Page 21 of Vera Stein Is Fine
Morgan shrugged, and I expected her to respond with something snarky, but all she said was “Brains are funny things.” She hovered in the doorway for a moment. “I’m glad you ditched the black trash bag aesthetic.”
“Uh, thanks?” Today, I had indeed ditched the black clothes, though I would have hardly described my black tunic yesterday as a trash bag. I opted for wide-leg teal pants and a brown belt with a white sleeveless shirt that I’d doctored from a men’s vintage button-up, because the severely pointed collar was too good to say no to.
“Word has spread fast about the new activities coordinator,” she continued, “so I’m sure you’ll have a revolving door of opinionated residents all morning. But come see me later and we can talk budget.”
“Hey, have you seen that email I sent over about the new ambulance contract?” a deep voice asked from just beyond my doorframe.
I knew who the voice belonged to without looking up, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking. I had pushed every thought of Eli as far away as I could, but the question of when I might see him next still danced in the recesses of my mind.
He stepped forward into my sight line and his gaze swept my office and paused on the one thing I’d brought to decorate with, the award I’d stolen from Brody as a parting gift.
“Yes,” Morgan told him. “And I have thoughts.”
Eli swallowed and smiled half-heartedly. He’d always been a deeply efficient person and I was certain that Morgan havingthoughtswas slowing down his process.
Morgan spun on her heel and beckoned for him to follow. “And Vera, good luck with the apartment hunting!”
I swallowed, trying to push back the encroaching panic.
Eli lingered for a minute and then finally said to me, “I’ve got some sexual health clinics I’d like to get on your calendar.”
“I’ll see what we can make work.” I came off a little more abrasive than I’d meant to, but it was hard to reconcile the current Eli, who seemed to be nice-ish if a little bit of a smart-ass still, with the Eli I knew years ago who looked like he couldn’t breathe around me without becoming nauseous.
He studied me curiously before nodding and walking down the hallway in the direction Morgan had come in.
It wasn’t long before the first knock on my door sounded and my Facebook Marketplace friend from last night walked in with a tortoiseshell cane decorated with gold filigree, a baby-blue silk button-down shirt, and bright red glasses. “I told you I’d be your first customer.”
“Bright and early,” I said, already regretting my decision to fess up to what minimal social media bartering knowledge I had. “And I was thinking...” I searched for his name.
“Leonard, honey.” He blinked slowly like a cat. “You can call me Leonard.”
“Leonard,” I said with a smile. “I was thinking I might not be the right person for this specific job—”
“You are the activities director, are you not?” he asked in a sharp voice as he sat down. His tone reminded me of the child-hating acting coach Ruby had hired for me when I was eight years old and she was still determined to get me into commercials. “Well, this is anactivityI would like to do.”
Ruby was right. I should not have said yes, and now I would have to learn my lesson. “How about you bring your item by tomorrow morning and we’ll see what we can do?”
He stood with a grin that bordered on terrifying. “Tomorrow morning is perfect. But you’ll have to come to me. I’m in one thirty-one. Right next door to Ruby.”
I jotted it down and by the time he was gone, the next resident was slipping in.
The first few hours of my day were endless requests and complaints. Requests came in the form of more water ballet class times or even a sourdough bread–making class. The complaints ranged from highly specific(the woman who teaches pottery classes every other week smells like cat pee) to broad and difficult to diagnose (the events lineup is uninspiring).
Just as I was about to close my door for lunch and crawl under my desk to play Wordle while I questioned every choice that had brought me to this moment, a familiar face appeared.
“First days are always shitty,” Hollis said as she stepped inside and leaned against the short filing cabinet near the far wall. She wore white pleated linen shorts, a matching vest, and Ray-Bans tucked into her tousle of cropped silver hair.
“Who said I was having a shitty day?” I asked, my voice falsely bright.
She stood there quietly, and something about the way she was willing to indefinitely wait out a long and awkward silence reminded me of Eli.
“Well,” I finally relented, “it seems like your crowd is a tough audience.”
She nodded. “Well, I suppose you spend every day of your life working and it’s hard not to feel like you’re owed a certain kind of life at the end. For some people, that’s a daily knitting group and food that’s easily chewable, but for a lot of us... well, it’s a time when we can finally let ourselves indulge in everything we resisted.”
“Is that what you’re doing with Ruby?” I asked. “Indulging?”
She chuckled at my hard-hitting question. “Or is that what Ruby’s doing with me?”
