It’s just thatI’mnot willing to trade my privacy for convenience.
Then Abi is at the door, still in his uniform. I clock the time—it’s nearly ten. We arrived early this morning and Abi was at the door in his uniform then, too.
He enters the apartment and hands a package to Charles. Everyone gathers around him like he’s a celebrity. He waves off a glass of champagne, offers words of welcome to Chad and me, then slips away quickly.
“What would we do without him?” asks Ella after he’s gone. But there’s something odd about the way she says it.
People begin leaving, saying their goodbyes, wishing us well.
I notice that Lilian whispers something to Chad as she goes and he gives her an easy nod, glancing at me.
“Tomorrow is game night,” says Ella, as Chad and I move to the door, thanking her profusely for her kindness. “Rosie, you must join us.”
Game night. The introvert’s worst nightmare. Small talk. Competition. Salty snacks. Booze, always. Layers of energy from multiple strangers.
“Sounds fun,” says Chad, the extrovert. “I’m going to be on stage every night next week so I’m sure Rosie would love the company.”
As if I sit around and pine for Chad when he’s working. Like I don’t have my own life, career, friends, plans. I give him a look, and he raises his eyebrows at me, mischievous. Like,come on.
“Sounds wonderful,” I lie, as convincingly as my actor husband would. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Ella looks so pleased, that I feel bad for not actually wanting to come to game night.
“We play Rummikub. Do you know it?”
“I don’t but I’m a quick study. What can I bring?”
“You’ll love it. Just bring yourself.”
No one ever means that. I’ll make something shareable. My grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies are always a hit.
Back in the apartment, we wolf down the rest of the picnic lunch we had in the fridge from Charles and Ella earlier that day. We eat in silence; all the questions I have for my husband are jammed up in my throat. We open the bottle of wine we’d been planning to share, and sit on the couch with our glasses.
“Wow,” says Chad.
“Yeah,” I say. “Wow.”
I think we’re saying it for different reasons but we’re both a little dazed. He has his hand absently on my knee.
“When did you know?” I ask.
“About the intercom?” He gives me an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry. I knew you wouldn’t like that. We’ll figure out how to disable it.”
I glance over toward the foyer where the speaker and microphone are. Yes, there’s that. I wonder if Abi can hear us now. If he’s listening.
No. That’s stupid. Why would he want to?
“About the apartment,” I clarify.
“Oh,” he says, looking down, his big tell. Finally, he leans forward. “Ivan told me a while ago. That he wanted us to have it.”
Outside, the city noise is very faint, five stories down. We have the lights out and the windows glow all around us.A while ago?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I recount for him my call to Mira, how she already knew we weren’t staying. He rubs uneasily at the crown of his head.
“You know,” he says, not looking at me again. “I worried that he didn’t mean it at first. So I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Then, when I realized he was serious, I felt bad about it. I didn’t want people to think that’s why we took care of him, that we were angling for the apartment. Even though I wanted it—I mean of course I did—I tried to convince him to give it to Dana. I knew how heartbroken, how angry, she’d be.”