The firm, distinct tap-tapping on my bedroom door, at this time in the morning, could only have been one person.
"Lissa, honey, are you awake?" Sandra didn't wait for my answer before she let herself in. "Oh, you're dressed already." She laid the breakfast tray on my bedside table as I whizzed around the room looking for my other earring. They'd been a gift from Hilarie one Christmas. Most of the things she'd bought me had been left with her, but not these. Diamonds were, after all, a girl's best friend. And forever, even though our relationship hadn't been.
"Where are you off to so early?" she inquired, watching me with intrigue. Although she was a lovely person, and likely would have been nosy even without the paycheck, I knew Sandra acted as Jean's daytime eyes. A spy who went back to her with the details of my day. I suppose I couldn't blame her – couldn't blame either of them – for doing it. It must have killed Jean not knowing what I got up to when she slept.
Unfortunately, she wasn't about to find this out secondhand, or before time. At least not until there was anything concrete to share.
"Erm, there's a sale on at this clothes store in town. We wanted to get there early." Inside, I scolded myself for starting the sentence with the supremely suspicious "erm". Only those about to tell a big, fat lie do that.
"Really? Which store?"
"Erm, I forgot the name. Apparel something or other." Jesus, I did it again!
She nodded and smiled, with the look of someone who didn't believe a word I'd said. Or perhaps that was imaginary, and my guilt had made me wary.
"Okay, well eat up before you leave. You want to keep your strength up. We know how aggressive people can be when there's a sale."
I was so relieved when she left. Had she stayed and questioned me further, I likely would have blurted out the truth about where I was really going. And that would have caused all manner of problems when Jean woke up.
"Well, that's not a good sign," Petr said, nudging me and pointing to the burned car parked outside the apartment building.
It was actually one bad sign on a long list of bad signs, that should have set off alarm bells. The first major one had come when we'd seen two hooded youths running past us with a flat screen TV and a games console in their hands, wires trailing behind them, threatening to trip them up.
"It might not be what it looks like," I'd said, trying to stay positive. "Maybe, I don't know, maybe they're just taking them to repair them." He'd side-eyed me long and hard after that remark.
The area itself wasn't bad; that is, it could have been far worse. Fifteen minutes away from the center of town by cab, it had that sort of deprived look of a post-communist city. From the names of the shops, and some of the snatches of foreign conversation we'd passed as we tried to locate the street, I gathered there was a large immigrant population. Something Lox Ridge had been lacking, and something I'd always found annoying about it.
"I've been meaning to pick up a new language," I said, with an exaggerated smile.
He made a face. "You'll probably pick up a lot more than that here. Ebola, cholera..."
"Don't be so negative." I hit him on the arm, but laughed anyway.
"I don't think I'd be safe with you living here, Lissa. I mean, I get that you want your own place, but this isn't the way to go about it."
There was a man waiting for us outside one of the buildings. I just assumed, judging from his suit, that he was the agent in charge of the viewing.
"Lissa, is it?" he said as we approached. We shook hands. "Hi. David. I'll be showing you around the property today."
We followed him inside, made smalltalk while we rode the elevator. All the while I could feel Petr's disapproval. The building was in good shape inside. A little low on light, but nothing serious. No graffiti, no smells of marijuana or anything else associated with inner city slum buildings. I held out hope for the rest of the place, the apartments in particular.
"It's right here. Apartment 11," the agent said. He turned the key in the lock, but the door didn't come open immediately. After a couple of heaves, pushing his whole weight against it, it flew open. A cloud of dust escaped, and sent us all into a coughing fit.
"We'll get that jam fixed," he said with a nervous laugh. "Sorry about the dust. It's been unoccupied for a while."
"Why?" Petr took the words right out of my mouth.
"Oh, you know, it doesn't suit everyone's tastes."
As soon as we stepped in, I could see why. The whole apartment was about the size of my room at Jean's. A tiny, depressing, unfurnished space with newspaper covering the windows, and about three different layers of drab wallpaper, all peeling. If you weren't contemplating suicide before you got here, you sure would have been after seeing the place.
"New kitchen units will be installed. And someone will come in and clean before you move in, of course," the agent explained. "But it'll probably need modernizing."
"Well that's the understatement of the century," Petr whispered to me drily.
I slapped him for being right. I could probably fit a small double bed, a small two-seater couch, and a little chest for my clothes – nothing else.
"There's a laundry room in the basement. Garbage day is fortnightly. Do you guys want a minute to think about it?"
"That would be great, thanks."
He left us and waited outside while we looked around.
"You don't need a minute to think about this, Lissa. Are you crazy? You're not staying here," Petr squealed.
I checked out the bathroom. A walk-in shower with a broken door. The toilet, however, surprisingly, looked brand new. What was the story there? I'd actually been expecting the bathroom to be the thing of nightmares, but it just needed cleaning.
"It's...okay. I actually kinda like it. It just needs some love. I have plenty of that to give," I said, beaming from ear to ear at the prospect of renting my very own place.
"Not this much love."
"Come on, where are your artistic eyes. Can't you see the potential? Who knows, I might even design the walls and ceiling, do a Michelangelo."
"Please! This is not the Sistine Chapel, it's a crummy little studio in a dodgy neighborhood."
My mind had already been made up. It was in my price range, I could bike to work. This would be my new project: getting it up to liveable standard.
"I'll take it," I announced when the agent returned. His joy contrasted well with Petr's mortified expression.
"Great. We'll need three months' rent in advance, and a security deposit."
"It's a good thing, Pete."
We were having a coffee at the train station, waiting for his train back to Lox Ridge. This was the third time I'd tried to convince him that I'd made the right decision in signing the lease.
"Yeah, for the landlord, that he actually managed to get someone stupid enough to rent that pit."
Leave it to Petr to tell it like it is. Not one to sugarcoat anything, I'd long learned to not be offended by his candor. I sipped my latte and said nothing.
"When are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know. When I go to collect the keys in a week."
"So you're leaving it till the last minute? Very brave of you, Lissa."
"I wish I didn't have to tell her at all," I said, and slouched despondently. How do you tell your girlfriend that you no longer want to live with her, though you still haven't decided whether or not you want to be with her? It occurred to me then that maybe I was going about everything the wrong way.
"I think she'd notice that you were suddenly not sleeping in the house anymore," he said. "Does this mean that's it for you guys?"
"No, it just means I'm moving out. I think we need the space. Need to be apart to reassess what we mean to each other."
He sighed tiredly. "Maybe you're right. What do I know? But if this is about bitchy biker babe–"
"It's not," I jumped in adamantly. "I have to stand on my own two feet, Pete. You know I'm right about that at least."
We had just enough time to finish our coffees before I had to leave him and rush off to work. My ribs were still aching when I reached, from his bone-crushing farewell hug.