Three Weeks Later
Thirteen floors in this apartment building, and of course they chose to live at the top.
I say they, but I guess I mean we, considering I live with them now. And by them, I’m referring to my two best friends, the closest thing to family I have: Erin and Johnny aka JJ.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m grateful they took my broke ass in.
I can’t call Erin and JJ childhood friends, because even though they grew up in Pocahontas with me, I didn’t meet them until I was much older. Eighteen to be exact. But we’ve been inseparable ever since.
Two years ago they both took jobs in Chicago, and I took one in St. Louis.
Three weeks ago, I lost that job. And it wasn’t just any job; it was my dream job in event planning. Turns out my boss’s wife had been using the company to launder money. Once that came to light, Just Say When Events went belly up, along with my income. So when Erin and JJ invited me to move in with them, it was a no-brainer.
At least that’s the story I tell everyone. The real one is much more complicated, and I don’t like to talk about it. It’s all centered on that damn tattered letter.
Anyway, here I am, living just north of downtown Chicago in a massive condo—which takes up the entire thirteenth floor of the building—that I most certainly cannot afford.
Not now anyway.
And that’s exactly why I’ve spent the day searching the internet for jobs and running around the city, picking up applications.
Despite Erin and JJ’s constant reminders that they don’t need my money and their encouragement that I wait for the right job to come along, I just can’t do it. I need to make money. I need to pay my own way and carve out my own path in this crazy-ass life—a life I’m no closer to figuring out now than I was the day I moved here.
Last week I was hired on part time at Josalyn Allen Events—a place that definitely has potential—but she only has me working twenty hours a week. That’s not enough to pay the bills, so I’m looking for something else too.
The tiny voice in the back of my head chimes in, reminding me of the untouched bank account in my name—the one that probably comes from the life I don’t remember, the one with a number two followed by way too many zeros. It would be easy to tap into those funds, but I refuse.
“Honey, I’m home,” I sing, pushing through the door. Tucking the stack of applications under my arm, I shut it behind me, making sure the deadbolt is securely in place.
“You do realize no one can get to us, right?” JJ says, taking the papers before they can slip out from under my arm. “I thought I explained how this works.”
Rolling my eyes, I brush past him, giving him a hip bump in the process. “Yes, I know. The thirteenth floor is key-card access only from the elevator and the stairs; therefore, the only people who can get up here are the three of us and whomever we personally buzz up, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“This place is nothing like the apartment complex you came from,” he says, following me into the kitchen.
“I know, but it’s still Chicago.” And whether I’m on the first floor or the thirteenth floor, I will lock and double lock every door and window. Daddy used to say, “Just when you think you’re safe, you’re not,” and that’s always stuck with me.
JJ drops my papers on the kitchen counter. “More job applications? I thought you took that job for the event company.”
“I did, but it’s only part time, and I need to make more.” The stack of applications taunts me. “So I have to improvise.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Probably not.” Swiping the applications off the table, I toss the first one to JJ. “This one is for a bartender at Club 23.”
He frowns. “I don’t want you working in a club.”
“Yes, well, it’s not your choice. You’re my friend. You should support me.”
It’s not that I want to go back to bartending, but it’s what I know. I bartended my way through college. It comes easy to me, and it’s a way to bring home cash in hand.
“I will,” he confirms, softly adding, “financially.”
“Absolutely not. We’ve gone over this how many times?”
“Shae, listen to me. I can afford to help you out while you get on your feet. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Do the event planning part time, and let me worry about the rest.”
“JJ, listen to me.” He narrows his eyes as I mock him. “I don’t want you to help me. I’m a grown woman. I’ve had a stable, full-time job, and I’ll find one again. But until then, I need to have a steady income.”
And not just for rent, but because of my love for handbags. JJ would probably think twice about supporting me if he knew how much my latest Louis Vuitton cost.
“Fine.” He picks up the first application. Shaking his head, he rips the paper in half. “Bad neighborhood.”
“Okay. How about this one? Bartender at Shiver Vodka Bar.”
He snatches the paper from my hand. “Nope. Try again.”
“Are you going to tear up every application? Because that’s not going to work for me. I need a job.”
“It’s bad enough you’re even considering work as a bartender in the city. At least pick a place with some class or in a better neighborhood so I don’t have to worry about you every second you’re gone.”
I would argue with him, but it’s no use. He’s a hot-headed, macho computer nerd who somehow always gets his way. Plus, he loves me, and he’s looking out for me. I know better than to take that for granted.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll pick out the ones in decent neighborhoods and go from there.”
“Thank you.” Standing up, he tosses the shredded papers in the trashcan. “You better get your ass ready or we’ll never get out of here on time.”
“Whatever.” I wave him off. “I only need an hour tops.”
Two hours later, I stand in front of yet another building while JJ parks the car. Disappointment slowly creeps in. I’ve been living here for three weeks and spending every spare moment walking the streets and taking the el to different neighborhoods, trying to trigger some sort of memory. Dr. Fairfield said it was only a matter of time before something sparked a recollection, but I’m starting to think she just said that to make me feel better.
I feel JJ’s gentle touch on my arm, and I sigh, grateful someone is able to keep me grounded and pull me back to reality. I often find myself tangled in the web of thoughts that consume my brain.
“You okay?”
I look up as JJ smiles warmly at me. “I’m better than okay.”
He quirks a brow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to convince myself more than him. “Our best friend is getting married to a sexy, successful, and kind man. Of course I’m better than okay.”
“Sexy?” JJ scrunches his nose. “I don’t know that I’d call Jacob sexy. That might be going a tad too far.”
“Yes, well, you’re a man. Ask any woman if Jacob is sexy, and you’ll get a unanimous drop of the panties.”
JJ waggles his eyebrows. “Am I sexy enough to drop panties?”
“Even better,” I croon, leaning in close. “You melt them.”
JJ grabs my skirt, acting as though he’s going to lift it up, and I slap his hand away.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing.
“Checking to see if your panties are melting.” Twin dimples wink at me when he grins. If he wasn’t one of my best friends, and the brother I’ve never had, my panties would, in fact, have just melted.
“Who says I’m wearing any?”
The look on JJ’s face is priceless. His jaw nearly hits the sidewalk before snapping shut. Giving him a wink, I turn my attention to the entrance of the building and completely ignore him when he mumbles, “You better be wearing underwear.”
“Vault,” I say, reading the stainless-steel letters stretching across the middle of the brick building. Above that are rows upon rows of tinted windows.
“Tell me again why Erin and Jacob combined their bachelor and bachelorette parties,” he says.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “This place looks fancy.”
“More than we’re used to.”
JJ, Erin, and I grew up several hours south of Chicago. Our town has a four-way stop, a dingy motel, and a gas station. Our version of a club was a hole-in-the-wall bar with a pool table and two dart boards.
JJ nudges me with his elbow. “It would appear we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
I glance up at him. “You know, we could always cut out early and go catch that movie you’ve been wanting to see.”
“You’re right,” he says flatly. “We should totally bail.”
“Really?” I ask, hopefully.
“No,” he admonishes. I slap his chest, and he lets out a soft oomph. “I was joking. We can’t bail. This is Erin we’re talking about. And she’s only going to get married once, which means only one bachelorette party, so we should be here to celebrate with her.”
“You’re right.” I pout. “It’s just…you know how I feel about these sorts of parties.”
“You do realize it’s okay to socialize, right?”
“I socialize.” I cross my arms over my chest.
JJ rolls his eyes. “Let me rephrase. It’s okay to make new friends.”
“I have plenty of friends.”
“No, you don’t. You have acquaintances. The only friends you have are me and Erin, and Erin doesn’t really count because she’s getting married and it’s only a matter of months before she drops off the grid.” He pauses and whispers, “Don’t tell her I said that.”
I roll my eyes. He knows me better than that. “Quantity doesn’t matter. It’s about quality.” I leave out the fact that I prefer to have acquaintances. The more people you let in, the more you have to lose. And I’ve lost enough already.
“Well,” JJ says smugly. “I won’t argue with that. But still, you’re all work and no play.”
“Work is good. It keeps my mind occupied.”
He huffs, clearly at his limit for my excuses. “You know what else keeps your mind occupied? Fun. Let loose for once. Have some fun.”
“And you want me to do that here?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
I turn back toward the building. Maybe he’s right. I can’t recall the last time I had a night out. It’s been at least a year, if not longer. And no one here knows me as anything other than ‘Erin’s friend from back home’ except Erin’s family, and they love me.
“We’ll see,” I say.
JJ gives me a look.
“What? I refuse to make any promises.”
“Fine,” he says, draping an arm around my shoulders. “Just promise you’ll at least consider it.”
“I’ll consider it if you promise not to let them drape penises around my neck or put them in my drink. Oh, and I don’t want to write on one, ride one—” JJ looks at me funny. “An inflatable one,” I clarify. “I don’t want to ride an inflatable one.”
“Good Lord,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “What in the world do women do at these things?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
“Yes, but I’m about to find out.”
I nod, and he continues.
“Okay, I promise no penises around your neck, in your drink, between your legs, or in your mouth. And you’re officially the most boring person I know.”
“All right, let’s do this,” I say, ignoring his jab. Rubbing my hands together, I take a step toward the door just as JJ wraps a hand around my wrist. “What?”
“You are wearing underwear, right?”
I shrug, and he lets go of my wrist. A slow smile spreads across my face. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“I want you to be safe,” he says firmly. “Knowing Jacob, this place will be swarming with his frat brothers.”
“Oooh… I like where this is going. Maybe I’ll enjoy socializing after all,” I tease. “What were you just saying about me being the most boring person you know?”
His face goes stone cold. “That’s not funny.”
“Chill, brother bear. We’ve already established my lack of socialization skills; I highly doubt I’ll be shacking up with some stranger in the bathroom.” Although ending my two-year drought sure would be nice.
Reaching around me, JJ opens the door. “Trust me, I wasn’t worried about you doing that at all,” he mumbles.
My steps falter as I walk through the door. What the hell is that supposed to mean?