Page 63 of The Woman in 3B
“I got Honey when I went to college. I lived alone in an off-campus apartment my sophomore year, and it got lonely coming home from classes to an empty place. So I got a turtle and named her Honey.”
“That explains the turtle, but not the name,” Anissa pointed out.
“Fine.” I winced as if in pain. “I liked saying ‘Honey, I’m home.’”
“You’re right,” Anissa deadpanned. “That’s pretty dorky.”
“Have you lived here long?” she asked.
“Since I started at the airline,” I confirmed. “So, wow, close to eight years. Time sure flies.”
She hummed, but didn’t share what she might be thinking.
“You can say it.”
“What?”
“My apartment is terrible.”
“It’s fine, Alice,” she resisted.
“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s pretty bad.”
“Maybe not bad,” she decided, “but boring.”
My jaw dropped a little. “Boring?”
“Where are your photographs? Wall art? Books?” she listed off. “There’s nothing personal in here, nothing that’s you. Besides, Honey, of course.”
“My bedroom’s better.”
She laughed at that.
“What?” I demanded. I couldn’t help stomping my foot a little.
“Is this all a ploy to get me to your bedroom, Kaminski? Pretty smooth.”
“I don’t spend a lot of time out here except to eat. Everything is in my room.”
“Well now that you’ve built it up, I’ve got to see this impressive bedroom of yours.”
“It’s not impressive,” I denied, “it’s just not boring.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me in the direction of my bedroom. The apartment floor plan wasn’t complicated, so I wasn’t surprised she knew where to find my room.
My bed wasn’t made, but it also wasn’t a complete disaster zone—contained chaos. I did a quick scan to make sure there was nothing embarrassing out in the open before I sat down on the edge of my queen-sized mattress. I leaned back on the bed while Anissa made her rounds. She didn’t go so far as to open up the drawers of my wardrobe, but she took her time, touching knick-knacks and stopping to peer at the people in framed photographs.
“Not bad,” she remarked.
“Not boring?” I challenged.
She grinned broadly. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
She picked up one particularly crowded imagine. “Is this your family?”
I nodded. “Un huh.
She returned the framed photograph to its place on my dresser. “Are you guys close?”
