Love All The Way

25| Hasta la vista, baby

The idea of returning to work the next morning keeps me bundled on the sofa in a state of distress. When I grow tired of the flashing tv lights, I get to my feet, only to pace my cold, dark apartment while Mulan purrs on the sofa. It's not even nine, so I've still got twelve hours until I walk through those doors and face Laurelle's wrath. Unless the client was bluffing, in which case the only thing I'll have left to face is that I didn't close a deal, and under these circumstances, that doesn't seem as bad.

Throat tight, I decide to be productive by cleaning my apartment. The place has grown chaotic since I moved up to seven, with boxes of takeout overflowing in the trash, so now is a better time than any. I dance around the kitchen while scooping up chocolate wrappers and throwing them in the trash can like the next Michael Jordan. I'm somewhere mid-clean when I glance at the window and spot two beaming headlights in the parking lot. A moment passes before the driver kills the engine, and the parking lot falls into darkness.

For a brief, ridiculous moment, I think that it's Milo. My heart even lurches like I want it to be Milo, and I throw the remaining wrappers away before moving toward the window. On closer inspection, the car haphazardly parked in the corner does not belong to Milo. 

I get back to cleaning in an attempt to unwind, but a knock at the door stops me dead. Panic sets in as I slowly cross the living room, glancing at a softly snoring Mulan. Get a cat, he said. Cats are nice. But is that sixteen-pound furball going to protect me from an intruder? Not likely. I inch toward the door and grab the umbrella from its stand. It's not exactly a lethal weapon, but the pointy tip is probably sharp enough to poke an eye out.

I hope.

Turning to the door, I take a deep breath. In the few years or so that I've been stuck in this apartment, not once has anyone knocked on the door, and with that unfamiliar car in the parking lot, my spidey senses are tingling. Eye to the peephole, I search the hallway and don't see a thing, so I open the door a sliver. Even now, after everything, my immediate thought is please be Milo, be Milo, but the figure emerging from the corner of the hallway is most certainly not Milo, it's Lucas.

"What," I say, "the hell. I thought you were an axe murderer."

"Sorry," he says, but he sure doesn't sound it, "I knew if you saw it was me that you might not open the door, so I hid around the corner."

I blink once. Then twice. "Do you know how psychopathic that sounds?"

"Well," he says, scratching his jaw, "now that I've said it out loud, yes."

My first thought isn't what are you doing here, though it really should be. Its, "How did you even get into the building?"

"I buzzed that weird guy from downstairs, and he let me in. Look, can I come in? We need to talk." 

The seriousness in his tone makes me panic. I start to wonder whether the guy from the viewing complained already, but if he has, why would Laurelle send Lucas to my house instead of waiting until morning to fire me? 

"Kennedy?"

I snap to attention, already rehearsing my version of events. "Fine, just for a few minutes." 

He nods and walks in before pausing. It must be strange walking into a place he once called home. For the most part, it looks the same as when he lived here, but he can feel something is off, like when you sleep at a house that isn't yours. Finally, he strides toward the couch and abruptly takes a seat, waking Mulan. She takes one look at him as his hand extends toward her and hotfoots it into my bedroom.

"Is this about...work?" I ask. 

"No," he says gravely, "it's not about work."

Relief floods through me, but I don't sit down. I just tower in front of him, arms folded, and study his face. It's hard to believe that this is the same man whose social media I used to obsessively check. Now when I look at him, I can see past the mask, past the illusions and trickery and fakery; I see him.