Page 91 of Forget About Me

No seals.

Never delivered.

Maybe it’s time to do that now.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Love Plus One” - Haircut 100

Ben’s Very First Mixtape, Song #5

LUCY

A week later, at the end of yet another long day, I park in front of Mrs. Rosen’s instead of my parents’. I haven’t moved, far but I’ve moved—to one of the prettiest houses in the neighborhood, a Victorian painted butter-yellow and forest-green fronted by a lovingly maintained flower garden.

Passing through the gate in the white picket fence that encloses the yard, front and back, I remember that the Rosens had a dog for many years, a collie named—like most collies when I was growing up—Lassie. Heading up the back stairs to the second-floor landing, I insert my very own key into the lock, and every bit of me sighs with pleasure as I take in the gleaming hardwood floors and the freshly painted walls of my new apartment. It’s a bit empty, but everything in it, I put there. I bought a bed the day I signed the lease. It’s covered with a rainbow quilt my grandmother made. The walls are robin’s-egg blue. Mrs. Rosen gave me an old table for the kitchen, and I painted it bright red.

After a visit to the pink-tiled bathroom—not having to share a bathroom with two teenage boys has been a life-changer in and of itself—I head to the kitchen to heat up some leftover soup for my dinner. As I stir the pot, the phone on the wall taunts me. I haven’t set up a long-distance plan, and I still don’t have Ben’s number in LA. I could ask his dad for it, but something’s holding me back.

I mean, he hasn’t called or paged me, either. I check my service multiple times a day.

There’s no new growth in the burned-out forest between us, but I’m planting my own seeds anyway. I have my own place—check. The laundromat renovation started yesterday—check.

Slopping the soup into a bowl, I sit down with a pen, a legal pad and the folder where I keep everything from building permits to invoices to paint swatches. I might need a file cabinet. Adding that to the list and going over my to-dos for tomorrow, the satisfaction of ticking items off the list warms me even more than the minestrone.

Not as warm as Ben’s arms around me or a dog at my feet.

One thing at a time, Lucy. One thing, one step, one day at a time.

“Where are you, you little motherfucker?”

I’ve spent the past twenty minutes digging through my new apartment, looking behind and under the few pieces of furniture, but my day planner is nowhere to be found.

Everythingis in there. Not just my actual calendar of appointments—which is complicated enough—but every client profile, all my notes, all my contacts. Rebuilding it will take more time than I can imagine.

Maybe I should check the car again. Opening my front door wide, I yelp, not expecting someone to be standing on the threshold.

“Mrs. Rosen. Is everything okay?”

The tiny woman has one hand pressed to her chest and hangs onto the railing with the other. “Lucy, you startled me.”

“Sorry. I lost something, and I’m going a little crazy.”

Releasing a breath, she leans over and begins to sort through the contents of a shopping bag. “Was it a… What do you call these things? It’s so professional. A fax thingy?” Straightening, she holds up my planner.

“Oh my god, you found it.”

“It was in the driveway.” Wincing, she hands over my lifeline. “I’m sorry; I think I ran over it.”

Despite tire tracks on the faux-leather cover, it’s intact. “It must’ve fallen out of my bag or something.” I hug it to my chest. “Thank you, Mrs. Rosen. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost this thing.”

“Call me Vera, please, dear. We’re practically roommates!”

Technically we’re tenant and landlord, but she’s so lovely I don’t want to correct her. “Um, do you want to come in? I could make some tea or coffee.”

“Oh, no thank you, sweetheart. It’s late. I just got in from a movie with John, and I wanted to make sure you got these things.” She hands over the shopping bag. “This is some mail that your mother dropped off.”

Hanging onto the planner like it might run away, I take the bag. “Thank you again, Mrs. Ro—Vera.”

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