Part 4 (1/2)

The cab driver is sweet enough to help me with my suitcases. We walk them up the stairs to my apartment on the first floor, I pay him, and then I knock on apartment 309. Not a second pa.s.ses before it opens with a jarring bang as the security chain stops it from extending all the way. I jump and hold a hand up to my heaving chest. She scared the c.r.a.p out of me.

A wrinkly face appears in the gap, covered by thick c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses. I force a smile. ”h.e.l.lo. I'm Helena Kovac. My sister Natalie told me she left a key with you for me.”

The tiny woman's face wrinkles in confusion. She yells, ”What?”

I blink.

Are you f.u.c.king kidding me, Nat?

I clear my throat and speak louder. ”My sister Natalie says you have a key for me.” But the lady just blinks. I dip my chin to stop myself from laughing. After I get myself under control, I lift my face and smile. I point to my own ear and say, ”Can you hear me?”

But the woman just frowns at me. ”You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be.”

I nod sympathetically and near-shout, ”My sister Natalie says you have a key for me. I'm Helena.”

The woman scowls. ”No need to holler, young lady. I hear just fine, thank you very much.”

What the f.u.c.ktruck?

She heads inside and locks the door. I wait patiently, but nothing happens.

She's abandoned me.

I knock again. The door opens and the little old lady looks up at me through her gla.s.ses expectantly. I'm not sure what's happening here, so I go on and just stare back. When she attempts to close the door in my face, I quickly say, ”I need the key Natalie left you to get into my new apartment.”

The woman blinks. ”You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be.”

Oh, for the love of cake.

I dip my chin and my body shakes in silent laughter. New York, I like you already. I lift my face and ask slowly, clearly, and loudly, ”Do you know Natalie in 306?” I point at Nat's apartment door to help her along.

The woman looks over at Nat's apartment, then back up at me. ”She's not home. She works.”

I explain again, ”I'm her sister. I just came from California.” I point to my suitcases next to me. ”I need the key to my apartment.” I point to my new apartment before making a key-unlocking-a-door motion.

The little old lady's face beams in recognition. She smiles. ”You're the sister!”

I beam right back at her. ”I'm the sister!”

She laughs. ”You need the key.”

I chuckle and confirm, ”Yes! I need the key! The key, please.”

She nods and steps back into her apartment. ”Just a second, sweetie.”

She closes the door and I sigh in relief. I wait. And wait. And wait some more.

Nothing.

I knock once more. Maybe she needs help finding the key. The door opens, and the little old lady looks up at me through her gla.s.ses like she's seeing me for the first time.

Part of me wants to laugh, but another part of me wants to knock her over the head with something so I can find the d.a.m.n key myself. I smile sweetly. ”Do you have the key yet? I really need to get inside.”

The woman blinks. ”You'll have to speak up. My hearin' isn't what it used to be.”

I run a hand down my face.

Oy vey.

It takes me a whole forty-five minutes to get Mrs. Crandle to give me the fracking key. Turns out she's not only hard of hearing and forgetful, but she has a thousand cats, all of which she wanted to introduce me to. By name.

She made me promise to come drink tea with her sometime, and I promised I would.

As I put the key into the lock and open the door, I laugh in relief. Relief that this is actually the key and I won't have to word battle Mrs. Crandle again. I open the door and shuffle my suitcases inside. Pulling the door closed, I look around. My boxes are stacked nice and neatly by the right-hand wall.

A sudden thought comes to mind. You could pack your entire life into eight boxes?

That's kind of sad. They aren't even extra-large or large boxes; they're medium sized boxes, full of c.r.a.p. Yes, c.r.a.p, but all of that c.r.a.p, I love. Pus.h.i.+ng the thought aside, I pull my phone out of my purse and text Nat.

Me: I'm at the apartment. Don't be p.i.s.sy. I didn't want to bother you. The place looks amazing!

Approximately thirty seconds later, my phone pings.

Nat: YOU DIRTY TOERAG! I KNEW YOU WERE LYING. YOU ALWAYS LIE! WHY DO YOU LIE?

I snicker.

Me: Whatevs, bro. I'll see you after work.

Nat: I'm going to tear you a new a.s.shole. But I'll bring cupcakes.

My eyes widen at the last part. I salivate. I freaking love cupcakes.

Me: Oh Em Gee! Pls pls pls get the salted caramel ones. And the choc fudge brownie. And maybe vanilla creme. You know what? I don't even care which ones, because CUPCAKES!

Nat: Now you get none.

Me: You're a rugmuncher.

Nat: And you have a hairy a.s.shole.

I burst into laughter. My sister is so vulgar. I love it.

Me: Love you x Nat: LY2. Can't wait to see you. Even though you're a lying sack of s.h.i.+t x Ahh, feel the love?

I take my suitcases and roll them over to the bedroom. And I stop dead in my tracks. I blink, then back away into the hall. Shaking my head, I tiptoe over to my bedroom.

There's a man on the bed. A man spread-eagle, face-down, right on my bed.