It Takes Two

Prologue

It’s almost like seeing a ghost. He’s sure she isn’t real at first. A trick of the light, or his own cruel, maybe slightly obsessive imagination.

It’s her. It has to be. He would recognize her anywhere. Even now, after all these years.

He’s found himself standing outside a Smart Mart after purchasing a travel-sized can of shaving cream and a pack of razors, since he’d forgotten to bring his own and the ones at the hotel are less than satisfactory. He hadn’t forgotten about how she’d said she would be moving here the last time they’d talked. Almost three years ago now. But he never expected to actually see her.

That should have been the last time they saw each other. Several times before that should have been the last time they saw each other. Glen often used to think of how much easier life would be if they’d never seen each other in the first place.

If they had never met, he would be able to keep walking right now, back to the hotel, his mind on nothing else but all the sites he has to review by Monday. He would be able to be happy with his life, his career, himself.

Instead, he’s standing across the street from a playground in Wallowa County, Oregon on a Friday afternoon, looking at the only woman he’s ever loved watching her daughter as she plays on the swings.

Maybe it’s because this image hits him so fast and suddenly, but he feels that sensation in the pit of his stomach. The same one that he felt when she had told him she was pregnant. A feeling of protectiveness, responsibility, even though the child isn’t his.

She was his. Or at least she had been, once.

By the amount of time he spends just standing there, his heart racing with his breath caught in his throat, the poor townsfolk passing him by no doubt think he’s having some kind of stroke. Or, if they follow where he’s staring at, they might assume that he’s a serious creep.

So he forces his feet to move, even though every instinct, muscle, and thought in his body is urging him to just leave it alone. He knows she doesn’t want him. She doesn’t need him, especially now.

But he keeps walking.

He crosses the street, clutching the plastic bag filled with his shaving materials and a handful of snacks that had called to him in the drug store. His eyes stay on the head of messy, dark blonde hair belonging to the woman sitting on a park bench, watching her daughter now run around the play structure.

As he gets closer, walking fast enough to ignore the protests in the back of his head telling him to leave this poor girl alone already, he feels adrenaline begin to trickle through his veins as so many memories come flooding back, good and bad, making him want to drop to his knees, with the weight of it all.

I just need to speak to her. Just one more time. Let her know I’m still here.

He doesn’t even have enough time to worry about how sloppy he looks since he basically just rolled out of bed before coming down here, throwing on nothing but a pair of jeans and leaving on the dark blue T-shirt he’d slept in. He had run a comb through his thick, messy hair that never seemed to sit right, but not nearly enough to make himself look properly presentable. Because he couldn't have cared less, up until now.

She doesn’t even turn her head as he walks closer to the park bench, able to view her from the side now. Her hair hangs in loose wisps around her head that pull away from the small braid and bun hairdo she has it up in. She’s wearing a pair of dark-blue jeans and a simple long-sleeved magenta plaid shirt that ripples delicately in the light breeze.

He decides to stop before he gets too close to her, before she can notice him slowly approaching.

Clearing his throat, he feels a quick wave of nausea go over him as he waits for her to turn her head at his verbal gesture.

She still doesn’t move.

Jazmine, he speaks, his tone surprisingly steady, as if he were simply greeting her after not seeing her for maybe a week or so.

He can tell she recognizes his voice before she turns her head, the light, joyful expression she’d had instantly replaced by an expression that somehow captures the shock, awe, confusion, and happiness that he is feeling as well. But she eventually smiles.

Glen. Her voice is filled with warmth, to his relief.

He recalls that they did leave on rather good terms, but with the rocky history they have, he half expected her to pretend she didn't even recognize him.

She stands up, moving as if she were about to hug him, or kiss him, or shake his hand or something. Instead, she just stands there awkwardly.

You look… really nice, he says, meaning it in every sense. She looks happy. She looks healthy. That’s all he’s ever wanted for her.

Thank you. Her eyes attach to his, unable to look away, same as him. It’s been… I’m sorry. She half giggles, putting a hand to her mouth as she takes a moment to compose herself. ... it’s been so long…

I know.

She is turned fully toward him now as he is suddenly thrust back to a time when they’d see each other at least once every day. You seem good, he tells her, forcing a polite smile as his chest tremors in pain. You seem like you’re doing good.

I am. A look of eagerness runs through her eyes as she glances back over at where her daughter is now scooping sand up in her hands and letting it fall back down in cascades down a small sand hill she’d made. Things are… so much better.

I’m glad.

She glances back toward the bench, then at him. Do you want to sit down?

He follows her over to the park bench as her eyes settle back in on watching her child.

So everything turned out all right after all, he muses as he too watches the little girl play, noticing her dirty-blonde hair looks much like Jazmine’s had in the first few months he’d known her.

It did, she agrees. You were right.

Glen almost laughs, remembering their last conversation. Well, I wouldn’t have lied to you. I knew you’d be an amazing mom.

She tries to stifle a smile, that adorable face she always makes when someone compliments her. But it’s… different. A good different. More mature, maybe.

Do you like being a mom? he asks, feeling a lovely swell of contentment for her.

Oh, Glen. Her smile seems to leap off her face, and the phrase feels so familiar, it makes something in him startle. More than anything. I never knew so much love was even possible. She pauses, looking fearful that maybe she’s said too much, but he encourages her to go on, feeling overjoyed at how truly happy she finally seems. It’s so odd, that I finally found what I was put on this Earth to do by doing something I didn’t think I would ever want.

That’s good to hear, he tells her honestly, covering up the thickness that wants to seep into his voice. You… you have no idea how happy that makes me.

She gives a small grin, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

You deserve to be happy, Jazmine, he reminds her, feeling that awful pang of guilt now that will forever accompany his thoughts of her.

She says nothing, turning her head away to pretend to look at something, no doubt so he can’t see her expression.

His eyes drop down to her clasped hands, squinting slightly to look for a ring on her finger.

He doesn’t find one.

What are you doing here? she asks, turning back to face him suddenly, looking as if she’s surprised that she hadn’t thought to ask before now. Working?

Yeah.

Same company?

No. I’ve been moving around, handing out my resume to anyone who will take it. These people needed a team of location scouts for some commercial they want to film for a wine corporation. I’m going to start looking at sites tomorrow.

She raises her eyebrows.

Wow. That sounds amazing, Glen. Have you been traveling a lot then?

Not really. He shrugs. Sometimes I get jobs that are just around Southern California. This is the farthest I’ve been so far.

Do you still live in San Francisco? she questions, her attention now wandering over to where her daughter seems to be picking at some flowers in the grass just outside the sandbox.

Yeah. He sighs, a little less excited to admit that. Same building.

He glances over to grin at the smile she’s trying to hide.

Did you remember that I lived here? When you got this job?

Glen’s first instinct is to play dumb, as usual, and tell her he’d completely forgotten she’d mentioned to him that she was planning on moving here to raise her baby.

But of course, that would be a bold-faced lie.

Yes. I remembered you telling me about Oregon, but I didn’t know you lived in this area.

My mom found a really nice house for an amazing price, she says, swinging her arm out beside her to lean back against the bench. It’s quiet and there’s some schools nearby. The town’s pretty nice.

Did your mother move here too? He wishes he could retract the question as soon as it comes out, and then waits with bated breath for her answer, thinking at first that she might just not answer at all.

No, she’s still in Washington. She comes down all the time, though.

He doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t say anything more. So they sit in silence for a while.

The white light of the sun breaking through the afternoon clouds lights up the small park with an almost heavenly glow, glaring off Jazmine’s musty-blonde hair. Glen’s eyes begin tracing the different shaded patterns on her plaid shirt as she watches her daughter, running and giggling away.

What’s her name? he asks, breaking the peaceful silence.

Alina, she replies with a small smile on her lips.

Alina Elliott.

That’s beautiful, he tells her, repeating the name a couple times in his head. How did you come up with that?

She shrugs, shaking her head in amusement. I remembered hearing it in a movie somewhere, she tells him, sounding embarrassed. I thought it sounded pretty, like a ballerina or something. And I thought Alina Elliott sounded like a name an actress or singer would have, don’t you think?

Glen chuckles in agreement, trying to picture the little child prancing around in her pink sparkly tutu being a famous pop star one day.

I think the character in the movie was some kind of prostitute, though. But she doesn’t need to know that, I guess.

Now Glen can’t help but laugh out loud at her bluntness.

What? she questions, trying to sound innocent.

Christ, Jazz… I can honestly say I never thought you’d name your child after a prostitute in a movie. He can’t even get the bizarre sentence out without chuckling.

Her goofy grin appears on her face, making Glen’s smile broaden as she shoves his arm playfully.

I thought the name was pretty!

It grows silent again as their laughter quickly fades away and they go back to politely keeping their eyes on anything but each other.

It isn’t long before Alina comes prancing over to the bench, a handful of dandelions in her tiny fist.

Hi, baby. Jazmine smiles as the little girl takes a hesitant glance over at Glen, hugging herself around her mother’s legs.

She has the same eyes. The same bright blue shade that looks too flawless to be real.

This is Glen, Jazmine says, reaching down to unhook the girl’s arms from her legs and bring her up to sit on her lap. Can you say hi?

Glen can barely hear a whispered greeting before the little girl shies away from him, turning back to bury her head in Jazmine’s chest.

Ready for ice cream? Jazmine asks in an excited voice, making the little girl practically jump up and down in her lap. You’re welcome to join us. She looks back at Glen as Alina jumps back onto the ground, waving her dandelions around madly to make the puffs fly away.

Um… I don’t want to intrude…

No, you’re fine; it’s just down the street, she insists, standing up and grabbing Alina’s hand. To Glen’s shock, she also reaches down to take his hand as well. Please?

He’s frozen at her sudden touch, trying to remember the last time he had felt her skin against his.

His fingers slowly curl around hers as he stands up, his shopping bag dangling awkwardly from his other hand as he gazes down at Jazmine’s hopeful eyes.

Ice cream sounds pretty nice, actually.

Jazmine leads them to a small ice cream shop only a block away from the park. They cross dozens of different small-town shops that seem to sell everything from books and stationery, to tattoos and jewelry. But what seems to catch little Alina’s eye, is the wedding boutique showcasing a few very glittery white gowns in the front window.

Mama, can we go try on the pretty dresses again? Alina asks, pulling at her mother’s hand.

Glen looks over at Jazmine curiously as her face begins to turn pink.

No, not today love, she answers quickly, trying to move her along.

When I get my pretty dress, I want the pink one, Alina declares as they continue past the bridal shop. You looked pretty in the white one, mama.

Glen desperately wants to ask more about this, a sensation of inexplicable pride and fear twisting in his stomach, but he can tell Jazmine is one hundred percent more focused on getting them into the ice cream shop.

The little cafe they end up at looks like something out of a child’s deepest fantasy, an image of a 1950s parlor filled with bright pops of color coming from jars filled with neon candy and a selection of pastel-dyed ice cream, which Alina skips merrily toward as soon as the three of them walk past the glass doors.

Alina ends up picking a cotton candy flavor with brownie chunks, M&Ms, gummy bears, sprinkles, and whipped cream, while Jazmine chooses a small cup of mint-flavored ice cream with marshmallows. Glen decides to go boring with vanilla and whipped cream.

So how old is she now? he asks once they’ve sat down and have all begun picking at their cups of ice cream. He tries to keep his tone light, not knowing the voice you’re supposed to use when talking with a child.

Jazmine looks down at Alina, who is chewing on her spoon and looking between Glen and her mother with big eyes.

Do you want to tell Glen how old you are? she asks her, smiling gently.

The little girl swings her legs from the chair, staring down into her cup of now rainbow-colored ice cream.

Three, she speaks softly in a voice he can just barely make out from the buzz of the shop.

Wow. Glen feels like an idiot as he tries to not feel awkward talking to a little kid. So, you’re… you must be in preschool then?

She bobs her head up and down, her big blue eyes now staring up at him directly, making him feel even more on the spot.

Uh… that’s good, he speaks, trying to sound eager. Do you… do you like your school?

She nods again.

Tell him about what you just learned the other day, Jazmine encourages as a tiny smile begins to appear on Alina’s face.

We did the days of the week song, she explains, looking back down at her ice cream shyly. And we do the twelve months of the year song.

You know the names of all twelve months, don’t you? Jazmine asks her.

Yeah, Alina answers, her smile getting bigger.

Wow, that’s amazing, Glen replies, seeing the excitement in Jazmine’s eyes as well. Even though it seems like such a simple thing, he can almost feel the wonder of it all.

And tell him what you got to do today, Jazmine continues.

Alina now eagerly sits up in her chair, her eyes looking up at Glen, away from her ice cream.

Miss Debbie let me and Lucas feed Sammy.

Sammy is their class bunny, Jazmine explains. Every day the teacher assigns a few of the students special jobs, and that was Alina’s special job today.

We have to change her water and put the food pebbles in, Alina goes on eagerly.

That’s really cool. Glen grins at her as she smiles proudly before going back to her ice cream.

It’s quiet between the three of them as the ice cream is scooped up and slowly finished off.

Glen waits until he feels he’s given it enough time. So, you’re trying on wedding dresses, he says, making Jazmine freeze in her movements, her eyes going wide.

In truth, Glen’s amusement at the matter is desperately racing to cover up his strange, sickening worry.

I only tried on one, she admits, grinning down at the table as her face grows red. There was no one in the shop, and Alina wanted to go in so… I don’t know, I thought it’d be fun. She raises her eyes up toward him. And you know how I am.

Yes, I do, he agrees. He’s spent enough time watching wedding-themed reality television with Jazmine to know she is a certified wedding dress fanatic. Let me guess, Glen continues. Strapless, satin… A-line?

Actually, it was more of a mermaid, she tells him. But yes. Satin, strapless, with a bit of sparkle around the top… And it had this gorgeous ruching all over it, and a really flattering neckline…

She blushes as Glen gives her a teasing grin.

It was beautiful. I guess my tastes haven’t changed much.

Glen smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he feels a biting pain in his chest. Are you planning on marrying someone? he asks, trying to sound as if he were simply asking a casual question.

It’s quiet as she looks up at him, but he keeps his eyes looking outside the window at the passing cars and people.

No, she answers, the single word almost coming out in a choked manner. I don’t really… date anymore.

Of course. Why would she need anyone? She has her daughter now. Her own family.

Why would she need me now…

Me either, he replies. I guess… life kinda got started, and I never really thought to…

What, fall in love? Jazmine asks, her lips still turned up, but something in her eyes making her suddenly seem anything but happy. No, that hasn’t really been a priority lately for me either. It’s more practical to be alone, I suppose.

Glen expects her to sound relieved or at least refreshed or something. But she sounds suddenly sad. And he finds he doesn’t believe her at all.

How has that been? he questions.

Her eyes darken, even as she tries to keep her face neutral.

Lonely, she admits.

In a way, Glen is relieved he’s not the only one. He’s selfishly happy Jazmine wasn’t able to find love anywhere else after him, just as he hasn’t. Which probably makes him even more horrible.

She reaches over to mindlessly brush her hand through Alina’s delicate-looking hair. And Glen feels the swell in his heart, looking at the two of them, feeling Jazmine’s emptiness, but at the same time, desperately wanting what she has found.

Part 1

Chapter 1

After stepping out onto the sidewalk and paying the driver the cash in her wallet she’d put aside for this trip from the airport, Jazzy half expects the middle-aged taxi driver to get out, help her carry her things up, and make sure she gets safely settled into her new home.

But he doesn’t give a second glance before driving off, back into the cluster of vehicles that trundle down the busy streets, zooming through yellow lights and making hasty lane changes that make her want to squeeze her eyes shut. He couldn’t care less if this young, terrified-looking woman gets where she’s going or not. She finds herself unable to really blame him. Even at twenty years old, she feels like she can hardly take a moment to make friendly conversation anywhere she goes, let alone spend time helping someone get moved into their new apartment.

So, after only a few moments of looking entirely lost standing on the edge of the sidewalk surrounded by her mountains of luggage, she somehow gathers up her two large tan-colored suitcases, her heavy pink purse, and her third smaller suitcase with an attached luggage bag all in her two extremely cold and almost numb hands, and makes her way over toward the towering building of Redway Apartments.

The heated lobby is a gracious relief from the late-evening chill outside, and Jazzy nearly stumbles over herself dragging her small army of suitcases along with her as she fights against the lugging weight to get further inside. The spacious area is lit with warm gold-colored lights situated along the walls, painting the white tiled floor with a comfortable illumination that makes the place feel much less sterile than she remembers it looking in the daytime when she had visited earlier in the summer. There is a small sitting area in the corner complete with an electric fireplace, where a middle-aged man is lounging comfortably with his leg kicked up and crossed over his knee while he taps something into his phone. There are a few other people milling about, getting their mail, and heading toward the elevator or the stairs. It’s a relief to see there are some others here that seem to be around her age.

Jazzy walks slowly up to the long front desk that stands washed in the soft yellow lights that glint off the marble-patterned wall in the back of the room just beside the elevators. She takes a quick deep breath before working a polite smile onto her face.

Hello, she greets the silver-haired man sitting at the desk, who looks like he’s about had enough of the week as he looks up at her from the screen of the computer before him. She suddenly feels guilty for deciding to move into the apartment on a Friday night. Um… so, I’m supposed to be in 548…

Unsure of how to really phrase the question of whether she can get the key to her apartment or not, the sentence trails off.

The man just stares back at her with blank eyes circled by heavy bags for a long silent moment, making her blood go cold. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe her payment didn’t go through. Maybe she sent it to the wrong building. Maybe she’s at the wrong building, or maybe—

I’ll need to see your paperwork and ID, the man tells her in a clipped tone, presumably after he’s figured out what she’s trying to ask.

Oh… Right, sorry, let me just…

The situation only grows more awkward when she has to swing her purse around and fish through it to get the lease out, which of course seems to be buried way at the bottom. The man continues to stand as still as he has been, the feeling of him watching her struggle making her face heat. And she continues to dig through her purse for a good minute before remembering where she thought she so cleverly tucked the lease away neatly in one of the inside pockets.

The clerk behind the desk takes the paperwork from her and looks it over while Jazzy nervously tugs a strand of her wispy hair out of her face and behind her ear.

I talked with the manager a few days ago, over the phone, she continues, wondering if that would help. I… I think she said everything looked all right and the down payment went through—

Yes, I can see that here, the man informs her, clearly irritated at her worrying as he tiredly rubs at the light dusting of stubble on his chin.

Please just stop talking, Jazzy begs herself.

Just as she’s giving her anxiously quivering lip a good chomp, the man takes a short sigh, thrusting the papers she’d signed just last night into a file drawer in the desk, before standing to get something from a box on the table behind him.

Turning back to face her, he leans over the desk to hand her the tiny object he had retrieved.

You’ll have to talk to the manager if you need any replicas made, he instructs as he drops the tiny silver key into her hand, sounding as if he is already anticipating the trouble.

Jazmine Elliot is scribbled on the small white label attached to the singular key, in what looks to be very rushed handwriting.

Oh… I think I’ll be fine.

He doesn’t say anything and goes back to working on whatever it was he had been doing on the computer before she’d walked up. She is more than happy to leave him to it.

Since her apartment is on the fifth floor, she decides it’s a better bet to take the elevator than the stairs, even though there is a very good chance she’ll have to stand awkwardly in the confined space with other people, who will no doubt be either amused or annoyed at her assortment of large luggage that will be taking up at least half the space. Still, it’s better than attempting to drag her plethora of suitcases up several flights of stairs.

Of course, after she’s situated herself into a blissfully empty elevator, one person manages to hop in just before the doors can close, making her face heat up as the man nearly trips over one of her bags immediately before reaching over to press the button for the sixth floor.

The only thing she notices about him is that he’s wearing dark sunglasses, but other than that, she’s careful to keep her gaze on the gold-tiled walls of the elevator as the deathly silent ascent begins. She refuses to even glance in the stranger’s direction, but she’s praying he’s not noticing how red she’s turning as the sounds of her suitcases slightly rumbling against the floor of the elevator fill the empty air between them.

Jazzy already has her thankfully un-numbed hands gripping the handles of her bags the moment the elevator stops at the fifth floor, ready to try and make a graceful and rapid exit. Alas, having three suitcases stuffed with everything she plans on living with for the next three or so years weighs her escape down immensely, and she ends up silently grinding her teeth in effort as she tries lugging the monstrous things out into the hallway.

The poor man she’s humiliating herself in front of makes an awkward move with his arms, as if going to help her, but her jarring movements no doubt cause him to take a step back.

After finding herself safely in the carpeted hallway, she turns back toward the elevator, not knowing whether she should thank the man for trying to help her or apologize for being such a mess.

But the doors close before she can even open her mouth.

She shakes her head, turning back toward the hallway and glancing for the small signs instructing which apartments are where.

When her back starts aching at room 525, she knows she made the right decision in not taking the stairs, or else she might have collapsed before even making it to the third floor.

Hey, do you need some help?

Jazzy stops in her ragged tracks, startled by the loud voice that had called out through the previously silent hallway. Slowly turning back to where she had come down to find where the voice had called from, she sees a door she had passed a few seconds ago that is now open. A woman with extremely long limbs that poke out of a pair of pajama shorts and a white tank top is leaning against the door frame, a look of concern and curiosity on her face. Her soft and maybe initially blonde hair is dyed very striking hues of purple, blue, and turquoise, laying around her shoulders, but pulled away from her face in a half ponytail that shows off sparkling hazel eyes and lips painted with black lipstick.

Um… I was just… I’m okay, Jazzy calls back to her.

The woman reaches over to grab the door handle, closing the door to her apartment as she walks down the hall toward Jazzy in her bare feet.

Did you just move in? she asks, crossing her arms over her chest as she approaches. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Liza.

As she gets closer, Jazzy can tell the woman might be a few years older than her, mid-twenties perhaps.

Yes, I’m just moving in today. I’m Jazzy.

Liza’s eyebrows perk up as she looks over the new tenant.

Jazzy, she repeats, cocking her head slightly, a smirk on her black-painted lips. I like that. Anyway, do you need any help getting your things together? It’s a bitch trying to do it all by yourself, trust me.

She reaches down to grab one of the suitcase handles before Jazzy can protest.

"My family lives in Ohio and they did not want to come all the way down here just to help move boxes and bags, Liza continues, walking right past her and down the hall. What room?"

Uh, 548, Jazzy answers, quickly following behind the woman with the other suitcase.

How old are you? You look way too young to be moving into an apartment by yourself.

I just turned twenty last week, Jazzy answers as Liza bounds her way toward the room as if she’s done it a million times while dragging a hundred-pound suitcase behind her.

Damn. Liza stops at the door to 548, the last room before the hallway turns off into a different section. A whole apartment as a birthday present. You’ve got some generous parents. Key.

Jazzy stares at Liza’s outstretched hand for a moment before handing her the silver key she’d just received.

My parents shoved my ass out as soon as I turned eighteen, the woman continues, pushing the key in to unlock the door, swinging it open and strolling in as if it were her own place. I had to work three jobs just to afford my rent, couldn’t even go to a real school, I had to take online classes…

Jazzy stops at the doorway, just barely stepping onto the gray hardwood floor after Liza has flicked on the light switch to illuminate the room that will now serve as her home for the next part of her life.

The light switch ignites one light on the ceiling above the narrow hallway Jazzy is standing in now, as well as a group of lights on the ceiling above the kitchen directly ahead of her. The short hallway goes from the front door into the kitchen, where the room then opens up, natural light from the sunset outside coming in from the large window to light the living room and kitchen. It’s an adequate amount of space, made even more open by the large glass window that makes up a large portion of the wall, going all the way to the floor.

Yeah, this one’s one of the nicer ones, Liza comments, one hand on her hip as she briefly glances over the room. Lotta room compared to some of the others. Anyway, cool if I put this here?

She pulls the suitcase toward the wall, in the space between the TV and the edge of the counter, where the kitchen transforms into the living room. She blinks, looking at Jazzy for permission.

Sure, Jazzy says, still trying to wrap her head around her new living space.

Need help unpacking? I know decorating can be a pain in the ass; honestly, I didn’t unpack anything for almost two weeks. Too many new places to put stuff, you know?

Oh, um… no, thank you, I think I can take care of everything, Jazzy answers, putting on a grateful smile for the woman. Thank you so much for helping me.

No problem. She shrugs. We’re neighbors, right?

Jazzy nods.

Cool. Liza smiles, strutting back down the hall, dropping the key in Jazzy’s hand as she heads toward the door. Well, let me know if you need anything. As in, any information about people in the building, or how shitty the manager is when it comes to fixing all your crap and asking for an extension on your rent.

Jazzy lets out a short, awkward laugh.

She’s the worst, trust me, Liza assures her, turning halfway to face her as she hangs at the open door. Anyway, no need to worry about it yet. Have fun getting yourself moved in.

Thank you, Jazzy replies, so quietly, she’s sure the woman didn’t even hear her as she turns and walks back out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. The place is instantly filled with a large silence once absent of Liza’s rapid-paced speaking.

Dropping her purse to the floor and leaving her second and third suitcases in the middle of the room, the first thing Jazzy does is walk over to the front door and turn the lock, then the latch at the top. Living alone in the city, she at least knows to do that much.

She then turns to the remaining space in the room that leads into the small bedroom, which is situated with a queen-sized bed against the left wall. The floor is carpeted here, and there’s a big window right next to the bed, offering a lovely view of the very busy streets and maze of different-sized buildings that look like a pattern of jagged spikes from here, and with no curtains to hide behind. She supposes she’ll have to buy some, eventually.

After she gets all of her bedding arranged onto the mattress, her next step really should be moving to unpack all of her things that are currently cramped up into three suitcases and a luggage bag, but she decides to sit on the edge of her comfy new bed, a thrill of excitement going through her that is very welcomed.

She knows the feeling won’t last, but at least for the few minutes she has it, she lets a huge smile spread over her face, her hands running against the warm comforter of her bed, amazed that she’s actually sitting in her apartment. Hers. That she is paying about thirty percent of.

Feeling her blissful excitement begin melting away after a few more minutes of sitting in silence marveling at her bedroom, she reaches into the pocket of her shorts, pulling out her phone and clicking on the first contact that comes up.

It rings seven times before the other line is picked up.

Jazmine?

Hi, Jazzy answers, comforted by her mom’s familiar voice. I’m sorry I forgot to text you, but… well, I’m here, I’m… I’m sitting in my new apartment.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, which means she probably just caught her mother in the middle of working.

Well, that’s great honey, her mom answers, sounding confused. So… did you need something, or… is everything all right?

Yeah, everything’s great. I just wanted to let you know I made it okay.

It’s silent again before her mom answers.

Okay… well, good. Did you forget anything?

Um… no, I don’t think so. Well, honestly, I haven’t really looked yet. I’ve just… I don’t know, it’s crazy to try and think about where I’m going to put all my stuff, you know?

Uh-huh, her mom answers airily. I’m sure you can figure it out, honey.

Yeah. Jazzy laughs. It’s just… it’s almost a little scary, thinking that I’m gonna be an adult.

She hears some shuffling around on the other end and guesses that her mom must be switching between her two desks.

Well, I just transferred the two hundred dollars into your account for this week, her mom informs her. That should take care of groceries and anything else you need. Did you… need something else?

No, no, Jazzy quickly answers. No, thank you so much, mom. Really. No, I’m just… I’m just a little nervous, that’s all. It’s probably nothing, just moving jitters. Oh, but I just met someone, a woman who lives a few doors down from me—

Oh, honey, I really have to get back to work, her mom cuts in, her voice beginning to rise with that hint of anxiety she gets.

Jazzy takes a breath, shaking her head slightly. Oh, right. She forces a laugh. Friday…

Yeah, it’s a crazy one. I’ll talk to you later. Just let me know if you need something.

Okay, no problem. Love you.

Mm hm, good luck with your school.

She doesn’t say anything else until she hears her mother hang up the phone.

The silence is eerie now, any excitement in the air feeling drained away as that chest-numbing heaviness sets in.

Stop it… you are not going to cry, not today… don’t lay down… keep busy… keep moving…

She stands up, swallowing around the lump in her throat as she walks back out into the kitchen/living room where her things were left on the floor.

Beginning with her luggage bag, she unpacks all of her bathroom supplies, her shampoo, toothbrush, etc., leaving her laptop where it is for now.

It takes around forty-five minutes to unpack all