Page 140 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“I can give you the songs,” she continues, waving her hand.

Right. The songs. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” But this isn’t just about the songs. She’s inviting me inside because we need to talk.

Meowing starts from the other side of her door when we make it up the stairs, and there’s soft scratching against the wood.

“Yes, I’m home!” she calls.

The door opens to reveal a perturbed-looking orange cat.

“Oh, Stella, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you so long but—you would not believe what happened.”

Dusty heads into the apartment and disappears around a corner, but Stella glares up at me. I’m genuinely concerned this cat is going to attack me. “Heyyy, kitty cat,” I draw out, stooping low and offering her my hand to smell.

The cat doesn’t move, and for ten agonizing seconds I feel like a complete idiot. Of course this cat hates me. She probably thinks I’m here to ruin Dusty’s life.

“I promise I won’t hurt her,” I whisper.

The cat tilts her head, then with a quiet meow, rubs her head against my hand. Something lifts in my chest. I never thought that I’d need to ask for the approval of a cat, but here we are. I chuckle softly, then stand as Stella scampers off back into the apartment.

Dusty pops her head out from around the door. “You can come in.”

“Right,” I say, stepping across the threshold before shutting the door behind me.

“I’m just going to turn on the shower, then I’ll grab those songs for you.”

The apartment is one big room. Her bed is still unmade and there are a few dirty dishes in the sink, but it’s clean and tidy. It smells like peppermint and roses. I remove my shoes and feel the textured carpet against my feet. The sun shines in through the open curtains, flickers of light bouncing off dust particles that Stella kicks up as she hops onto the windowsill. It’s beautiful.

Dusty crosses the room and opens the top drawer of a vanity. For a moment she searches through it, then pulls out an old folder. She opens it, rifles through the pages, then looks up at me and smiles.

“Here they are,” she says, walking over to me. “I never could get rid of them. No matter how many times I moved around they were always the first thing I packed. I don’t know why?—”

“Thank you,” I whisper. My voice is gone. It has no strength left.

“I—” She pauses. “I didn’t realize you only ever wrote them down this once.”

I shrug, my insides buzzing. “They were about you. Seemed only right that you had the only copies.”

She hands me the folder and I open it, staring at the crumpled, aged paper within. The horrendous handwriting staring back at me.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah. It’s just?—”

“What?”

Tears well in my eyes and my nose begins to run. “Sorry.” I sniff. “I just . . . it’s this place. It’s this.” I gesture to the folder. “It’s you.”

Her eyes bounce between mine and I stretch out a hand, gesturing to the apartment.

“This could’ve been ours.”

She tenses. “What?”

“This life,” I continue. “This apartment.”

There’s a nervous kind of chuckle that leaves her lips. “Key, don’t be silly. It’s not the Ritz, it’s a studio apartment?—”

“And yet it’s the most incredible place I’ve ever been.”

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