Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Then he inhales a sharp breath of impatience and I jump to attention, realizing I’ve kept him waiting for too long.
“Right. Yes. So now, with your eyes closed, imagine a wonderfully serene bedroom, complete with queen bed and fluffy pillows, some nice overgrown ivy sitting on the windowsill, lots of art hanging on the walls, and a soft rug underfoot. Now, open your eyes.”
I fling the bedroom door open and move aside. He takes two steps forward, only halfway across the threshold, then with a sharp shake of his head, he turns back.
“No.”
Five
“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?” I ask Walt as he starts back for the front door of the apartment.
He tips his head to my realtor as he passes her by. “Lisa, thank you for taking the time to show us the unit.”
“Oh, uh…” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Okay? Are you leaving already?”
“Yes. I have a meeting and need to get back to the office.”
I rush out after him, angry at how quickly he’s able to descend the stairs. Mason can also barely keep up with him.
“Why can’t you cosign for me?” I shout down to him.
He replies without stopping. “That unit isn’t fit for anyone, least of all you. There’s mold everywhere, and I’m fairly sure that’s lead-based paint on the wall.”
“So!? It would be my problem, not yours.”
He stops then and turns around so that I have to abruptly halt too before I smack right into him and send us both barreling down the stairs. “You are my problem, Elizabeth.”
We’re eye to eye now that I’m standing a stair above him. With a frown, I shake my head. “I don’t have to be. Let me live here and I’ll leave you alone. I won’t talk to you ever again—how’s that?”
Mason shifts awkwardly behind me, and Walt’s gaze jumps to him, as if just now remembering we have an audience.
“Mason, when we get back to the office, I need you to work with my realtor to find available units closer to downtown.”
“What about Lisa?” I interject, worried she’ll lose out on her commission.
“I’ll be sure she’s compensated for her time.”
Right. Okay. This doesn’t sound half bad. He didn’t like this apartment, but maybe he’ll like another. It’s not like I’m married to this building. I can be a team player. If he thinks there are going to be apartments in my price range in a better part of Manhattan, I’m happy to take a look at them.
I wave for him to continue down the stairs, and for a moment his eyes crinkle at the sides, like he doesn’t exactly love me telling him what to do. I smile, relishing this tiny victory. We can’t stand here forever. He has to keep walking, and he knows it.
There’s another little huff before he turns back around and down we go, the three of us with Lisa trailing way behind since she had to lock up the apartment.
I’ve learned from yesterday’s brief encounter with Walt to not expect a big farewell, or even a tiny one for that matter, and true to form, the moment we’re back on the sidewalk, he barely looks in my direction before disappearing back into the Escalade.
“Bye, Walt!” I shout with a big wave, just to needle him.
There are so few pleasures left in life, and I just can’t help myself.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” Mason promises me before following after his boss.
Mason is nothing if not prompt. The following morning, I wake up to an extensive email outlining five different available apartments in Lower Manhattan. He’s gone to great lengths to provide information on each and every one of them for me. There are high-definition photos, long lists of amenities, and of course, the cost of rent.
Obviously, each one is much nicer than the apartment I showed Walt yesterday. The kitchens are updated and modern. The bedrooms are spacious. One unit in particular is bathed in natural light, and I can’t help but daydream about setting up a mini art studio in the would-be dining area that has windows surrounding it on all sides.
Unfortunately, not a single one of them rents for less than $5,000 a month. One is almost $7,000 a month! I’d have to sell a lot of art to make that rent payment. Even if I get a few commissions for larger pieces or somehow convince a gallery to show one of my collections (one can dream), it’d still be tight.
It’s clear they assume I’ll be using my monthly disbursement to pay for rent. It’s the only way I could possibly afford any of these places. Unfortunately, that won’t be the case.
I’m sure most people in my position would gladly accept ten grand every month, but not me. That money has strings attached, strings that could tighten around my neck at any moment. Sure, right now the parameters laid out in the trust aren’t necessarily oppressive. Don’t do drugs and don’t commit crimes—simple. The thing is, I already sold a piece of myself in that courtroom the other day, and I’m not willing to sell any more. I’ve been down that road before. I’ve spent my entire life under the thumb of my parents. My mom’s favorite pastime is threatening to cut me off if I don’t fall back in line. I spent my teenage years choosing to be what they wanted me to be, and now that I’m so close to freedom, I’m not willing to backslide.