“Her first what?”
He looked at me quizzically. “Bonsai tree,” he deadpanned. “Her first baby, of course. She’s married with two kids now and living in Franklin Lakes.”
“She’s married? A mom?! New Jersey? She used to say she’d sooner die than move to the armpit of America. Her words, not mine.” I held up my hands in mock defense.
He laughed and touched my arm. I was surprised by the warmth of Gabe’s fingertips grazing over my skin, the gesture so subconscious and natural. “Time, distance, and a little self-reflection can really change a person’s perspective.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
The phone alarm I’d snoozed before sounded again, pulling us from the moment.
“Shoot, I really should go meet my Realtor. I’m on a tight deadline to find a new place to live, and Mindy doesn’t seem the type who’ll stick around to wait for me.”
“By all means, don’t keep Mindy waiting on my account,” he said with a sheepish grin.
“It was really good to see you, Gabe.”
“You too, Avery.”
As I turned to leave, I glanced back at him one more time, wondering if this was all an absurd coincidence or maybe, just maybe, it was the universe offering up a second chance with my first love?
Chapter Twelve
Panting and sweating after climbing the equivalent of Everest, Mindy, my real estate broker, threw herself against the apartment’s front door until the lock gave way, and she practically fell into the hallway, catching herself on a nearby coatrack.
“That lock always sticks,” she said, brushing off her pantsuit and putting her blazer back on after abandoning it about four floors into our nine-story walk-up. At that point, I hadn’t really been sure how she was going to make it up another five flights.
Still fighting for breath, Mindy continued, “Just needs some WD-40. I’m sure the super can take care of it. Okay, so as you can see, this is a south-facing unit with lots of natural light.”
I glanced around the shoebox of a living room and couldn’t find a single window. “Where?”
“Normally, the sun just pours in from the kitchen and really brightens up the whole space,” she said through a pained smile as she continued to speak between gasps.
I peeked my head around to the kitchen and saw a tiny window over the stove that looked directly out to the brick wall of the building next door. “That window there?”
She opened the blinds. “Well, it’s a little darker than usual today because of the clouds that just rolled in, but trust me, when they part, you’ll see such a difference.”
“Okay? And the listing kept referring to this as a modified one-bedroom? What does that mean exactly?” I asked.
She stepped farther into the kitchen to display a large flat panel hinged to the wall. “You see, this comes down like so . . .” She unhooked the top and opened the legs to reveal a Murphy-style kitchen table.
Hmm . . . that’s a clever space saver.
“Annnnd, here’s the best part.” She moved to a pantry closet, where tucked inside was a thin twin-size mattress that looked like something a person would use for camping. “This then becomes”—she hoisted the mattress on top of the table—“TA-DA!” She gestured complete with jazz hands. “Your primary suite. And so good for the back. I wish my mattress was this firm.”
“My primary suite?! I’m sleeping on my kitchen table!” I’d been as patient as possible through the first five dumpster-fire showings, but I was at my wit’s end and could no longer hide my exasperation. “What kind of insanity is this, Mindy?! I have to be out of my place in two weeks! Fourteen days!” My voice was reaching new octaves as I threatened a total meltdown.
Mindy’s voice stayed even, as if she spent her life dealing with exasperated clients, and she explained, “Without a cosigner, credit history, and W-2s, your options are really limited.”
Limited, sure, but there had to be something better out there. This was the sixth apartment she’d shown me and the only one that had an actual stove, a full-size refrigerator, and a window （even if it was facing a brick wall）。 Table-bed aside, maybe I had to at least consider it?
I huffed, defeated. “How much is this place anyway?”
Mindy glanced down at her clipboard. “Twenty-four hundred a month. Of course, you’d also have to put down first and last, but don’t worry, my commission gets paid by the rental company so you won’t owe anything there.”
“Twenty-four hundred a month?! For something the size of my old closet and doesn’t even have space for a bed? That’s ludicrous!”
“Ludicrous it might be, but that’s the Manhattan housing market, hon,” Mindy responded with a shrug, her sweet facade crumbling more and more with each exchange.
“There has to be something else. This can’t be it,” I begged.
Mindy tapped her toe against the burnt orange carpet under her suede Gucci loafers. “This is it. This is the best you’re gonna find in this neighborhood, any neighborhood with your long list of conditions.”
“What conditions?! All I want is a reasonable space for an actual bed, not to be sharing my apartment with rodents that look like they came out of The Princess Bride, and not to have to strap on an oxygen tank to bring my groceries upstairs.”
My mind drifted back to the first time Adam brought me to see our Park Avenue Upper East Side classic six. Never in my life did I think we’d be able to afford an apartment in the quintessential New York limestone-clad building directly across from Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There were only seventeen units, and rarely did one ever come up for sale. Despite the enormous price tag, the Realtor convinced us to go look at one. As soon as she pushed open the apartment’s double doors, any reservations I had melted away, and I could imagine the incredible life Adam and I would build inside those walls.
The living room had floor-to-ceiling like actual windows on three sides and a marble wood-burning fireplace I knew would make the perfect backdrop for a Christmas tree. French doors led to a large wraparound terrace with the most epic views of Central Park. And the cherry on top, a formal dining room with a table that wasn’t a bed with more than enough space to host friends and family for the holidays. It was perfect. Adam put in an all-cash, full-ask offer on the spot, and less than two months later, burly movers were carrying in sizable pieces from the Restoration Hardware spring catalog.
Anger I believed had dissolved over the past weeks stirred anew within me as thoughts of blame and hurt over the position in which Adam had me reawakened. He’d not only left me penniless, but I’d recently come to discover he’d forged my name on half a dozen leases. Even though I wasn’t implicated in the crime, my credit score would remain in the toilet until the whole mess got sorted out, leaving me with even fewer options.
Mindy crossed her arms over her chest in defeat. “I just don’t know what you want, Ms. Lawrence. I can’t fabricate an apartment tailored to your wish list and on your budget within the confines of your credit score out of thin air. It’s simply impossible.”
I pulled a chair out from the Murphy bed / kitchen table and, utterly overwhelmed, flopped my head onto the rubber coating of the thin air mattress and allowed my hands to dangle lifelessly by my sides. My voice came out garbled as I spoke into the plastic. “I’m sure you think I’m an idiot, right? Some gold digger who got what she deserved? But I loved Adam with my whole heart, and he duped me right along with everyone else. Worse than everyone else because I knew him. Or at least I thought I did.” I peeled my cheek off the bed and raised my head. “I won’t ask my parents for money. I have a job now, and I’m getting ready to start auditioning again . . . I mean, I hope to. But either way, I know I can make it on my own two feet. I just need a little help getting started.”