Page 38 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
Angela lifts both hands in a shrug. “Checked out a book from the library!”
Of course, the library. Pre-internet. With a sudden painful longing, I wish I could talk to Lottie about Pebble Cottage to get her advice. I wonder what she would say.
“Well, I better get going.” I point to the clock on the wall, above the sign listing out the “Spa Rules.” “I’ve been in here for more than fifteen minutes.”
Simon roars with laughter, and Pam leans over and says, “Darlin’, you want to loosen your grip on the rule book of life. Trust me, it’ll be more fun that way.”
I stare back at her for a moment. And then, head held high, I climb out of the hot tub with my Victoria’s Secret cheekies riding all the way up my ass.
As I walk away, clutching my clothes against my dripping-wet chest, I hear Angela say quietly, “I don’t know where these young people buy their bathing suits.”
“Brazil?” Pam suggests. The sound of their laughter rings through the sticky night air.
In bed, freshly showered and wearing buttery-soft shorty pajamas, I curl up underneath the seashell comforter with my laptop balanced on my legs. The sky finally breaks open as I’m watchingOutlander, thunderclaps booming every other minute. It’s very cozy. Still, I can hardly focus on the episode. What am I going to do about Pebble Cottage? I suppose I should give Alan the green light to do the work he needs to do. I wonder how long that will take. Maybe I should schedule another trip after he’s finished so that I can make a decision about the cosmetic updates. But how long can I afford to wait before finding new tenants? I guess I should go over the numbers again in the morning.
What would Lottie do?I wish, again, that I could ask her.
I wake up at seven forty-five. (I was aiming for seven thirty, but I hit theSNOOZEbutton in my sleep.) Gramps has already been up for an hour and says he’s content with his bowl of Grape-Nuts, so I head to the dining room alone. I pile my plate with scrambled eggs, pancakes, and melon, and wolf it all down with a glass of cranberry juice and a mug of creamy coffee. It’s better than the coffee Grampsmakes, but I miss my oat milk lattes. No one tries to talk to me, and I have a little table to myself next to an enormous window overlooking the gulf.
As I walk back to Gramps’s through the grassy lawn, the morning sun warms my face. The humidity at this hour is not only bearable but downright pleasant. Maybe the key to living in Florida is waking up early.
Under the white gazebo, Angela’s exercise class is in full flow, a dozen sweating seniors in formfitting outfits. I don’t know what the class is, but they’re moving fast and making a lot of grunting noises. It looks a bit intimidating, to be honest.
I spend the next hour going over everything about Pebble Cottage: the estimates for Alan’s work, for the cosmetic work, and the costs of property tax and insurance. I’m not really a numbers person, so I have to triple-check my work.
If I pay off Alan in monthly installments, I could go maybe three months without tenants. Any longer than that, and I’d be too far in debt for my liking. That should be enough time to figure out the aesthetic updates. I feel somewhat divided on that issue, and I’m not sure why. It’s as if part of me doesn’t want to disappoint Daniel McKinnon, even thoughallof me doesn’t want to shell out a premium for his so-called paint and floor guys. But I don’t exactly feel like picking apart these feelings right now. I need to stay focused on the numbers; I absolutely cannot let my financial judgment be clouded by the fact that I made out with my property manager—hot redhead or not.
And he is hot, a sly voice in my head reminds me.
Calm down, I tell her.
Before I devolve into having a full conversation with the voices in my head, I decide to take a walk. I’m not about to attempt yogaagain with Gramps around, but I need to move my body before sitting at my laptop for eight hours.
Forty-five minutes later, my limbs feel pleasantly warm and loose from my beach walk. I make myself a turkey sandwich and bring it to my room to start my workday.
Before I get sucked into Slack messages and Zoom meetings, I send a quick email to Daniel and Alan letting them know I want to get started with the maintenance. This makes me feel like a responsible, accomplished adult, which launches me into work on a high note.
That note quickly sours, though, thanks to Gramps’s Wi-Fi. It worked well enough yesterday, so I can’t understand why it keeps flickering in and out today. In a team meeting, I can barely understand what my co-worker is saying, because she sounds and looks like a pixel-y robot.
Walking from my room to the kitchen to the living room, I say loudly, “Can you say that one more time? Sorry, my internet!”
A few more warbled words, and then, “—think we’ve lost Mallory.”
“No! I’m here!” I yell into my laptop. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” comes Gramps’s voice.
“Ah!” I yelp and spin around to face him, simultaneously jabbing theMUTEbutton, which makes me drop my laptop. “Crap!” I shout-whisper, scrabbling to pick it up, trying to make sure I’m still in the meeting and also muted.
“Sorry, Gramps,” I whisper. He stands there holding a book, his face unusually stern.
“I’m trying to read.” He brandishes the book. As he waves it through the air, I catch sight of a red cover that includes the wordsModern Physics.
“I’m sorry! I’m having trouble getting a good signal, and I’m in a meeting.”
“And is this meeting more or less important than the discovery that nebulae can act as both source and lens in the gravitational lens effect? Because that is the chapter I am reading.”
“I…”
