle softly, rubbing his belly.
I look over to the bathroom door and watch the steam sneak out from under it. My brain wanders, picturing what’s on the other side of that door, wrapped in all that steam. I shake my head vigorously.
Elle
Right.
Oliver exits the bathroom and thank God he is not wearing a towel, because I might have just cackled at the irony of that. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with a faded Led Zeppelin graphic and basketball shorts.