by Hayden Hunt
As I flipped through the channels, however, I soon remembered that the cable guy wasn’t going to be here until tomorrow. Shit. I had the choice between a show in Spanish, the news, and a day time soap. I went with the news and let it play in the background as I curled up on the couch.
I glanced around at all the boxes that now sat on the dark hardwood floors and told myself I would start unpacking them in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, that was all I needed, then I’d get to work.
It wasn’t like me to procrastinate on this kind of thing. Normally, I was very type-A and didn’t put off anything. I liked to get things done, I liked things to feel complete.
Especially in my house. I was kind of neat freak that way. I took organization to a whole new level. So normally, lazing around on the couch while my new apartment was a mess of boxes would have made me cringe.
But today I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I had taken the week off work, so it wasn’t like I wouldn’t have time to deal with this later, anyway. But I still could feel the shift in my behavior.
I supposed that would happen when you felt like your world was falling apart.
I buried my head in the couch cushion as I overanalyzed my life. Ever since I was eighteen, I wanted to be a homeowner. I had always seen it as the ultimate measure of success.
Now I wa finally here and it felt fucking awful. I wanted to have a sense of pride when this day came. I wanted to know that I had earned it, that I deserved this, and I wanted to celebrate with the ones I loved.
As it turned out, though, I didn’t really have many loved ones. I had coworkers and I had a roommate prior to moving in here, and I wasn’t close with any of them. We spoke minimal amounts, only about the things that needed to be discussed.
I had only one person I cared about, truly cared for, and she was gone now.
I felt hollow. All the things I normally took joy in felt pointless. To be fair, though, I didn’t take joy in much. And the few things I did enjoy doing were very practical.
I loved working, for example. I was the office manager at a dental hygiene facility and I took great pride in that. It was good money, I was conventionally successful, and it was everything I had always wanted to be, really. It wasn’t exactly a hobby but I did love it immensely.
So it was weird that, right now, I was dreading having to go back to work in a week. The dentist who ran the practice was nearly slack jawed when I requested the time off, because I never had before. And now I didn’t even want to go back.
I also didn’t want to clean, which usually calmed me down. I didn’t want to organize anything. I had no desire to be productive in any way.
Was this what depression was supposed to feel like? I’d always heard that when a person was depressed, they lost all motivation to do things, even the things they used to love. Was that what was happening to me? I didn’t feel particularly sad, just… numb and empty.
Well, I wasn’t going to let myself succumb to this. I may not have had motivation, but I still had discipline. Whether I enjoyed it or not, I was going to get this apartment unpacked and organized to my liking.
I forced myself to sit up. I pulled the nearest box to me on the couch. It was labeled “books.” My book shelf was already set up in the corner so this was a nice place to start. I spread everything out on the floor and began to organize them by author’s last name before placing them in the shelf.
I went through, box by box, until it was nearly 9 pm. It wasn’t as calming as it normally was for me, but it did help me with overthinking. By doing repetitive activity after repetitive activity I was able to successfully occupy my mind.
I had to stop around 9 pm, though. I only had a few boxes to go, but I was just too tired after staying up the night before and moving all day.
I took a quick shower, got into my PJs, and curled into my bed. During my unpacking, I did some laundry with my bedsheets and clothes I’d need to wear soon. The dryer was just finishing up when I got out of the shower so the sheets were toasty when I snuggled into them.
If nothing else, at least I could get a good night’s sleep. Being surrounded by warm blankets actually was relaxing.
I closed my eyes, pulled the blankets around me, and tried to fall asleep.
However, despite my exhaustion, I soon learned this would be impossible. Whoever was on the other side of my wall was having people over. I hadn’t noticed in the living room because that wall didn’t have a direct connection to their apartment. But clearly my bedroom did.
Every time I could feel myself nodding off, I’d hear an obnoxious laugh that jolted me awake. They would talk normally for a while, which I could still hear but was less obnoxious, and then out of nowhere, someone would yell out a joke and my room became unbearably noisy.
I dealt with this for about forty-five minutes because I didn't know what else to do. This was literally my first day being moved in, and the last thing I wanted to do was start a feud with my neighbors. And it wasn’t even late; he should be allowed to have people over at 9 pm. I acknowledged that.
But the longer I stayed awake, the grumpier I became. I was god awful exhausted, all I wanted to do was sleep, and it seemed like they were never going to shut up!
I did my best to be patient, but it didn’t take long for the rage to get to me. I ripped off my bed sheets, put on a pair of slippers, and marched over to my new neighbor’s house.
I banged on the door in frustration. A part of me knew I was being incredibly rude right now, but I was way too tired to give a shit.
A man around my age came to the door, grinning; clearly he had just been laughing at someone.
“Hello, can I help you?” he said with a grin.
Somehow, his perkiness just irritated me more.
“Uh, yeah, I just moved in next door and—”
“Oh, you’re my new neighbor!!” He cut me off with a grin and reached out to shake my hand. “So nice to meet you! I thought I saw movers earlier. Do you want to come in and have a drink? I was just having some friends over—”
Oh my God. Could this asshole not talk a mile a minute?
“Yeah, I know you are,” I said bitingly. “That’s actually why I came over here. I’m trying to sleep and you’re being extraordinarily loud.”
He frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “See, I’m not used to watching my noise level very much. The lady who lived next door before you was hard of hearing so me having friends over never bothered her.”
This made me cringe. He had no idea, how could he have? But still, him saying that set off another wave of anger inside me.
“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who’d like her back,” I snapped unexpectedly.
He frowned. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you’ll be a fine neighbor, I… Wait, did other neighbors tell you that they’d like her back? Because that’s incredibly rude and—”
“Can you just please keep it down?” I responded harshly. “I really need to sleep. I’ve been moving all day, I didn’t sleep last night, I still have more unpacking to do tomorrow…”
“Right, of course, no problem. We’ll keep it quiet, I promise.”
“Great,” I said, turning around and rushing back to my door.
“Uh, it was nice to meet you!” he called behind me, which only made me feel like a total asshole.
I was a total asshole in this situation, I knew it. I went off on this guy for no reason at all. Because he was too loud at 9 pm. Great. I was off to a great start in this new apartment complex.
I slammed the door behind me, anger still coursing through me. For weeks now, I hadn’t been able to feel much. Not much sadness, not anger, just numbness. It was like all the anger I had about how my life had been recently came surging back through me.
And I had nobody to take it out on except myself.
I climbed back into my bed and pulled the covers over my head. Things were quiet this time, and it would be a lot easier to fall asl
eep, but that only made me feel like more of a jackass.
I took advantage of the quiet, though, and willed myself to sleep despite my frustrations.
I awoke the next day to a loud knock on the door. I had overslept, and it was 10 am. But I couldn’t think of any reason that somebody was at my door. The cable guy wasn't scheduled to be here until Wednesday.
I groaned and rolled out of bed, my tired legs heavy as I walked on the cold hardwood floor to the bright red door.
When I opened it, I was taken aback. Standing before me was a young man holding a large bouquet of flowers.
I looked at him, then glanced up and down the hallway.
“Hello!” he said cheerfully. “I have a flower delivery for you!”
“A flower delivery?” I asked, confused. I couldn’t think of a single person who would deliver flowers to me. “I’m sorry, you probably have the wrong apartment.”
He frowned then looked down and reread the address. “Nope, this is it! Number 23.” He handed over the flowers.
“Oh, okay…” I said, still hesitant. “Well, thank you.”
“Absolutely!” He grinned. “Have a fantastic day!”
“You too.” I nodded as I closed the door and carried the heavy bouquet over to my dining room table.
This just plain made no sense. Not only was it weird for me to receive flowers at all, this was clearly a very expensive bouquet. It was a giant, colorful affair with flowers that I couldn’t even recognize and quite a few that had not yet bloomed.
And instead of arriving in that cheap plastic vase that flowers usually arrived in, it was already in a large glass vase. Thankfully, because I didn’t have something to put them in. I didn’t think I’d ever gotten flowers before.
I didn’t see the card at first, as it was small and had fallen into the huge array of petals. I grabbed it, hoping for a clue about where these came from.
“My deepest apologies. I hope these make your day easier,” the card read.
It didn’t have a sender so I was left even more confused. Deepest apologies? For what?
This couldn’t possibly be related to what happened, could it? But no, I hadn’t told a single person I knew. I wasn’t even close enough to anyone to tell them.
But maybe it didn’t come from someone I knew. Maybe it came from someone she knew, who knew how hard this would be for me.
This made everything so much more real. For the first time in weeks, I could feel tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. I didn’t want to be faced with the reality of my situation. I did everything in my power to avoid it.
I threw the card away and tried to ignore my feelings for a bit. I’d probably throw the whole damn bouquet away, too, if it was any smaller. I didn’t want any reminder of what had happened.
I opened a new box to unpack and got about halfway through it. But the pit in the bottom of my stomach kept threatening me. As much as I wanted to deny my emotions, I couldn’t deny how sick I was now feeling.
I started bawling on the couch. It was like everything I avoided was hitting me all at once.
I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t organize. I couldn’t focus on what I needed to get done. For the moment, all I could do was be in pain.
And cry. I could cry… a lot.
18
Oliver
I had gotten to the shop early this morning, I wanted to go over all the deliveries early so that I could make a special arrangement.
This was something I didn’t often have time to do. Make flower arrangements exactly as I wanted to, I mean. I had enough deliveries to keep me busy and I had to follow those arrangement requests to a tee. People were very picky about their flowers.
But today I was going to make the time. It was a good creative outlet for me. Of course, all flower arranging was a creative outlet, but this in particular was extra enjoyable to me. I got to let my mind run wild, make a new masterpiece that I hadn’t yet created. It was my favorite part of the job.
And I actually had a good excuse to do it today. I had someone in particular in mind when making this arrangement.
Evidently, I had a new neighbor move into my apartment complex last night. I also happened to be having a small get together with a few friends and apparently we kept him awake that night.
He was kind of rude about the whole thing, definitely ruder than I would have been, but I still felt bad. When you lived in an apartment complex, there was this basic understanding that you’d be polite enough to keep the noise level down. Which I wasn’t at all, admittedly. I’d be the first to admit that when me and my friends got a little alcohol in us, we were quite loud.
To be fair, though, I really didn’t think about being rude. The older woman who lived in the apartment before this new neighbor moved in never complained once. She couldn’t hear well. Sweet old lady, too, she was a total doll. I tried to make small talk in the hallway with her whenever possible.
And because I had no other neighbor on my left side, it hadn’t occurred to me to watch the noise at all. It just never was a problem. Before living next to the older woman, I was very careful about how loud I was.
I actually told the new neighbor that last night, but it only made the situation worse. It came out all wrong. I thought he believed I was complaining about no longer having the hard of hearing neighbor. And I could see how he’d think that, and how rude that would come off.
But it wasn’t what I meant at all! If anything, I was just trying to justify my own rudeness. Anyway, I had made a whole mess of that encounter and this flower arrangement was going to be the way I made it up to him.
Or attempted to, at least. To be honest, he didn’t seem very interested in making friends. But I really tried to make it a habit to be friendly to all my neighbors.
I was someone who hated conflict. Absolutely loathed it; it made me so uncomfortable. If I had any problems with another person, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It ate at me until I got things resolved.
Hence me making a very expensive bouquet of flowers for a complete stranger just to smooth things over. And I really had my fingers crossed that it would work because I couldn’t imagine being comfortable in my living situation if I had someone who actually hated me living next door. It was too much stress.
Plus, if I was being honest, he was a pretty cute guy, too. Blonde hair, thin but you could still see some muscle definition through his pajamas, a serious but sultry face. If we had met in better circumstances, I might have asked him out on a date.
Not that I had any reason to suspect he was gay. I didn’t, I knew nothing about him. But that’d never stopped me before.
I didn’t think anything of asking a straight man out. Not that I wanted to pressure straight men into dating me or make them uncomfortable, I didn’t. But it was impossible to tell! So in my mind, if someone wasn’t gay they could just let me know and I’d move on. And if they were, then I might have a date out of it.
I lived in a very liberal part of the country so, thankfully, it wasn’t like I had to worry about getting many negative reactions from straight men. I knew in certain places, offending a straight man by hitting on them may well get you into a physical altercation. But I’d never had an issue where I lived. A few men seemed a little bothered but they just acted standoffish and I brushed them off. It hadn’t been a big deal.
I wouldn’t ask my neighbor out anyway, though. Not just because I pissed him off so thoroughly. But because it’d be awkward if things didn’t work out. I’d have to keep seeing him every day when I left the house. I’d pass on that.
Especially with my track record. My relationships didn’t last long typically. I dudn’t have any kind of tragic string of relationships or anything.
In fact, I felt I’d been pretty lucky. My relationships had never been very dramatic. But I kept it casual and short and moved on quickly. Maybe that was why they weren’t dramatic, actually. I didn’t give anyone long enough to get dramatic.
I liked it that way, though. I h
ad no plan to keep things in my life casual forever. I hoped that eventually I’d find someone I really liked and I’d be willing to get more serious with them. But it hadn’t happened yet.
The delivery driver working the morning shift popped up in the shop just as I was finishing my arrangement.
“Hey, you’re on morning shift today?” he asked. I usually wasn’t.
“Yeah, my dad had a doctor’s appointment so they’re going to close up tonight,” I told him.
This was a family run shop. My parents were both florists and growing up I always knew I wanted to be involved in their business. It was always the plan that I’d be taking over for them eventually.
Most people would be turned off by working for their parents while in their twenties. But I wasn't at all. I had a fantastic relationship with my parents and I got paid more than enough to have financial freedom. Not to mention the money I’d be making when I eventually took over the business completely.
And this way, even while I was moved out and on my own, I got to maintain a very close relationship with both of them. They were my biggest cheerleaders in life and I loved them dearly.
“So, I’ve got a last minute delivery for you, in addition to the list today,” I told him.
“Okay, no problem, where to?”
“My apartment complex, actually,” I told him. “Apartment number 23.”
“Number 23, you said?” He pulled out a pen. “Here, let me jot that down.”
“No problem,” I said.
“Is that where this gorgeous thing is going?” he asked, nodding to the arrangement.
“Yeah, do you like it? It’s kind of an apology bouquet, so I wanted it to look special.”
“It’s absolutely gorgeous.” He smiled. “I’ll put it in the van now. Any note to go with it?”
“Oh, shit, hold on.” I pulled out one of our cards and wrote down a quick apology. I hadn’t gotten his name last night and I never gave him mine, so I left the names out. I’d just drop by his apartment on the way home and let him know it was me, as awkward as that may be.
