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CHARLI

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

I flip off the angry driver and weave my motorcycle between the cars. Ah, the comforting sounds of New York City.

I don’t usually come into this part of the city, but I had a meeting with the private investigation company I work for that unfortunately requested an in-person appointment. I have no idea why they need to be in the same room as me to debrief on my latest case, but the requirement was part of the freelance contract I signed with them. Thankfully, it only happens every few weeks.

Still, it’s a relief to finally reach my hidden little studio apartment in Brooklyn. I’ve only been here for a few months, but it’s managed to capture my grumpy heart in that short amount of time. I even kind of like the food smells that waft up to me from the dim sum place on the first floor.

Once my bike is parked safely in the garage I pay for, I make my way toward my apartment building, climbing all three floors of worn-down stairs and letting myself into my place with a relieved exhale.

Almost immediately, my black cat hops up onto the couch cushions with a demanding meow.

I can practically hear him asking, And where have you been?

Sighing, I drop my bag on the kitchen counter. “Oh, shush, I still have ten minutes to spare before your internal dinner bell goes off. Don’t act like you were worried about me.”

Milton only blinks at me.

Another sigh. But even still, I walk over to the pantry and take out a can of wet food. By the time I crouch down beside the water bowl, Milton is already waiting not so patiently for his dinner.

I stand and pull my jacket off, debating if I want to shower now or after dinner. But before I can make the choice, there’s a knock on my door.

Already knowing who it is, I groan. There’s only ever one person who knocks on my door—or calls, or texts.

I check the peep hole just in case, but when I see white hair, I quickly pull the door open.

“Hi, Mrs. Winters,” I say with a smile I’m not faking. “Everything okay?”

“No!” she squeaks, waving her tablet at me. “I was watching the newest episode of that new show, the one with the hockey players, and all of a sudden, the sound cut out. Now I’m missing the ending!”

I don’t try to tell her that she’s streaming her shows, which means they’re not live and very much rewindable. I’ve already tried, multiple times. Instead, I silently take the tablet from her hand.

It’s as I suspected: the Bluetooth connected to the new wireless headphones I got her. I smother my sigh, regretting the gift and already mentally planning to buy a new one with wires.

“It didn’t cut out; it’s just playing through your headphones,” I explain, turning the screen to show her. “Did you want it to play out loud or through the headphones?”

“Out loud,” she says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. I quickly shift the sound to play from the tablet before handing it back to her.

“If it happens again, just check the headphones. And if you want it to play through the tablet, just turn the headphones off.”

“Okay, okay,” she says, holding the tablet to her chest—that’s now loudly playing a love confession through its speakers. “Thank you, dear. I knew you’d be able to figure it out. You’re so good with all that computer stuff.”

My mouth twitches with amusement. If only she knew I make a living off being good at that computer stuff.

“You’re welcome. Knock if you need anything else, okay?”

She nods and scurries back to her end of the hallway. “Say hello to Milton for me!” she yells over her shoulder.

I’m still chuckling as I let myself back into my apartment. She might be the only other person Milton can stand beside me. Though that might have to do with the treats she leaves him under the door.

As soon as I’m back inside, exhaustion hits me like a truck. It’s only seven p.m., but it might as well be midnight.

I think it’s from the socialization. As a nomad who generally keeps to herself—and stays inside her apartment—an in-person meeting with my boss and a run-in with my panicked neighbor just drained my social battery. I think I’m done peopling for the day.

Sometimes I wonder if I should make more of an effort to find friends, or at least people who might be regulars in my life. Besides Mrs. Winters and my boss, that doesn’t exist for me. My parents aren’t in my life anymore, and as far as friends… I’m just weird enough, just grumpy and blunt enough, to keep people at arm’s length.

Not that I mind it. Since adopting Milton six months ago, I have all the company I could ever need.