I type out my address and hit send.
Her gray dots pulse for a long time. Then finally a response.
Great. I’ll be there in 30 mins. X
I suppose the silver lining to her coming here tonight is that there’s no way I’m going to have time to get nervous about tomorrow’s meeting.
I flick on CNN, watching the minutes count down to her arrival and wondering if I should have changed out of my sweats and into something more suitable for company. But then I don’t really want her coming into the apartment; it’s getting late and while I had thought we could have been friends before now it’s probably best if I don’t get too involved with whatever weirdness is currently going on in her life. To be honest I should have probably handed her things in at the police station or something. Most people would have by now.
I grab her wallet and keys and place them ready on the entrance table, next to the security monitor.
I mute the TV when the intercom sounds, and head out to the hallway to answer the security phone.
“Hi Mia, it’s Lucy at reception. We’ve got an Emily down here to see you?”
It’s strange hearing Emily’s name coming out of someone else’s mouth, and immediately my worry about the whole situation is halved. Emily is just a person, an ordinary person, standing downstairs at reception, talking to Lucy. I’m suddenly certain that whatever happened to Emily yesterday will be something underwhelming and disappointingly banal.
“Okay, great. Thanks, Lucy. Could you send her up?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Only after I hang up the phone do I remember that the rental document I stole from Emily’s car is still downstairs locked away in my car.
Shit.
I dither for a second before dashing into the living room to grab my Audi keys, but just as I pick them up the door buzzer sounds. I don’t have time to go and get them. She’s here.
I see her on the video monitor in grainy black and white. She’s dressed differently from yesterday, which isn’t particularly unusual, but for a microsecond it throws me. Though her hair is tied back in the same loose bun and her same minimalist Nike rucksack is slung over her angular shoulder, just as it was.
I open the door with a smile. “Emily! Hi.”
The words come before I really see the woman in front of me. She was looking the other way on the monitor and now that our eyes meet for the first time I know instantly: This isn’t her. This isn’t Emily.
“Hey! Good to see you again,” the woman says, giving me a broad beautiful smile. I feel my features ease into a smile in reply while my mind races to make sense of what the hell is going on. Her voice sounds exactly the same as Emily’s. Her creaky New York vocal fry. Her hair, her rucksack, her tinkling bracelets all the same and yet…Her face is extremely similar to Emily’s but it’s not Emily’s. What the hell is going on? I study her features—full lips, chestnut hair, thick brows, a smudge of eye shadow, and pale skin—all like Emily’s, but not.
I must be just misremembering what Emily looked like, right? After all, I only spoke to her for a few minutes almost two days ago. I could definitely have misremembered her. She just responded to the name Emily as well. It would be beyond weird if she wasn’t her.
The woman hitches her rucksack pointedly and I realize I’m staring at her.
“God, sorry,” I apologize, having to tear my eyes away from her. “It’s been a really long day. Jet lag!”
“No, no, it’s me who should be apologizing. Seriously. Thank you so much for taking care of my car, Mia. I really appreciate it.”
For a second I wonder if this might just be a friend of Emily’s, but why would she have her bag, her jewelry, her voice. Why would a friend of Emily’s be pretending to be Emily? That’s ridiculous, it’s definitely her.