Page 64 of You'll Love it Here

Our resident shut-in Norm is even contributing to this? It’s official, this has gone too far. Jane and Carmen are each wrapped upin wiping the walls in their respective corners. I have to say something. I have to stop this runaway train. I can’t have people down here painting while Lana’s clients come to view the place. Not only is it a lot of wasted work for a building that is about to sell, it might raise suspicions if Jane and Carmen catch Lana literally leading buyers around the place. This is why I should always keep my big mouth shut.

I have to do something. I have to stop even one more ounce of goodwill being exchanged among these tenants before their world blows up.

“Guys, I hate to say it, but I think we should wait on doing anything more.”

“What?” They both turn to me.

“I just mean that the... we don’t know if there’s asbestos—”

“Don’t worry, asbestos isn’t in this building,” Carmen mutters, like he’s encountered it enough times to be an expert.

“Did Mr. Chaudhry say how big the coffee maker he has was?” Jane asks Carmen.

“Not that I can recall. Probably just a standard one.”

I need to stop this. I’m about to start trying some bullshit about the room not being fire-code compliant—which probably won’t work since it was once a rec room anyway, when my phone buzzes.

First viewing scheduled for tomorrow night! Buyer is very interested, so I think it’s more a formality. Don’t worry, clients will stick to lobby and basement and just Irene’s suite. Everything will be all set?

Fuck.

I was so close. Yet somehow the timing couldn’t be worse.

I need everything to go seamlessly for Lana. I need her to want to keep working with me, all the way back to my job.

I tap to hit reply:Great! Everything’s all set! Should we start telling tenants, if you’re going to bring viewers in?

The reply comes fast:Not yet. These deals can take time to close or fall through. We need to keep everything calm until we know for certain we have a buyer.

Carmen throws the sponge in the bucket and pulls out his phone. “Shit, I just realized, I gotta leave now if I want to make it to the dump.” He angles his head in my direction. “Hey, Mona, you mind taking over for the last wall?”

“Sure.” I smile and take the sponge. Then I start cleaning the wall in the rec room for the building that will likely not be ours by tomorrow.

Boxed Inside

Back in my apartment, I finally feel like myself again after showering for a little longer than I normally would’ve. When I was cleaning the rec room baseboards, the sponge juices kept dripping everywhere and dispersing micro particles of mouse poop onto my body and soul.

I’ve settled onto my couch with a slice of peanut butter toast hoping to recover from the rec room ordeal. The whole time I was cleaning, two streams of thought were floating in my mind:

1. I’m going to have to figure out how to get these people out of the rec room tomorrow evening (apparently that’s when they’re planning to paint primer on the walls).

2. We’re all going to be moving out soon.

I lock eyes with Alice, who seems to find my plight all very amusing. It’s going to be a real chore to move her little bowl into a new place. She’ll probably panic the whole time and for weeks after.

Luckily, looking around the place, at least Alice’s bowl will be the worst of it. All the rest of my furniture and clothes should be painless and fit into one truckload.

It’s my poor neighbors who will have a tougher moving day. I don’t have a bunch of plants like Jane, and unlike Carmen, furniture and junk aren’t stuffed into every closet of mine.

My throat sticks as I swallow the last bite of toast. But I’ll have to bring the box in my hall closet.

I should at least open that before then.

I ease out of my couch and make my way to the closet and pull the door open. There it sits, benign, still tucked on the top shelf, poking out from behind the wide-brimmed fedora I’ve been holding on to in case it comes back into style one day.

The box slides out easily. His writing scrolls across the brown packing paper he’d neatly wrapped it in.

Again, something catches in my throat like peanut butter at the sight of the words:With love, Dad.