Ithandryll

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have you down to move in today.”

Roxi puckered her lips for a moment and hoped her face looked more comical than the combination of irritated and depressed she actually felt. “But I confirmed with the office. Yesterday. On the phone.” She tried her best to keep her tone light, but it was hard. Coordinating between gentle notes and the growing lump in her throat required too much effort from her already-exhausted self.

The leasing agent flipped through the stack of papers piled neatly on her clipboard and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. What did you say your name—”

“Roxanna. Roxanna Lovegood.”

More rustling, more rifling, and the agent turned to the large desktop monitor with a few clicks of the sleek mouse. Why this wasn’t the first thing she did was a question Roxi didn’t feel compelled to ask. Finally, with a semi-dramatic nod, the agent flashed her an apologetic smile. “I am so sorry, you’re absolutely right, Ms. Lovegood. I found you in our system, but there seems to have been a glitch on our backend. The apartment you toured is no longer available.”

Blinking felt like the only appropriate response. How? But given the circumstances, this was just the cherry on top of an unavoidable sundae…and the more she blinked, the hotter her eyes became until they glistened.

That seemed to activate a “help mode” within the leasing agent, for the woman suddenly began to rapidly flip through files and simultaneously click through the screen until she sighed and smiled with relief. She cast a quick glance to the teary-eyed young woman and cleared her throat, plastering on her best and most reassuring Sales Smile. “I do have some good news! We happen to have a very nice unit available in our south wing, if you’re willing to wait a few hours for our cleaning staff to verify it’s move-in ready. It’s not rehabbed like the original one you signed on for, but if you’re into vintage….”

“How vintage?”

The agent tilted her head and did a few quick mental calculations. “Well, this building is around 120 years old, and given the periodic upgrades…I’d say mid-90s, early 2000s was the last full rehab done in that section.” She glanced at the screen and nodded. “And yes, just as I thought—given the lack of upgrades, you’re looking at a significant decrease in rent. A couple hundred dollars, by the looks of it.”

This did make Roxi re-evaluate her predicament. At least the tears eased back from their threat to burst through the dam. “What will I need to do about the deposit?” Everything had been calculated according to the originally agreed-upon unit, and a decrease in rent could mean a nice increase back into her bank account. First month’s rent, last month’s rent, and a security deposit equal to each added up quick.

“Tell you what. Given the embarrassing circumstances on our end—and please accept our sincerest apologies, this is not at all to the standards of operation we pride ourselves in—I can offer you the first two months rent-free if you sign an extended lease, and I’ll manually waive the deposit.”

“Deal!” Roxi felt a grateful grin spread across her face. No required deposit meant she could furnish her apartment with decor marginally faster than originally expected, or at the very least, her first grocery run would be a bit more substantial than a few boxes of macaroni and cheese and a six-pack of hard cider. She signed the amended leasing papers without a second thought, simply grateful to have a place to sleep that night. “What should I do with my things?”

The agent stapled the lease papers together and tucked them into a manila folder as she skimmed her gaze over the daily calendar pad on the desk. “You can tell your movers to bring the truck around…three? Yes, three.”

Dammit. There was the lump choking her throat again. “I…ah…okay. Thanks.”

She slung her backpack over her shoulders and ducked under the cross-body strap of her duffel bag, then grabbed the handle to her hardback suitcase and nodded her thanks to the agent before she shuffled out of the leasing office and into the main lobby. Logically, in her rational mind, she knew this was an incredibly lucky find. What was about to become her new home happened to be a stunningly refurbished twentieth-century hotel nestled in one of Chicago’s more beautiful and affluent neighborhoods lining the shores of Lake Michigan. Now an apartment complex, Le Nouveau boasted state-of-the-art amenities while maintaining the luxuries of Chicago antiquity.

Roxi suspected her south-wing studio would be a bit less than state-of-the-art. It was a disappointment she shoved hard below her resolve to make the best of a bad situation, to see the forest for the trees and genuinely enjoy the greenery. Given her limited budget, hand-washing her dishes was a small sacrifice compared to being homeless.

Yes, things were going to work out just fine.

###

Summers in Chicago were famous for the “hanging gardens” the plethora of restaurants turned into, whole sections of the city blocked off to accommodate tourists and locals alike who eagerly filled the outdoor seating just to enjoy the warm, summer air and breathe in the fragrant aromas of savory steaks and succulent chicken, fresh-caught fish on the grill, ripened tomatoes and fresh basil crushed atop the classic deep-dish pizza. All mingled with the soft allure of peonies and hydrangeas and countless other flora arranged gracefully from one restaurant to the next, together masking the less-than-appetizing yet far more honest scents of the big city.

Roxi pretended to wait her turn at one such bustling intersection, even though traffic was redirected another block over. She just wanted a moment to watch, listen, envision herself being in the sort of rebuilt life where she could casually seat herself at any one of these fine establishments and order without looking at the menu…or counting the expected total down to the last penny.

As it were, she was cursed with “champagne taste on a beer budget,” according to the loving teases of her mother. Most of the time her budget couldn’t even include beer.

But now, thanks to the waived deposit, Roxi Lovegood was a few hundred bucks richer and even if she didn’t dare wheel the only belongings to her name onto the grounds of one of those fancy restaurants, she was definitely going to enjoy a good burger. Well…better than the dollar-menu variety she’d originally planned on.

She had no idea how to pronounce the kitschy name of the burger joint she felt most called to, but the atmosphere inside promised a good experience with low expectations from her. It was already bad enough that she looked bedraggled from two train rides, a public bus, and general stress; the inability to clean up paired with the necessity of lugging her few earthly belongings through Old Town added weight to the slowly increasing pressure of embarrassment.

No. Don’t cry. You made it. Don’t cry.

“You look like you could use a burger.”

Roxi blushed deeply when she glanced up and met the gaze of a devilishly charming, golden-haired surfer-god-of-a-man who grinned at her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. His voice strongly hinted at a New Zealand accent, but she couldn’t be too sure. In any case, she was suddenly and morbidly aware of her disheveled appearance—and inability to slink away, because he was the grill chef awaiting her order. “Um, yeah…actually yes,” she laughed, and to her relief, it was a genuine chuckle. “It’s been a day.”

“A double-decker, got it. Number two on the pad, luv.”

She tapped out her order as he directed and swiped her card while he got to work pressing the beef patties with practiced precision. When his order screen beeped, he winked at her and nodded toward the case of imported sodas behind her. “Don’t forget your drink.”

Shoot. That’s exactly what she did—completely forgot to add a drink to her order. But when she lifted her hand to tap out the new selection, he cleared his throat and nodded at the frosty case again.

“Bottle opener’s on the left. On that chain, see?” He flashed her another grin, another wink, another head tilt.

Roxi was not about to turn down a little freebie, especially from such a dashing stranger currently making her what was shaping up to be a mouthwatering double cheeseburger. She tucked herself into the booth farthest from the door, deepest in the shadows, and sipped the imported soda as she waited for him to call her name. They were the only ones in the small diner despite it being the tail end of the lunch hour, and she felt grateful for the quiet solace.

Years ago, this would have been a joyous occasion surrounded by friends and family eager to help her move in furniture and pick out new color schemes for each room. It was a lifelong dream of hers to move to Chicago, specifically to this neighborhood, and practically a fever dream to live on Lake Shore Drive. The fact that she sat in that diner, in that neighborhood, killing time until they verified her apartment for move-in on that very same drive, spoke volumes about how far she’d come. Years ago, to do this would have been the inspiration for a huge housewarming party and free-flowing drinks until the sun came up.

Years ago, he would have been by her side, signing the papers with her.

But that was then, and this was now. “Now” consisted of quiet days scraping by and painful nights desperately sinking into restless dreams just long enough to escape the endless weight of depression that haunted her every waking moment.

Some days it was easier to forget. To pretend. To focus on something more pressing and present, like finding a new job or dodging the nosy inquiries from fair-weathered “friends” who also loved to pretend. Most days the pain numbed to a pulsing throb under her skin, deep within her chest, but manageable.

But on days like today, when she was forced to stare at the lone duffle bag and single suitcase summing up the whole of her earthly possessions, when she was forced to feel the distinct absence of friends, family, him….

“Order up.” The grill cook carefully set a basket full of seasoned fries and an incredibly juicy, cheesy burger in front of her, just in time to make her blink back the fresh set of tears so close to falling. His grin broadened as he flourished a small plastic cup full to the brim with a stack of pickles. “You strike me as someone who prefers extra pickles, Miss Roxi. Let me know if you need more.”

Before she had a chance to ask him how he knew her name or what gave away the fact that yes, she actually does love pickles, a family wandered in and started asking questions about the gelato menu. The grill cook flashed them that same disarming smile and returned to his post, his flirtatious nature lending to his recommendations, and Roxi practically rolled her eyes heavenward when she realized: the order screen. It automatically generated the customer’s name based upon their card payment and pulled up on the grill’s side for easy reference.

The pickles were just a lucky guess.

Several things were making it difficult for Roxi to wallow in her sadness, the cheeseburger sending her taste buds into euphoria being one of them. The eye candy flipping burgers behind the grill counter who periodically glanced her way and gave her a conspiratorial smirk added to the dining experience, for sure. Even though he was a complete stranger and someone she’d probably never see again (unless this became her new neighborhood go-to), in this moment it felt like she wasn’t actually alone. Sure, she sat alone, but something warm and comforting made her feel less…abandoned.

But the heaviest blow against her darkness was the sight of the city’s skyline right outside the window. The Willis Tower sat in full view, large and looming, a reminder that despite everything, despite the hellfire that scorched her life and drove her into her dream city out of desperation and not opportunity, she still made it. She was finally there, and not Chicago-adjacent.

Downtown, bustling, beautiful Chicago.

Deep in her lightened reverie, she absentmindedly reached for her near-empty bottle of cola and flinched when she felt the frosty glass of a fresh bottle. When did…? Damn, was she that exhausted? And heaven forbid anyone mistook her for being greedy, taking two free bottles instead of the one—

But no, only one bottle sat there, bottle cap off and exactly where she remembered setting it on her napkin. It was full, fresh, and as if she hadn’t just drunk three-fourths of it between the wait time and basking in her burger. Weird.

But tasty.

Roxi made sure to polish off the last of the fries and willed herself to have room for gelato because there was no telling where—or when—her next full meal would be. She needed to balance the unexpected windfall of cash with very much expected expenses, like basic household toiletries and probably tech setup fees for her Wi-Fi. No telling how much that was going to cost, and the last thing she wanted to do was gamble.

So she tapped out a few quick texts to her family chat group confirming her safe arrival (and leaving out the disheartening apartment details), scrolled through Pinterest for apartment decor ideas, checked her emails, and pretended to be busy while in reality, she was just waiting for her stomach to settle so she could enjoy some gelato. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a pleasant young woman tie on an apron and greet the grill cook, who joked with her about something that made her shake her head and laugh. Shift change. Damn.

“Hi, there! What’s your flavor?” The new girl’s ponytail bounced cheerfully as she greeted Roxi, who skimmed through the hanging menu and then debated on the tubs of Italian ice cream in front of her.

“That mocha chip cookie one looks incredible,” Roxi playfully moaned.

“Oh my gosh, it is! You should definitely go with that one.”

“Done.” With a grin, Roxi went back to the order pad and paid for her single scoop of the heavenly, creamy goodness and made sure to leave a generous tip for the sweet server. But when she turned back to accept the cup, what she received was a lidded pint.

“I’m such a space case today!” The girl laughed and waved her gelato scooper by her head with a dramatic eye roll. “I totally forgot to check what size you wanted and just autopiloted for a pint, it’s such a popular option. Might as well take it home, I can’t put it back in the tub!”

Roxi opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. Then, finally, “So which size do I select to pay?”

Another flick of the scoop and tiny dots of mocha cream flew everywhere. “Don’t be silly! It’s totally my fault, not yours. Enjoy!”

“Oh…okay, thank you!” Roxi felt a genuine smile spread across her face, a rather unfamiliar feeling as of late, and it felt wonderful. She graciously accepted the paper bag with handles to help carry the pint home and loaded her little caravan onto her back for the return walk to Le Nouveau. There was enough time; she might stop in one of the parks on the way and enjoy some of the gelato with the spoon the girl tossed into the bag at the last second.

When she did, settling down onto a park bench and carefully peeling open the brown paper bag, Roxi froze.

A fresh, frosty bottle of cola sat nestled beside the pint.

###

Something in the back of her mind whispered that each moment should be savored, celebrated, recognized for every little accomplishment. The final signature to receive her new apartment keys, actually receiving said keys, the warm but perfunctory handshake and murmur of congratulations and welcome to her new home. The first elevator ride up to her high-rise in the south wing, the first insertion of the new key into a very old-looking lock, the first turn of the doorknob, the first sight of her new abode.

But exhaustion was a beast clinging tightly to her back, and it was all Roxi could do to not simply fumble down the hall and crash into the empty living space of her studio apartment, brain entirely focused on finding the bathroom.

Oh thank you, God. Toilet paper. Some kind soul anticipated the next tenant’s need for a fresh roll.

It seemed fitting that Roxi’s first full and undistracted view of her new home was from the doorway to the surprisingly beautiful bathroom. A realm of possibilities lay before her while a pile of shit washed away behind her. Accurate.

The apartment was absolutely stunning in its vintage beauty, with polished hardwood floors and elegant wood columns inlaid with hand-carved foliage framing the living space. And what a living space! The studio was huge, far larger than the shoebox she’d expected at such a reduced rate, with plenty of room for a queen-sized bed, small couch, and home office. A granite countertop wrapped around the very much up-to-date kitchen where, bless whoever did this, a new dishwasher was discreetly tucked into the cabinetry.

The same glitch that stole her dream apartment away and forced her into the south wing must have also misinformed the leasing agent regarding rates and refurbishments. Either that, or what management considered to be “not worth the markup” vastly differed from Roxi’s expectations. This was better than she anticipated and far better than she felt she deserved.