Page 6 of Butterfly Effect

“Heh-heh,” I titter, taking a step back toward the lobby doors. Enough to be in camera range and view of the security desk. “Good night.”

“Holy shit.” He stalks forward, eyes squinting as his smile drops from his face. “Youdon’tlike me?”

“I didn’t say it. You did.”

“Wow, Gabe.”

His steps halt, thank God.

“You know there are literally hundreds of women in this city who do, right?”

Seriously, where do I find these guys?

“How nice. Maybe one of them will go out with you, but it won’t be me.”

Dan’s jaw ticks before he scoffs and turns to the street.

“Prude,” he mumbles.

I wait until the car door slams and the engine roars to life.

“I hope that Botox seeps into your bloodstream and paralyzes your face!” My insult strikes as he peals away, flipping me his middle finger.

“And another thing! Your balls are the size of peas!” I continue before retreating to the corridor. It earns me raised eyebrows from the security men seated in the lobby. Olawale and Jawed have been witness to many sad nights.

“You alright, ma’am?” Jawed’s kind eyes crinkle in worry. He’s always so polite.

I grumble. “Yeah.”

“Was it a bad date?” Olawale adds, curling his hand against his cheek.

“Isn’t it always?”

“Maybe these days.” Olawale shrugs. “But nothing lasts forever, eh?” The way he sayseh?in his Nigerian accent makes me smile.

Jawed agrees with a nod. “Sorry to hear that, ma’am.”

“Me, too.” There’s an awkward lull. “I’m gonna get going. Early morning flight tomorrow.”

“What time shall I have the taxi wait?”

“4 a.m., please. And thanks, Wale.”

They wave me off as I enter the elevator and slump into the back wall. My belly growls.

“I know,” I reply. “You deserve a grilled cheese.”

The lights click on as I kick off my heels and drop my clutch onto the sideboard in the foyer, pausing to swipe a hand across the herringbone wood pattern on its cabinet doors in admiration.

I’m desperate for something grounding, and head to the last door on the right, the one to the corner room. It creaks as I peek in and ends with the faint buzz of the humidifier and black lights. Scents of sweet gardenia and tart hibiscus fill the space. My collection of tropical plants sleeps peacefully. I rub a few lushgreen leaves between my thumb and index finger. No matter how hard I try, I don’t feel anything in response to nurturing them. These plants thrive here regardless. I wish I could say the same for myself.

I sigh and leave, feeling just as empty as when I returned home.

While the grilled cheese sandwich crisps on the pan, I shed the bodycon dress and replace it with a white tank and loose gray joggers, satisfied with the handiwork of my new cleaning service.

Constant travel during the season makes it hard to keep tidy. The apartment is simply a place to crash, eat, dump used clothing, and pack for the next trip. I’ve got the basics and a fancy gadget or two, but I don’t spend enough time here to make it my own. Wondering if Dottie’s Cleaners did the laundry, I wander towards the machines in the closet. They did, thank God.

Plush athletic socks retrieved from the dryer keep my feet warm. My hair goes into a high ponytail while I smoothly skate back into the kitchen, then plop down on the couch with possibly the best sandwich I’ve ever made. Angels would sing if they saw this beauty.

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