Page 3 of Becoming Selfish

I follow out behind her, and since her hands are so full, she moves slowly, so I quickly catch up and pass her. I scan the doors of the hall to find C-13. The even numbers are on the left side, and the odds are on the right. C-9, C-11, and finally C-13.

Opening my purse to pull out the envelope that has my orientation information inside, I grab the key out of the envelope and put it in the doorknob. Before I can unlock it, I hear a voice behind me.

“Neighbors, huh?”

It’s the girl with the full hands from the elevator. She’s across the hall, nodding her head at the placard that reads, ‘C-12.’

I smile at her. “Looks like it. Small world.”

She smiles back at me, and I realize then just how pretty she is. She’s stunning, actually. She has long dark hair and a natural olive tone to her skin. She’s not wearing much makeup because, quite honestly, she doesn’t need to. Her brows are naturally bold, and her teeth are perfectly white. She’s wearing a black spaghetti strap top and a gold choker necklace with a small dangling ‘A’ from it.

“I’m Ali. Ali Bertoli.” She reaches out her hand to shake mine, and as she does, she drops one of the bags she was carrying.

“I’m Logan Leo.” I shake her hand and offer a smile in return. After I remove my hand from hers, I reach down and pick up the bag for her, mostly because I doubt it would’ve been possible for her to bend down with her hands so full, and I hold it out to return it to her.

“Thank you. I’m refusing to make more than two trips downstairs, so I’m left looking like an idiot while I try to carry everything I own in my arms.”

I chuckle at her candid response, catching an accent in her voice. Her last name is probably Italian, but her accent is not.

“Where are you from?” I ask my new neighbor.

“New York. How about you?”

“California.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? I love California! LA is so much fun.”

Most people seem to assume I mean southern California when I tell them I’m from the state.

“Actually, I’m from up north. About an hour north of San Francisco. Where they make wine.”

I usually add in the last part because people get excited about that fact. Even if they have no idea where I’m talking about, ‘wine country’ sounds appealing.

“Oh, cool! I’ve never been to northern California before, but it sounds nice, and it’s probably beautiful.”

I give her a half smile. “Yeah, it’s nice.” I don’t mention that I plan on never going back.

“What part of New York are you from?”

“Brooklyn.”

The accent makes total sense now. I’ve never been to New York before, but of course, I know where Brooklyn is.

I realize then that her hands are still full, and she probably wants to get inside so she can set it all down.

“Sorry, do you need help unlocking your door?”

Her eyes widen with gratitude. “Yes, please! My key is on my wrist.”

I cross the hall, and she bends down, so her wrist is level to the doorknob. She can’t very well take her hand away from the stuff she’s carrying, so I awkwardly grab the key that’s on her bracelet and stretch it as far as it’ll go. I unlock her door, opening it as wide as I can for her.

“Thank you! You’re the best.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need help getting the rest of your things from your car.”

Why is that my first instinct? I’m supposed to be spending this time thinking about what I need and doing what I want. And here I am offering to help a stranger who hasn’t even asked for it. Not that I want to be rude, I just need to start thinking about myself a bit more before thinking about everyone else. I’ve never done that before, and it’s been harder than I thought it would be. I mean, I still have a full car to unload on my own, and here I am, offering to help a stranger get her things from hers.

“Thanks, girl, but you probably have your own car to unpack,” she repeats my selfish thoughts exactly.

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