Page 13 of Love Bitters

Smiling, I flash the cover in her direction, replying, “But you’ve already started it. Don’t you want to finish it?”

“Nah,” she retorts with a slight wrinkle in her nose. “I’ve already read that one five times. I think I know what happens at the end.”

Our laughs mingle in the empty bank lobby before I tell her, “Thanks. I’ll take care of it.” Glancing toward where our boss sits in the corner, I quietly ask, “Won’t Nancy care that we’re not doing our jobs?”

Jolene snorts. “Who says we aren’t? She knows better than anyone how boring this place gets. Besides, she’d rather have us with a book in front of our faces than our phones.”

Considering the sensitive nature of the information we deal with, I’m pretty sure we’d be fired on the spot for using our phones while not on break. So, her words ring true. After a few seconds, I realize I’m still staring at her even though her attention has already switched over to her book. Feeling like a weirdo, I quit staring and flip to the first page in mine. I’m sucked in within the first paragraph, and before I know it, Nancy is locking the front door and pulling our tills.

Jolene places a hand on my shoulder on her way by as she muses, “I guess you’re liking it then?”

“I can’t believe I’ve never even heard of this author before,” I reply honestly. “I used to read like crazy. Haven’t had much time for it lately, though.”

Her head tilts back slightly with her laugh. “I’d say not.”

When her palm opens displaying all five of her fingers, I can’t help but chuckle with her. “How do you know that was recent?”

All but one finger goes down before she does a circle motion around her face. “It’s right here.”

I swallow hard, determined not to let my emotions get the best of me today, and I succeed all the way until I’m alone in my car. There and only there do I allow my tears to fall. It’s definitely not the best idea considering I’ve got to meet up with Mrs. Miller shortly, and I don’t want her first impression of me in such a long time to be a puffy face with red eyes. Giving myself a total of ten minutes to think about the guys and shed the last couple of tears, I wipe my face down before fixing my makeup.

All of the correcting in the world wouldn’t be able to stop my brain from slipping back in their direction on the ride over to my appointment. Not only does it amaze me that such strong feelings can develop in such a short amount of time like ours did but also that simply thinking of them hurts so damn badly still. I can’t help but wonder what they’re all doing today. What could we have been doing had I not shut them out? Whose night would tonight be if we were together? A hockey game with Wes and Thatch or maybe out to see a movie with Murph? Maybe icecream before an Ollie and Evan sandwich? Hell, possibly icecream with a boyfriend sandwich. Those questions are the ones that hurt the worst.

Fuck it.

I need a damn pick me up before meeting with Mrs. Miller. Swinging by my now favorite icecream haunt, I snag a peanut butter shake and make it to the apartment complex exactly on time.

Since I’m not late, I don’t feel any shame in carrying my spoils inside with me to find the lady I’m supposed to be meeting sitting behind her desk. With one finger in the air, she motions for me to wait a second before pointing toward a comfortable armchair across from her.

Keeping my ears to myself and not eavesdropping on her conversation, I try to distract myself with the plain vanilla décor of her office. From the beige chair I’m sitting in and its matching mate at my side to the photos of pastel-colored flowers in their silver frames hung on a white wall, I feel completely out of place in my smoky tinged work dress. Even Mrs. Miller herself appears to be allergic to any kind of color. Her hair is a bold blonde that can only come from a very expensive bottle, and she’s wearing little to no makeup that goes great with the tan of her church appropriate dress. The uncanny resemblance to my mother hits me out of nowhere. It’s not so much her appearance, but more so her mannerisms. That sweet, Southern ‘care for everyone charm’, or pretending to care in my mother’s case. From what I remember of her, though, that’s where the similarities end. I’ve got half a second to hope that’s true before she lays the phone in its base and turns her attention to me.

“Imogene,” she starts with a wide smile. “I was surprised to hear from you today, but I’m ever so glad you called.”

Letting my own lips pull up, I reply, “Thank you for seeing me so fast, Mrs. Miller.”

“Patricia, hun,” she corrects, adding, “we’ve been around each other since you were in Pampers, but Lord knows you’re a grown up now. Making me feel like an old woman.”

She pats one side of her hair as if she needs to confirm the hairspray is still doing its job, and it makes me chuckle softly.

Grinning in response as she reaches over to one of the drawers in her desk, she offers, "We keep one of our apartments available at all times. It's more of a showroom for new tenants, but I've already talked to my husband, and we agreed that we'd be more than happy to lease it to you if it's what you're looking for."

I wonder for a moment if they're reaching out like this because of pity; however, that thought dries up almost immediately. Mother would never be so bold as to embarrass herself or our family by divulging our business behind the closed doors of our home, so I assume this is pure kindness.

"Will you not need a credit or background check or anything?" I ask.

Her head shakes softly. "With you telling me about your new job at the bank, I believe it's safe to say my results will be the same as theirs."

Smiling, I agree, "Yeah true. I didn't think about that."

Holding out a key in the palm of her hand, she tells me, "It's 407. Go have a look and make sure it's what you're looking for. Don't worry about the furniture in there. We can move it all back to our little storage unit."

I reach out to take the key while she adds, "On the other hand, we've all been in your shoes at one stage or another in our lives and I've been trying to talk Rupert into buying new furniture for the showroom. It's a little outdated, but if you need any of what’s in there, you're more than welcome to it. That way it works in both our favors."

Shooting her a grateful smile, I tell her thanks and promise a quick return as I stand and make my way out of the office. Excitement bubbles in my chest when she says to take my time. The idea alone of getting out from under the judgmental thumb of my mother is enough to have me practically skipping out the door.

The apartment is just a few minutes walk away from the office, so it gives me a small window to check out the other surrounding buildings too. Like the office, everything appears clean and orderly. Not one hair appears to be out of place, much like Mrs. Miller's stiff updo. The door doesn't even so much as creak when I slide the key in and open it.

Walking straight into a small foyer area that splits straight down the middle of the living room and dining room, I'm amazed at the furniture Mrs. Miller called outdated. The soft heather-colored sofa with matching loveseat and lazy chair to the right looks like it was just ordered straight off a showroom floor. Off to the left, the table doesn't have a single scratch or divot. It's perfectly clear the thing has never been used.

That small dining room leads into a comfortably sized kitchen with all brand new appliances and an open bar that makes it easy to see clear across to the double doors that must be the entry to the small patio. A fully equipped laundry room sits parallel with the dining room and kitchen, leaving a small hallway that leads back to the bathroom and two bedrooms. I'd asked about a one bedroom, but she'd been adamant that this was the only apartment available. I figured if it wasn't too much, then I'd take it anyway. Who knows, I may be here for a few years, and that extra room will come in handy for the baby as it grows.

Panic tries to rise in my chest at the pressure of raising a child alone, but I shove it deep down in a box to deal with later. Instead, I scope out the other rooms. One is laid out as a home office and the other a nice little bedroom. I seriously don't want to take handouts from Mrs. Miller and her husband by using all of their nice furniture, but they did offer, and I'd be an idiot to look a gift horse in the mouth. With all but one exception. The bed. It would just be too weird sleeping on someone else's stuff for a long period. Especially knowing I'm having a baby too. I'd hate for anything to stain their mattress. I'll just have to ask her about trading the bedroom furniture out.

My hands shake with excitement as I lock up behind me to walk back to the office. Thankfully, Mrs. Miller isn't on the phone this time because I can't stop the words that slip past my lips. "I'll take it."

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