Mr. Wrong Number(37)

There were a couple others I checked out in the downtown area, but they were dumps and I couldn’t afford them. So I went farther out into the suburbs, looking at super-basic old vanilla apartments, and before I knew it I was two blocks from my parents’ house.

Talk about your bad omens.

But since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to swing by.

“Ma?” I opened the front door and went inside. My parents never locked the house until bedtime, so I never had to worry about having a key on me. “Where are you?”

“Basement.”

I ran down the stairs, expecting to see her watching TV by herself, but she was actually surrounded by four ladies from church. Ellie, Beth, Tiff, and that crotchety one with the ever-narrowed eyes who’d always watched me like I was about to steal the collection baskets.

“Oh. Hey, everyone.” I gave them all a smile and wished I wasn’t wearing skinny jeans and a tank top that said Summer Girl. Now that I had a paying job, I needed to go shopping for clothes, but working remotely had kept me lazy and entirely unconcerned with my wardrobe. “How are you guys?”

“What are you doing here, hon?” My mother looked at me suspiciously and added, “You didn’t lose your job already, did you?”

“Why?” I clenched my fists to keep myself from being snotty in front of her friends. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s the middle of the day, dear,” she said, her eyes moving over me from head to toe as if cataloging every failing, “And you’re dressed like a scrub. Do you need some money to go shopping?”

More clenching. “No, Ma, I have money. But thank you. I just haven’t had time to shop because I’ve been working so hard.”

There. Boom.

“Oh, that’s right—your father’s been saving your articles. He really liked the story about the steakhouse that boozes up every dish.”

I felt beads of sweat on my nose as my mom’s friends looked at me like I was a disappointment.

“I tell you what,” Mom said, leaning closer to Tiff, “I don’t know what the paper is thinking with that new cartoon mom thing. Have you guys read that?”

Now my forehead was sweaty, too.

She continued. “After all the commercials, I thought it was going to be good stuff, but it’s some young smart-ass who likes to be funny instead of helpful.”

I rolled in my lips and inhaled through my nose.

Tiff said, “Oh, now, Nancy—I thought she was hilarious.”

Beth said, “Me too.”

“It was definitely different.” Ellie tilted her head a little and added, “But I enjoyed it.”

The crotchety one just looked at me, still trying to decide if I was a felonious troublemaker, but I didn’t care. She could kiss my ass, because the rest of them dug my work.

“Listen, I’ve got to get going. I’m apartment hunting today, but since I was close, I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Tell Dad, too, okay?”

My mother pursed her lips. “You could tell him yourself if you ever called us on the phone.”

“I don’t call anyone.” I gnawed on my lip. “I hate talking on the phone.”

“Who hates talking on the phone?” My mother looked at her friends as if she were speaking about a sociopathic murderer. “I swear, your generation has completely forgotten common courtesy.”

I forced a smile on my face. “Well, this discourteous girl has to go. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

“You should come by for spaghetti on Sunday.”

“Okay.” A courteous spaghetti Sunday. Sounded awesome. “Bye.”

I looked at five apartments after that, then stopped at Target for a few groceries and two non–high school outfits. By the time I got home, it was almost dark and I was exhausted. I put away my groceries, then immediately changed into pajamas and parked myself on the couch. Jack was at Vanessa’s, his new “friend,” and Colin seemed to already be asleep because it was quiet behind his door, so I had all night to rule the living room.

Which was good because even though I was slowly getting caught up on Marriage in a Month, I still needed to binge three more episodes before I’d be up-to-date. I lay down and turned it on, but I was distracted by my phone and social media. I psychotically checked the comments when the Times posted one of my articles, and by “psychotically checked,” I meant refreshed the page every three-to-four minutes.

I was on my fiftieth refresh when I noticed I had a voicemail. I usually didn’t even listen to messages, because, like I’d told my mother, I hated talking on the phone. But it was a number I didn’t know, so I clicked on it.

“Hi, Olivia—it’s Jordyn in the office. Just wanted to let you know that your application was approved. Please call me tomorrow and we can talk about signing the lease and setting up your move-in date. Thanks.”

What? I couldn’t believe it. I listened to the message again. Holy shit! I was seriously going to live in the perfect loft apartment, for the same rent as all the suburban dumps I’d looked at that afternoon?

I ran over to Colin’s door and quietly knocked. “Colin?”

I didn’t want to wake him up, but I so wanted to wake him up. I was beyond excited but because of my lack of friends, I had no one to freak out with except him.