Page 13 of Aftermath
I wasn’t ready to put down roots and accept that this was my life, not until I finally secured the position of museum director. Only then would I allow myself to believe I made something of myself.
I walked over to one of the two windows in the room and cracked it open. Again, the salty air hit me as I inhaled deeply. The silence outside let the beating of waves reach me.
The sound was a comfort, allowing me to sleep at night and blocking out all the noise of the world.
I left the window open, knowing I would leave it that way all night.
I could see just over the few shops between the ocean and me.
A pounding on my door pulled my attention away, and I hurried through the apartment. I checked through the peep hole and recognized the face instantly, although I’d already recognized the frantic knock.
I pulled open the door, and before I could even get it open, Mallory slipped in.
“You are never going to believe the shit I dealt with today,” she said, throwing her hands up and walking past me straight to the living room.
By the time I caught up, she’d already thrown herself onto my couch, laying back with her hands behind her head, as if she arrived for some twisted form of therapy.
I took the bait.
“What’d you deal with today?” I asked, a small grin growing across my face, knowing I was in for a long rant.
“Tourists,” she said, horrified.
“Tourists?” I repeated, as if I’d never heard the word in my life. As if they didn’t frequent Briarport every year, every day of the summer.
“Yes, tourists,” she scoffed, sitting up on the couch and glaring at me.
“What about tourists?” I asked her, raising a brow and sitting in the armchair set in the corner of the room.
Mallory ran the shop beneath the apartments; she was the entire reason I had a place to live. I’d met her right around the time I secured a position at the museum. I’d been practically homeless at the time, living with my brother and his then fiancée in their tiny one bedroom apartment. He let me crash on the couch for a few weeks, which then turned into three months, leading to my desperation to find my own place.
I think Mallory saw that and decided I needed a friend. She was some of the only noise I could stand. Plus, she didn’t make me talk about myself or why I constantly threw myself into work. She really just liked to talk about herself, and I was more than happy to listen—or at least pretend to listen.
There was nothing wrong with that, right? Not when it was mutually beneficial.
At least I kept telling myself that as she droned on about the tourists of the day.
“Can I try this? Is that on sale? Do you have more sizes? Do you have suggestions on where to visit in town? Like, obviously, I do, but still.”She groaned. “It never ends! Everything is all about them. They touch everything and leave the store a mess. And you know who has to deal with it?”
She looked at me expectantly.
“You,” I guessed.
“Yes, exactly,” she said, throwing her hands up. “Anyway, I came here to see if you wanted to enjoy a wine night together? We could crack open a bottle of Merlot and watch shitty reality shows together.”
She tucked her long, black hair behind her ear, waiting for my answer.
“I have a few work things to finish up tonight, can we take a rain check?” I asked.
Alonzo jumped onto the couch, and she shooed him off, sending him running to my comfort. The plump orange cat jumped up into my lap, and I let him tuck himself close to me.
Mallory glared at the feline before her gaze flicked up to mine. The scowl on her face sent a twinge of guilt rushing through me. I hated bailing on her, but I couldn’t let what I’d found wait.
“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “But I’m coming back tomorrow, and you aren’t bailing on me then.”
I forced a smile to my face.
“Deal,” I said, knowing there was no way to avoid it.
