for: j
“Running ten minutes late.” My realtor friend texts me on Saturday afternoon. It’s a rainy day, I’ve been up since 7. Laundry. Avocado toast made. I’m happy because of my collagen coffee, paired with the fact that I bought a beautiful loaf of bread for $1.99. I took my time frying my three eggs, and made an okay avocado spread with chopped onions and black pepper.
“No worries. Do I have time to get another coffee?”
“Was actually going to ask if you wanted to grab one before. Meet at a coffee shop around the corner?”
“Perfect.” I tell him my go-to spot.
I arrive before him, grab a cappuccino, and seat myself in the corner beside the fresh loaves of bread that are coming out of the oven. I eye my favourite. Focaccia barese. Roasted tomatoes and onion and black olives. I make a mental note to pick one up this week, along with mortadella.
About 5 minutes later, my realtor-friend appears. I’m scrolling my Substack and hearting every photo I see. Parisian aesthetic. Rome aesthetic. Writing by the sea aesthetic.
“Hi!” My eyes light up when I see him. It’s a warm greeting, it’s a familiar feeling. We give each other a hug.
“You already got your coffee? I was going to get it for you.”
“I couldn’t wait. I also could have offered to get yours but I’m broke.”
He shakes his head and starts laughing. “Absolutely not.”
He orders his coffee, and I haven’t had a lot of time to go over any “What Would Happen If” scenarios. My realtor-friend wanted to have the viewing next Wednesday or Saturday, but I pushed for this afternoon because I knew if I had the time, I would find any excuse to bail.
I do think about my dream the night prior. A vintage stall in Miami with rows of black slip dresses. Lisa Rinna (lol) owns the stand and asks me how I feel to have inspired this capsule collection. She then hands me a bracelet with a “J” charm. Then a smaller “j” appears.
And then, the letter “I.”
My realtor-friend comes back to where I’m sitting. “Ready?”
I nod and zip up my dark green puffer. “What did you order?”
“A flat white. You?”
“A cappuccino. I’ve never understood what’s in a flat white.”
“Isn’t it just espresso and…”
We both look at each other with confused expressions and start laughing.
“I actually have no idea what it is - now that you mention it.”
“I’ll google it.”
It’s rainy on the walk to the apartment.
“I think I parked illegally.” He tells me. “But I don’t really care.”
“Can I tell you something that I think you’ll be shocked at?”
“What?” He has an amused expression.
“I never got my license. So when people tell me things about parking, I’m just like oh! Can’t relate!”
He starts laughing. “For some reason, that does not shock me at all.”
I take him on a short cut to the building. We go through a few alleyways.
“Oh - have you been to this building before?” He asks. I think he is surprised that I am leading him to the showing, and not the other way around. But what I wasn’t prepared for - was to explain my reasoning or my so-called “curiosity” behind this unit.
“I…”
“Oh. There’s a story here.”
“I mean. I’ll tell you when we’re inside. But I have a theory that it’s haunted.”
My realtor-friend is easily amused by me. And I am easily amused by him. The first time we met, he spilled his drink all over my shoes, and I pretended like it wasn’t a big deal at all. But there was something cute and endearing about his friends teasing him as he bent down and wiped my Zara slingbacks with paper towels.
Our friendship consists of me asking him questions about money and renting that he very politely and promptly answers. He knows the most vulnerable side to me - the side that doesn’t pretend to know everything. The side who can admit that she’s sometimes scared.
We get to that god-forbidden street corner, and he’s about to cross.
“Where are you going? It’s right here.” I call after him.
“Jesus. Sorry.” He starts laughing. “You’re right.”
“I guess I need to do your job.”
The building is different in the day time. The building is different when I am sober, when it is a Saturday afternoon, and when I am not intoxicated by the idea of reconnection.
“It feels like a doctor’s office waiting room in here.” I tell him. “Like a holding space.”
He looks around at the lobby. There’s one black leather couch and two plants. “And I think those are fake plants.”
The elevator doors open, and it’s hard to imagine the last time I rode in them. It’s hard to imagine that final November morning kiss. My “bye friend” as a tease to him, and his pause before the “bye Emily Mais” as the elevator door closed.
“The elevator feels small.”
He starts laughing. “I mean. It’s an elevator. But yes, you’re right. It does feel small.”
The doors open and a unit is blasting music. We look at each other. “You’ll have some fun neighbours.”
I open my mouth and close it before choosing to reply to that statement.
We get to the end of the hallway. He opens the door to the unit. It is a small unit compared to his sprawling two bedroom, but it still has the same feeling. Cold.
“I mean. The bathroom’s nice.” My realtor-friend pokes his head in.
The shower is the only thing that both apartments have in common. The kitchen is completely different.
“It’s…”
“Weirdly staged.” He finishes my thought.
I nod.
“So. What’s the story?”
I lean up against the wall closest to the door. We’re standing a few inches apart.
“I used to date this guy. A long time ago. He lived in this building, and it ended…terribly.”
“As they do.” He is also recently out of something that could very well be labelled Terrible.
“ Do you believe in parallel universes?”
“I don’t know much about them - but I’m open. Like the butterfly effect?”
I nod. “Yes. Kind of like…everything happens for a reason. In this universe, anyway. So I got accepted into this writer’s retreat -”
“I saw! Hey, that’s huge. Congratulations.” He reaches over and gives my hand a little squeeze.
“Thanks.” I blush and look down. “I…anyways. I got that email the same hour this listing came in. And I thought…there was this juxtaposition between my life as a writer and the life I could have had if I stayed in…this.”
“I get that. It’s like - one decision changes the course of everything.”
“Exactly.”
“Did he live in this unit?”
I shake my head. “No.” I won’t tell him that he lives a few doors down. And I also won’t tell him that I actually don’t know where he is.
“Well. That’s good then. Maybe you should have brought some of those sticks.”
I start laughing. Men. Even when they try. “Palo Santo? They’re all over my apartment.”
It’s quiet between us for a few moments.
“I’m glad I was able to be here for this.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Ya. It’s like you’re closing something. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“Nothing. I had ‘clean my shower’ on my to-do list. What about you?”
“The same. Work calls. Clean. Maybe start drinking at 8 AM for tomorrow’s hockey game.”
I start laughing. “I don’t think I need an excuse to have a drink at 8 AM.”
“You are a terrible influence.”
“It’s all in perspective.”
We walk out of the unit and into the elevators. Out of those apartment doors that I’ve walked in and out of numerous times over the past…decade.
I’ve seen the seasons change here. I’ve seen the years go by. I’ve looked down from the balcony. I’ve looked up to the sky. I’ve looked at him, I’ve kissed him, I’ve cried with him, I’ve cried at him. I’ve held him, I’ve fantasized with him. I’ve been seen by him, and I’ve been seen through by him.
A first love, a first muse.
He lives in me, somewhere. And we live on together, somewhere.
But the “j” on the bracelet is small. The “I” on my bracelet is getting bigger.
“Hey - I know it’s a quick walk - but do you want me to drive you home?” My realtor-friend asks.
I nod. “Sure.” I smile. “That would be great.”