Chapter 13 | Liz

Chapter 13

Liz

T he apartment is a small one-bedroom off a busy road. It’s in a nice but not ultra-expensive part of town. It’s sleek and modern. The kitchen has nicer granite than my house. Living here would be easy. Standing in the empty living room, I can see how I would decorate the space already—a spot of color there, an artsy photo on the wall, a shoe pail so as not to scratch the hardwood with my heels. Finding a place in Princeton on such short notice with a month-to-month lease option is like winning the lottery. But I’m teetering on making a decision, partly because Mom is shaking her head like I’m crazy and partly because something is missing.

“How soon did they say they can get me in?” I circle back to the kitchen and take a seat on one of the nook stools.

My mom stands there in full Realtor mode. Her black pants are pressed, her white blouse vibrant, and the light scarf hanging from her neck offers a perfect spot of color. She taps her foot a few times, the hard bottom of her heels loud in the empty space, and then tosses me a weary smile. It’s the only crack in her professional veneer since I climbed into her car this morning. “Two weeks.”

Though her tone is even, I can tell she doesn’t want me to rent this apartment or the last one or the one before that. When I told her about the situation with Julian a few nights ago, she was politely surprised. She demurely offered to take me out to a few apartments when she had a break in her schedule. My mom isn’t cold. She may not have been sufficiently surprised, but she pulled me into her and let me cry, stroked my hair, made me her calming magic tea. But the woman in front of me is not Mom, and as my real-estate agent, she thinks I’m shopping out of my price range. As my mom, she doesn’t understand why I won’t take up in her guest room until I have a more solid idea of what I want to do. I don’t have the heart to tell her moving back home for me would feel like the ultimate failure, or if I return to the comforts of my childhood home, I might make the wrong choice. I need to know I can do this on my own, that I can be on my own. I need to remember who I am without Julian Madden.

I glance around the space again, still trying to figure out what the issue is. But then it hits me—Zoey. There’s no room for overnight guests, and even though I want to be Miss Independent right now, my sister is going to need a refuge and a safe space when the actions of her summer affair come crashing down.

“Is there a two-bedroom available?” I ask as nonchalantly as possible.

Mom eyes me as if she can guess at my reasons behind this inquiry, but only nods. “Yes, but—”

“Then I want that one, and I want to move in next week.” I’m breathless by the end of the statement, but I had to get it out before she can tell me all the reasons it’s a bad decision.

“Liz, honey, I know what you’re doing, but you can’t afford a two-bedroom here long-term.”

Okay, she definitely knows this is about Zoey. I mentioned to her what I knew, what I feared. But it’s not only about Zoey. I glance around the small apartment. There’s nowhere to go. Kitchen, bedroom, living room, bathroom. It’s spacious enough for one, but the space already feels claustrophobic. “I have savings, and Julian’s covering the house expenses. The rest is pretty limited.”

We haven’t gotten to how we’re dividing the bills for the foreseeable future. I honestly hadn’t thought about it much in the days since I declared I wanted space. All of the bills come out of a joint account that we feed money into from our own personal accounts. There’s no set split on who pays what. I suppose we’ll have to talk about this eventually, but for now, Julian can figure it out, like I had to do when he left me during graduate school with no notice. I survived with only a barista’s salary and a broken heart. He’s much better off now.

Mom leans on the counter and fixes me with a glare that says she thinks I’m being ridiculous. “Not the point. As your mother, I’m not going to set you up to fail, and as your Realtor, I’m not allowing you to sign on to something, even temporarily, that you can’t sustain, no matter how sisterly the cause.”

“She needs me, Mom.” Zoey’s face flashes in my mind, the expression she wears when she thinks no one is looking, the bags under her eyes and the gauntness of her cheeks. My little sister is in pain. A weight is sitting on her, and I know, better than most, how hard it is to remove. Even reconciled all these years with Julian, a piece of that first heart-wrenching, life-altering boulder still remains. And Zoey’s situation is much worse. “Her boyfriend slept with her best friend, and Zoey is still sleeping with him in some convoluted attempt to get him back. Dad is never around, and even when he is, he can’t help her, not with this. Her mother is god knows where. I can’t abandon her.”

An emotion flashes across my mom’s features, but it’s gone before I can place it. Her fingers fly over her phone again, and then it pings with a message. She meets my gaze. “The last place we saw has a two-bedroom available. It’s significantly less costly than the unit we’re standing in, and they can get you in within ten days.”

Another ding. Her eyes narrow. “They do require a six-month lease.”

Six months. It seems equally like forever and nothing. But six months from now, it won’t even be the same year, and these increasingly hot summer days will be snow-covered. My boss will have flown south for the winter, and all of Julian’s flights will be delayed for one reason or another. Will one of those reasons be Sheila? Or some other airport lover?

My stomach sours. Images of Julian wrapped around a myriad of different women flood my mind. Young, old, blonde, brunette, glasses or not. But they all have Sheila’s face and her button of a fucking nose. How am I ever supposed to trust him again?

I picture the last apartment we saw—small, modern, not quite as sleek as the one we’re in but nice. With a few ritzier pieces, it can be something. There’s a pool and a fitness center. A few other people from work live in the complex already. It’s convenient, and to my mother’s point, I can pay the rent out of my salary if I’m frugal enough. Tack on a guest room, and it seems full of possibilities. “Where do I sign?”