January 10, 2023
11:38 p.m.
I watched, completely freaked, as the handle jiggled beneath someone’s grip.
Bang bang bang.
Eyes casing the room. Had to find a weapon. I grabbed the wine Jeremy had given to me. Brandished it like Thor’s hammer.
And then: “C’mon, Siobhan, don’t tell me you’re asleep already.”
I stopped short, wine bottle tight in my grip.
“Siobhan, it’s me! Let me in, it’s pouring out here!”
“Allison?” I asked.
I rushed to the door. Undid the chain. Whipped it open.
My friend was wet as a drowned rat. “Good lord, woman, I really thought I was going to have to sleep outside.”
“Come in, come in,” I said. She stepped across the threshold, dripping. Set down her suitcase. She immediately began de-layering, tossing it all onto a chair like she owned the place. Allison was always incredibly comfortable wherever she went, even in a situation like this. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled for the first time, her red-coated lips, somehow smudge-proof, morphing into her classic charming grin. “Surprise! It was supposed to be a smoother arrival than this.”
“How did you even—”
“Can I get some water?” Allison asked. “I’m absolutely parched.”
She floated over to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, grabbed a glass.
“I’ve got kombucha, too,” I said. “And a nice bottle of wine I haven’t opened yet.” I held it up, still in my hand. “It was my makeshift weapon when I heard the door banging.”
“Oh shit, I really freaked you, didn’t I? I’m the worst. But just water, thanks. I’m exhausted.”
She sat down on the bed, tossed her body back. “Cozy,” she said, before sitting up, bouncing a couple of times. “This feels like memory foam. Is it?”
“I think so?” I said. “But what are you doing here? Did you get my voicemail?”
Allison’s eyebrow scrunched up. “Voicemail?”
“I called you,” I said. “Desperate with loneliness. Honestly, you should probably just delete it. It’s embarrassing.”
Allison checked her phone. “Ahh, there it is. I didn’t hear the call. Must have happened once I was already on the train. Service was in and out.”
“Wait, you were already on your way here when I called you?”
She beamed. “Yes, ma’am. I got an email from Amtrak, advertising discounted prices on fares, and decided on a whim. There was only one train left, the last one of the night, leaving from Penn Station at eight o’clock.”
Allison was always going on about fate and destiny, about manifesting her own luck. In truth, chance did seem to favor her more times than not. I’d always chalked that up to her charisma, her beauty, more than anything else. “I’m glad you’re here, but why didn’t you call me? I could have picked you up from the station. I mean, lady, it’s your car. I owe you.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “But I really wanted the surprise to hit. Problem is, there are no Lyfts and Ubers at the train station. You have to use local cabs, and they’re all booked up in advance. How was I supposed to know? After a while, I started to freak out and did try to call you. I wrote your number down somewhere but I couldn’t find it, so I looked up the main number for the motel, but no one answered.”
“It probably went straight to the front office.”
“Anyway,” Allison said, “I finally was able to get in touch with a cab company to bring me here, and then the drive was a good thirty minutes. And then I get here, walk right up to trusty Bessie, and you’re in a deep sleep. I mean, my fault for arriving so late! But still. Weren’t you always a night owl?”
“I was,” I said. “But with no internet and no distractions, it’s kind of hard to be. Plus this place gets weird at night. Staying up too late freaks me out. But enough about that.” I pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “You’re so impulsive, you know that? But in the best way. You are still not allowed to listen to that voicemail, but suffice it to say I needed you. I’ve been lonely and freaked out and—”
“And here I am,” Allison said. “And you get to tell me everything that’s been going on. Please don’t skip a thing.”
So I did. I went over it all. The reappearance of Charlie and his face-off with Jeremy. The footprints outside the pantry and the running washer. The creepy woman and her obsession with my trash. The note that might have been from her—or might have been from someone else. The blond hairs that had been in the bed in Room One. The loneliness that was baked into every passing day. I even told her about naming the aloe plant.
“Yikes,” Allison said, when I’d laid it all out. “Can I meet the famed Spikey? Where is she?”
I laughed, pointed over to the window.
Allison turned back to me, eyes narrowed. “In all seriousness, though, you should have called me way sooner. I mean, your ex is hanging around, you’ve taken a new lover,” she said in her deepest, most absurd voice. “You’re talking to plants and all sorts of legitimately weird stuff is happening. What does Maisy say about that, by the way?”
“A whole lot of nothing,” I said. “Her mailbox is full, and she hasn’t emailed me back.”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mean, she’s no great friend of mine or anything. She’s a connection from a director I knew years ago. She asked me to post it because she knows I have a big reach with the newsletter. I thought this would be such a good opportunity for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out.”
“No, don’t get me wrong,” I said. “It is good for me. I’m doing the work—I mean, I’m trying at least. It’s just been a lot of emotions. Beyond all this weird stuff, a lot of it is just me, struggling to be on my own.”
“I get that,” Allison said. “I really do.” She reached out a hand, took mine in hers. “Everything with Charlie, god, it’s been awful, hasn’t it?”
I felt tears swim in my eyes. “It would be easier if I didn’t care about him, but I still do. I miss him, terribly. I miss being with him. But I don’t know how to trust him again. I don’t know that I can.”
“Yeah,” Allison said. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about taking him back.”
“I’m not,” I said. “But listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you—why are you and Charlie still in contact?”
“In contact?” she asked, shoulders jolting. “What do you mean?”
“He said you gave him my address up here. I mean, I know he told you that he had stuff to return to me, but don’t you think you should have run it by me first?”
I paused. Allison was staring at me, a blank look across her face. Not one of guilt but one of confusion.
“What is it?” I asked.
“He said that I gave you the address up here?” Allison asked.
“Yes,” I said, a chill starting to crawl up my spine as I spoke. “I mean, didn’t you?”
“I did, actually. Few days ago. And I’m sorry, you’re right. I should have checked with you, but he said you meant to send it to him but hadn’t yet emailed or something—I figured it was due to the lack of service. But, Siobhan, I gave him your address in Brooklyn, the sublet that starts next month.”
My heart began to race. “You did?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I actually didn’t tell him you were up here at all.”
“You didn’t?” My heart beat a bit faster. “But then how did he get it?”
Realization was already dawning on me, the pieces fitting together, answering my own question. The coincidence of it all. The way he’d been there when I went to town. The way he’d been here again, just as I was coming back from Jeremy’s…
Allison stood, crossed the room in three quick steps, then secured the chain lock, pulling the door to make sure it was locked tight.
“Honestly?” she said. “I really don’t know.”