The Expansion of the Universe

Four | "Window-girl."

As it turned out, her new neighbor did not give up easily.

He had come back every day for three days straight, always at different times. He always knocked three times exactly, waited approximately thirty-five and a half seconds, and then knocked three more times before leaving.

Liza always counted.

She never got close to the door, however.

The first day, she never left her bed, where she'd been snuggled with Milo when the knocks had echoed throughout the condo.

The second day, she'd been in the kitchen, forcing some grapes down her throat while Milo watched carefully. When the knocking had started, she'd nearly choked on her snack.

The third day, she'd been hovering by the laundry machined, debating if she could handle the noise of the device running. Some days it sounded so loud it scared her, because how was she to know if someone was breaking in if the machine was running and masked the sounds? After the knocking had subsided, she'd plucked her clothes off the floor where she'd dropped them and decided that handwashing would be best.

So, he'd made a total of four visits to her safe place, always knocking a total of six times before leaving her be.

He never did anything more, and so Liza told herself that she didn't need to worry about talking to him. After all, why bother? He hadn't spoken to her, and so there was no expectation for her to converse in response.

Plus, the longer he thought she was perhaps out of time or unable to open the door, the better.

But the fifth day after his arrival was different.

He didn't come by.

Liza refused to let her guard own, though. She still watched the door cautiously, and listened closely for any noise that might have signified he had gotten tired of waiting and wanted to make a more noticeable—and scarring—introduction.

But then two more days slipped past, and there was still no knocking.

Perhaps he'd finally given up.

"Just us again," she told Milo cheerfully on the afternoon of the fourth day of silence.

Just how it was meant to be. Their own little world, safe and tucked away and completely devoid of that damn knocking.

Milo's tail slapped lazily against the hardwood floor, letting her know that he was glad she was happy, but he was too tired to stand up and tell her.

Liza couldn't blame him. She'd been so worried about the new neighbor that she'd hardly slept since his arrival, and poor Milo was so sweet that he had been staying awake with her, his fluffy head cradled in her lap while she'd watched the door critically.

"I guess you don't feel up for going out, then?" She hadn't been on a walk with Milo since their last expedition had ended so poorly, but the dog had been getting plenty of exercise in the fenced backyard.

Milo just huffed in response to her question, and she cracked a smile, knowing he would gladly walk twelve miles if it was what she wanted.

That was her Milo, with a personality of his own but still the most loyal, selfless creature on the planet.

Hopping off the couch, she dropped down next to him on the floor and traced the line on his head where the dark brown fur became white. "Maybe we'll go on a walk tomorrow." She had to be sure that she wouldn't accidentally run into her new neighbor, or alert him to her presence at all, really. God, if he caught her outside . . .