“Weird. I never thought I’d be in charge of the Raptors’ plane in my second year, but I’m excited. And unquestionably stoked that Tara is gone for good.”
“Fired for fraternization,” Stevie laughs. “The irony.”
There’s a strict no fraternization rule as far as flight attendants spending time with our passengers—the Raptors, Chicago’s NHL team. And last year, Tara, the previous lead flight attendant, made sure to rub that in Stevie’s face as much as possible, but part of accepting my promotion was getting those rules to bend a bit. There’s still a strict no dating, no sleeping, no fucking around with the team, but we are allowed to be friends now. Kind of had to change the rules when my best friend’s boyfriend is the alternate captain, and we see each other around too much to pretend as if we’re not friends.
“It’ll be good to get away from Chicago for a few days too,” I add.
“What are you talking about? You were in Florida all summer. You’ve only been back here for a couple of weeks.”
A long stretch of silence lingers between us as I keep my eyes down on my lap.
“Oh, Ind. I’m an idiot. This has nothing to do with living with Ryan, does it? If you don’t want to be in Chicago, I get it. Trust me, I get it. I was trying to help you stay in town by finding you a place to live, but I didn’t even think about the fact you might not want to be here.”
“You’re not an idiot. You’re a good friend. It’s just kind of hitting me, you know? Being back here, knowing I could run into Alex at any moment has me sick to my stomach, but at the same time I’m tired of his decision ruling my life.”
I was days away from taking a job in Florida and making the move a permanent one before I got the call about the promotion. Alex took everything from me that night—my future, my apartment, my friend group. I wasn’t going to let him take this too.
“Indy, I get it,” she says gently. “Sometimes leaving is easier. Are you sure you want to be here? In Chicago.”
“I want to feel better.” I hold my head up high. “Maybe being back in Chicago, where everything went down, will force me to face the situation and heal quicker.”
“Well, if you change your mind and decide Florida is a better fit for you right now, I’ll help you pack your bags, but I hope you take Ryan’s offer. He won’t charge you more rent than you can afford. You can save this way. Things will be different for you, but I think they can be better.”
“You didn’t tell him anything—”
“Of course not,” Stevie interjects.
Looking around, I take a quick inventory of my hotel room. A mini-fridge so mini that I have to go grocery shopping every three days because full-sized items won’t fit inside. The suitcase I’m living out of because there aren’t enough hangers in the closet for my exorbitant wardrobe. Towels so tiny they barely wrap around my hair.
I miss having a home base, even if said home base is shared with one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’ve only met Ryan Shay twice in all these months, but you don’t forget a face or body like that. However, if I could have one wish right now, it’d be that we could both forget our previous encounters.
“If I knew I was going to live with the guy one day, I would’ve made a better first and second impression.”
Stevie’s blue-green eyes shine as she mashes her lips together, holding in her laugh. I was waiting for her to ease those worries and tell me her smoking hot brother doesn’t remember me at all.
“He hasn’t forgotten, has he?”
“Not even close.”
It took all but ten minutes to move out of my hotel room and another twenty to empty my storage unit. The U-Haul was embarrassingly bare. It’s sad, that twenty-seven years of life can’t even fill half a U-Haul.
Every piece of furniture or kitchen appliance that was bought during our six years together is still at our apartment. His apartment, and I’ve succumbed to starting over and trying to be okay with that. I didn’t notice the absence of my things when I moved in with my parents for the summer but having next to nothing is becoming blatantly obvious as I sit in Ryan’s apartment.
My apartment.
Though, this apartment is so bare it feels like I’m sitting in the middle of a museum more than anything and maybe that’s why my lack of things is evident. He doesn’t have much either.
His place is spotless and minimalistic. Black and white with no pops of color in sight—besides my wardrobe currently skewed across his living room as I attempt to organize. Attempt being the key word here.
I’ve been to this apartment a handful of times since I met Stevie, but it never looked this empty and…lonely. Stevie is as bright as I am. I guess all the color left when she did.
However, the view is breathtaking, the city skylights and the sunset over the Navy Pier distracted me for the first hour I was here.
My self-guided tour takes me to the kitchen. A single-cup coffee maker with one mug nestled underneath, ready for tomorrow morning, I guess. Dishes—four big plates, four small plates, and four bowls—all in black, like they came in a set, as if he’ll never have more people in his home. Not so surprising, when I open the first drawer—four spoons, four knives, four forks, most likely purchased in a small set.
I get that he travels for work as much as I do, but what if he wants to have friends over? Or what if he brings a woman home one night and she’s hungry, but he hasn’t done his dishes from the previous day yet?
Seems impractical to me, but something tells me that Ryan Shay thinks having just enough to get by is completely practical.
Back in the living room, my finger trails over his bookshelf, praying, hoping it picks up a layer of dirt or dust. Something to tell me this guy is human and not a robot as the rest of his apartment suggests.
There’s not a single photo in his home, but countless books. Every kind of motivational or self-help book you could imagine lines the shelves and they’re organized by…Are you kidding me? Alphabetical order of the author’s last name. This guy is a monster who probably runs marathons for fun and passes out nutrition bars on Halloween.
Lifting my finger from the shelf, it comes up clean. Not one speck of dust.
I hate it here already.
The click of the front door halts my movements.
He was supposed to be gone all night at some fancy event for the city. I was supposed to have time to clean my mess, get my clothes hung in the closet and my books picked up and piled neatly before he came home. This place is a disaster, and I was hoping to make a better third impression on Ryan Shay.
Kicking my piles of clothes into one, I try to take up as little space as possible, hoping he might not notice the bomb that went off in his home since I moved in two hours ago.
“What. The. Fuck?” His tone is dry and even.
Attempting to get myself together, I brush the stray, wispy hairs away from my face and plaster on my most charming smile. It works every time.
“Hi—” I turn around with a wave, but it dies in the air when I see the owner of this apartment standing inside the doorway.
I’ve met Ryan twice. Once he was shirtless and the other time, he was in casual clothes at a bar. But right now? In a fitted suit? Jesus Christ, I can’t live here.