Page 75 of You'll Love it Here

I’ll be with clients all day but wanted you to share the news ASAP.

Congrats Mona! We are able to sell the building all thanks to your hard work! I look forward to setting up a meeting at Westmore Communications so we can discuss other ways to partner going forward.

-L

The email comes right as I heave my overfilled laundry bag into the hallway. All the weeks of work around here paid off. I have just gottenLana freaking Winstonas a client! I can’t believe I pulled it off. I can’t believe it’s real. I barely have time to register this when I open the door to my suite and Ernest practically trips me up, pounding past me into the hallway, straight to Irene’s unit.

When he reaches her door, he starts scratching furiously, his nose blasting little puffs of air through the bottom of the door.

That’s when I spot a light coming through the crack under her door. What the hell? I dump my laundry bag and make my way down the hall. “Irene! You there?”

The hollow knock thuds through the hallway and meets the faint sounds of some kind of jock jams from Divorced Dad’s suite.

But there’s no answer.

I press my ear against her door. The sound of a laugh track comes through. The TV is on?

I knock. “Irene?”

Ernest’s tail is wagging harder than I’ve ever seen.

“Hello!” I knock again. Another laughing sound from a TV show echoes through the door. There’s definitely someone in there.

I try the handle. Irene’s apartment door opens just a crack. “Irene?” I ask, holding the door ajar. “Everything okay?”

I push just a little more and peer into the room in front of me. Irene is there—slumped sideways in her chair, mouth open, eyes closed, skin way paler than normal.

“Irene!” I call, as I make my way closer. Ernest starts darting around the place—full-on zoomies happening now that he’s back in the home he hasn’t been to in weeks.

I put my hands in front of her face and check her breathing.

And instantly Irene’s eyes dart open. A scream tears from her, so sudden and loud that I actually jump back. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as she waves her hands to regain her balance and straightens in her chair. She puts on the glasses strung around her neck. Her eyes dart around the room, still disoriented, as she pulls her cardigan together.

“Irene, what are you doing here?” I ask, still lightheaded with relief that I’m not talking to a corpse.

“What am I doing here? I’m inmy home.” There’s a ferocity in her voice.

Ernest jumps up onto her lap and starts licking her face furiously. The ire saps out of her as she gives him a thousand kisses and hugs.

“You looked like you were passed out,” I say as I watch these two wrinkly creatures fawn over each other.

“I must’ve dozed off. Is this what you’ve been up to? Breaking into my house to party while I’ve been gone?” Her eyes drift to the talk-show host on her TV. “And how did this asshole get on there?” She grabs the remote from the arm of her chair and turns it off.

“I didn’t realize you were coming back. What happened? Are you feeling better?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice. Did Lana even have a chance to talk to her? Probably not, since her email to me only came a few minutes ago. What if Irene has gone rogue?

She lifts her foot, displaying the plastic boot on her ankle. “I’m just here for a break now that I’ve got this new walking cast on.” She crosses her arms defiantly.

“So... Lana knows you came back?”

She throws her hands up. “You mean that elder abuser! Never getting me a damn sticky bun. Talking over all my shows.” Irene purses her lips. “Last I checked I’m an adult with free will. There’s ice cream in the freezer—do us a favor and make us each a bowl, will ya? I’m on borrowed time here.”

I do as she says and make my way to the kitchen. The thing about Irene’s apartment is that every surface is covered in all sorts of trinkets that don’t seem happy to be there—a disturbed glass frog with a wide mouth as a vase, crocheted blankets with gaping holes, a weird porcelain horse lamp—while every piece of fabric covering the chairs and tables seems to compete for attention. It’s like being wrapped in an envelope of kooky grandmother. There is no way this kind of thing can happen overnight; it took years of bad choices to compound into the final product.

I manage to pull two bowls with rose flowers from the cupboards. I find a pint of strawberry ice cream in the freezer and two spoons in the same drawer that I use for my cutlery at home. I return and hand Irene the fuller bowl, then I take a seat on the small embroidered couch across from her.

She takes the spoon and fiddles with the scoop of ice cream, but doesn’t start eating. “By the way, I came by your place when I got back this morning, but you weren’t home. Where the hell were you?”

“Oh, I must’ve been... taking Ernest for a walk.” My cheeks flush at the memory of waking up at Sami’s. I let a spoonful of the overly sweet ice cream melt in my mouth as Irene watches me curiously.