Page 13 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

The door squeaks on its hinges as it swings open.

A parrot calls out from the apartment on the other side of mine. “Lucky lady. Lady luck. Lucky. Lucky lady.”

I don’t remember a parrot living here when Gran was in 2B. Hopefully the owner puts a blanket over the cage at night.

“Laaaady Luck,” the parrot squawks. “Lucky, lucky, lucky.”

That bird’s as bad as Megan with its optimistic proclamations.

Though, I do feel something akin to luck at having found an apartment here. Of course, I know my situation is the result of nothing but coincidental timing and persistence.

I step into my new home and glance around. My eyes land on the three windows across the main room—and then to the view. Or lack of view. While 2B has an amazing view of the grass and trees out the windows, 2O has a view of the parking structure. It’s nothing but concrete and cars as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t far.

“Let’s move you in!” Megan comes in behind me, a smile on her face.

Her smile falls just the slightest when she sees what I see.

“Oh.” Her mouth pops open. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here. Views aren’t everything. You’re in The Serendipity. And this place is beautiful!”

Megan walks past me into the center of the empty living room. It’s about half the size of the main room in Gran’s old apartment. Megan spins like she’s auditioning for the lead inThe Sound of Music, her head tilted back, arms outstretched.

“This place is magical!” she says with a sigh.

“Magical!” the parrot squawks from the other side of the kitchen wall.

“Oooh. Is that a parrot?”

“Sounds like it. With a voice like that, I sure hope it’s not the tenant.”

Megan cracks up while I take in the rest of my surroundings. The walls are high. There’s a historical charm to the place, including the radiator under the center window. The kitchen is open, with an island dividing it from the living room. It looks a lot like Gran’s apartment, only smaller, as if someone threw her place in the dryer and shrunk it, then took away the sweet view and replaced it with … that.

My younger sister, Lynette, shows up just as Megan stops twirling. Lynette’s carrying a plant in one arm and a two-liter of diet soda in the other.

“Happy housewarming!” she shouts before walking in and looking around. “Oh. And I think you might be getting a ticket for double parking. I saw a meter maid putting a piece of paper on the windshield. The guys are here too. They said they’re on their way up, and they’re ready to haul the heavy stuff whenever you open the truck.”

“Noooo!” I spin and run out the door, skipping the elevator and opting for the spiral staircase on my side of the building.

By the time I’m at street level, there’s no sign of a meter maid, but there is a ticket on my windshield.

I find parking, and we unload everything over the next few hours. There’s no sign of life in 2B all afternoon. I’m dying to see who got Gran’s place.

Once all my stuff is unloaded from the moving van, Lynette’s friends take off. Megan orders pizza while I leave her and Lynette in the living room so I can quickly jump in the shower. The bathroom has old penny tiles on the floor and a wide, framed mirror mounted over the sink. I turn the faucet to get the water to warm up, and it only comes out as a trickle. I keep turning the knob … and turning. A bit more water comes, but it’s hardly enough to be called a shower.

Great.

Well, maybe it’s been a while since someone ran the shower in here. Or maybe it takes a while for water to get to the second floor? This is an older building, after all. I step in and make the most of it, lathering up and letting the small stream do the best it can to rinse me.

Regardless of the low water pressure, I end up feeling refreshed.

“I had a little mishap in the kitchen,” Lynette says when I come out from my bedroom.

I sit in the overstuffed chair next to the couch and grab a slice of the pizza. “What kind of mishap?”

“I was getting some glasses down from the cabinet. When I opened the door, the handle just popped off in my hand.”

“It’s no big deal,” Megan assures me. “It just needs two screws, and it will go right back where it belongs.”

I set my pizza down and walk into the kitchen. The handle is sitting on the counter. I open the cabinet door to look inside. There are two holes where screws should have been, but no screws. That’s odd. How was the handle attached in the first place? Maybe it stuck to the paint? I look inside the cabinet. Something small and tan catches my eye in the back corner. I reach in and pull out a fortune cookie.

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