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I’m lying on the couch in a mind-numbing ice cream induced coma when my cell phone rings. Rolling to my side, I peek over the edge and see it’s Hayden.
I grab it off the floor and accept the call before holding it to my ear. “Hey.” I try to answer in a cheery tone, but I doubt it sounded that way.
“What the fuck’s going on?” he asks, straight to the point.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that, Reagan. You upset Mom. And after what she told me you said about my girlfriend, I’m not too happy either.”
“She’s told you?” I feel my eyebrows raise.
“Of course she did. Why are you so against us? I thought you’d be happy. You work with her.”
“Hayden, there are things you don’t know. Please be patient with me and I’ll prove it. I promise.”
“Why is it that when it doesn’t work in Reagan’s world, it doesn’t work for anyone? It’s always Reagan’s way or the fucking highway. It’s just one big drama after another!”
“It’s not like that at all. I’m doing this for you…”
“I doubt that. Look, I’m only going to say this once—don’t get involved. I really like Margie and there’s nothing you or anyone else can say to change my mind.”
The beeps sound in my ear and I close my eyes. He’s not going to listen to reason, at least not until I have it in black and white, or I find a witness. Growling at the offending item in my hand and at my brother’s asshole attitude, I throw the phone to the other end of the couch.
Pressing play, I go back to my show and try to forget about everything for a few hours.
The telephone on the wall that is linked to the concierge desk rings. Frowning, I look between that and the television and sigh because I know I can’t ignore it. Dragging my lazy ass from the couch, I stumble to the front door, lean against the wall, and pick up the phone. “Hello.”
“Ah, Ms. Quinn, you have a package downstairs.”
“Does it say who it’s from?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Okay. I’ll be down shortly.”
I give myself a onceover, inspecting my current state of dress. I’m kind of decent…it’ll have to do. Slipping my feet into some sandals, I grab my door key and head out.
Stepping out of the elevator and into the lobby, the concierge lifts his head and smiles.
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m very good, Ms. Quinn? And yourself?” Burt is probably in his early fifties and has worked as a concierge for years, way before I lived here. He’s a lovely man with kind eyes and always makes you feel happy. I didn’t know just how much I needed Burt and his kind smile today.
“Meh, things could be better…” Smiling anyway, I walk up to his desk. “Well, what did I get?”
He pulls a long rectangular box from beneath the desk and places it on the counter. I slice along the clear tape and slowly open the lid. I’m a little apprehensive, since I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon or anywhere else, and I’m not sure what it could be. My stomach turns when I see a single red rose sitting in the box. I look around the lobby, but other than a couple of residents at the elevators, there’s no one else around. It’s been just minutes since Burt called to say I had a delivery. He says something but I can only hear the static going on in my head. My heartbeat speeds up and my mouth is dry. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I said it’s very pretty.”
“Yeah, um, did you see who delivered it, by any chance?”
“Well, it wasn’t hand delivered, it was a courier, as far as I know. I was actually helping one of our residents at the time, so I told them to leave it on the desk and they left shortly after.”
“Oh. Okay, no problem.” I nod, smiling, and take the box from the counter. “Thanks, Burt,” I say before walking away.
“My pleasure, Ms. Quinn.”
Pushing the button for the elevator, I shake my head. “Burt,” I sigh, “I’ve repeatedly asked you to call me Reagan.” I playfully raise an eyebrow at him, and he nods and holds up a hand. The doors slide open and I make my way back to my hideaway. That’s what it feels like today anyway.
