Basic Neighbors

Chapter 7

The clatter of pots in Alton's kitchen next door cut through my daily solitude, a reminder that life was stirring beyond my four walls. I leaned against the cool countertop, sipping coffee, the robust aroma mingling with the scent of my own brewing uncertainties.

Alton—charming, maddeningly attractive, and perpetually at ease in his own skin—slipped under mine as easily as he slipped through my door for late-night escapades. Our laughter would echo off the walls, our shadows dancing across the ceiling in a pantomime of closeness we didn't quite possess when the sun came up. But in those quiet morning moments, alone with the hum of the city rising outside, I longed for more than the fleeting warmth of his presence.

Was he boyfriend material? I let the question linger like the steam from my mug, curling into the air before disappearing. Real relationships were foreign territory—a land I hadn't charted in years. Yet here I was, mapping out possibilities with a man who still had textbooks scattered on his floor.

My mind wandered to the other night when I saw him with that girl—laughing, shoulders touching just so. A stab of... something twisted inside me. Jealousy? Uncertainty? Gen Z's casual intertwining of lives baffled me, their social dances a choreography I hadn't learned. After all, there was an unspoken chasm between us, a few years that stretched like miles, packed with experiences he had yet to know.

"Maybe she's just a friend," I whispered to the half-empty apartment, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. But the thought lodged itself stubbornly between heartbeats, an accusation of my own naivety.

I set the mug down, turning to peer at my reflection in the window. The city's pulse reflected back at me, its rhythm a constant call to embrace the challenges that shaped its edges. And there I stood, pulled between the lure of what could be and the safety of what was, a motif as recurrent in my life as the changing seasons outside.

"Figure it out, Jade," I muttered, pressing a hand against the cool glass. "You always do."

Resolute but restless, I turned away from the window. The city awaited, as did Alton—with questions I wasn't sure I wanted answered.

I sauntered down the hallway, the scent of fresh paint and old wood a comforting companion. Alton's door loomed ahead, a barrier to more than just his apartment. It was time for 'the talk'—that nebulous conversation that threatened to tip our easygoing arrangement into something messier, something real. But how to broach it without sounding like the relic of a bygone era? The words should be light, as casual as our encounters, yet weighted with the gravity of my longing.

"Tonight," I resolved, buoyed by the possibility of clarity. "We'll talk tonight."

But the universe, in its infinite jest, had other plans. My phone buzzed—a text from Anna, peppered with exclamation points and the promise of escapism. Mike's band was playing a gig downtown, and suddenly, the need for answers seemed less urgent than the need to lose myself in pounding drums and thrumming bass lines.

"Alton can wait," I told the empty corridor, the decision lifting a weight I hadn't known I'd been carrying.

The night air nipped at my skin as I stepped out into the city's electric embrace. Neon lights danced across my vision, the hum of conversation and traffic weaving a symphony of the now. I found Anna easily; her laughter served as a beacon in the dimly lit venue, guiding me through the throng of bodies.

"Jade!" she shouted over the music, her arms wide, all warmth and welcome. I fell into her embrace, the familiarity of her presence a balm to my churning thoughts.

"Ready to rock?" she grinned, her excitement contagious.

"Always," I replied, the truth of it ringing clear and strong.