60. REEMA

I take more days off from work. As someone who has stockpiled many vacation, personal, and sick days these last two years, I have more than enough time-off to use. Mr.Davies doesn't argue. Actually, he seems relieved I won't be here for the year-end, specifically the part where he's celebrating the high achievers. For client recruitment, that means Jake.

He wins the bonus, especially if he signed the whale, but even if he didn't. His portfolio ranks second highest.

From him, I have missed calls, texts, and emails.

I can't avoid him forever (can't I?), but every time I think of looking at what he's sending me, this heart-sickness seizes my throat. In fact, If Esha and Gurinder weren't here, I don't think I could get out of bed. All I think about is our moments, wondering if they were real or imagined. I can't eat or drink and sometimes breathing feels harder than it should be.

Esha hasn't brought him up again. She's been busy.

Gurinder and her are staying at a hotel, but they pick me up every morning to look at apartments. There isn't a lot in my budget, but a few pop up randomly like groundhogs in winter. We've kept arguing about her financially helping me, but now it's more a matter of how much. I'm so grateful, but I want to only move to a place I can sustain on my own after their initial help.

You'd think that would discourage Esha, but she's tenacious. And me? All the time I used to sink into working is now spent scouring rental ads. Meanwhile, Gurinder supplies food.

Together, we're scary efficient.

And that's why, three days later, I'm standing in the middle of a studio apartment with green walls and cherry-colored wood.

"That's your Christmas decor sorted," says Esha.

"It's quaint," says Gurinder.

She hums. "I think he means ugly."

"If only it had white walls—" I'm building an image in my head. "The kitchen squishes right into the living room, but I've seen inspiration photos online of bookshelves being used as dividers. I could get one of those open-faced ones you can stick a hand through…"

"This is kind of cute," says Esha, pointing to a built-in shelf in the corridor. "You could put books here or an old-school phone."

"I like the toilet," notes Gurinder. "Seems sturdy. On an unrelated note, no one go into the bathroom for the next fifteen minutes until it airs out."

Esha goes and bops him on the arm, snorting with laughter.

While they flirt in their own weird language, I let myself imagine myself living here alone. For a studio apartment, there's great closet space. Not that I have many salvageable clothes, but if I wanted to, on weekends I could walk down the street to this vintage shop we passed on the drive here. The window display had cute dresses with lovely patterns and silhouettes I could try on, and then, even if I bought one a month, slowly my closet would fill with clothes that felt like me. There's also a park beside the building. I bet in the summers you could go there with a picnic blanket and a good book, and breathe in the fresh air while sneaking wine from a glass. The hallway in the apartment is wide, so I could park a bicycle inside, and with it, I could explore the neighborhood…

Around here, streets are winding and have surprise coffee shops tucked into the corners. There's a library, a gym, a food court for when I want fries… And the windows let light in, I realize. Green walls aren't such an eye-sore when I open the blinds up…I imagine fluffy curtains and framed art on the walls. Fridge magnets. Candles for evening dinners. Eventually, a flat-screen television for bad reality shows when I want to burrito on the couch with takeout…

I'm smiling. Because I can see it.

"I think… I want to take it…"

Esha brings her hand up to her mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Gurinder gathers us both into a group hug.