Page 44 of Returned Mail

Oh shit, I forgot to text her.

Me: Sorry. I’m alive. I’ve been unpacking.

Her reply comes immediately.

Lyann: Knowing you, you're either organizing coffee mugs or underwear.

Me: Underwear is already folded.

Three dots.

Lyann: Oh, so coffee mugs it is.

I laugh.

Me: I hate you.

Lyann: No, you don't. Send pics tomorrow. Proud of you.

My smile fades slightly. I know she’s proud of me, but I’m not sure if I’m proud of myself… Not yet at least.

Me: Love you.

The loft is quiet.

I can only hear the hum from the refrigerator. Some sirens passing through somewhere outside, in the distance. Which make sme remember that even though this place is cozy and tucked away in the suburbs, the city is still close enough.

I keep unpacking.

I find a whisk, too many measuring spoons, and a bendy silicone thing whose purpose I still don’t know. Then I open the wrong drawer.

The letters again.

I stop. The eight envelopes are still there. Obviously. I close the drawer, just to quickly open it again. “This is weird, right?” No response. Good.

I close it and walk away. I make it almost five minutes before I come back. Is not that I want to open it. I mean, I’m a curious person, so yeah, a part of me wants to open them, but I’m not a criminal. So I won’t.

The leasing agent said to set aside mail, but I feel like the owner should know she has mail here. “Oh, the contract.” I have Monica’s information in the contract. A responsible tenant would clarify, right? And since I’m a responsible tenant, I grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it. Find the number, and press call.

It rings twice.

“This is Monica.”

Her voice is clipped. Professional. I straighten without meaning to. “Hi. Um, this is Mia. The new tenant at the loft.”

A pause. Then, “Yes. Hello, Mia. Is everything alright with the apartment?”

“Yeah. Yes. Everything's fine.”

“Good.”

“I'm sorry to bother you. I just had a question.”

“Of course.”

I glance at the drawer. “There was some mail left here.” Silence. “Several letters, actually. They're addressed to you.” Another pause, so I continue. “The return name is George Hale. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to hold onto them or⁠—”

“Oh.”