As I lean my shoulder against the cool glass of the window in my fourth-floor apartment, the rhythmic patter of rain pellets drums against the surface, creating a soothing melody that sharply contrasts with the bustling, chaotic scene below. I watch hurried figures, their faces etched with urgency, scurry along the uneven pavement, their movements hurried and purposeful, blending into the cacophony of city life. Umbrellas blooming like vibrant flowers against the gray backdrop, each seeking refuge from the relentless downpour.
I zone out watching the people below, instead of dwelling on my supervisor's monotone voice describing blog topics—especially dull ones like recipes or cleaning hacks—my mind drifts elsewhere. I yearn to delve into deeper, more meaningful issues that lie beneath everyday life, topics that inspire thought and spark genuine conversations, far from the limits of household chores.
"Roxanne, are you listening?" My supervisor's annoyed voice jolted me out of my deep thoughts, his sharp tone cutting through the quiet atmosphere of my home.
"Yes, Mr. D., I heard you loud and clear," I say, my tone steady but tinged with polite firmness. "However, I don't believe those topics will attract a larger audience." He huffs into the phone, a soft, dismissive sound that echoes frustration. I hold my position, waiting silently, anticipation building as I brace for what I expect to be a reprimand or spirited argument, knowing that this conversation could pivot in any direction.
"Roxanne, you were hired to write the articles we specified," he says angrily. "Furthermore, you are not in a position to lecture me on what topics should be covered." His tone leaves no room for doubt, making it clear that I wouldn't win this argument today. Instead, I apologized and resolved to address this issue another time.
After I hang up, I glance out the window and see my reflection looking back. I wouldn't say I meet today's beauty standards, but I do feel attractive. One of the most important lessons my mom taught me was to accept myself and love who I am. Everyone is unique, and it would be dull if we all looked the same. Those words have guided me my entire life. My long black hair is tied in a messy bun with wisps framing my face. My dark gray leggings fit snugly, highlighting my curves. I wear a long sweater that drapes off one shoulder, giving off a relaxed, casual vibe. Usually, I wear contacts, but today I opted for my black-rimmed glasses to keep it simple. My favorite feature is my bright blue eyes, which stand out beautifully against my black hair.
Lightly shaking my head, I gaze past my reflection and refocus on the city. The sun is setting, lights flicker on, casting a gentle glow over the streets—an incredibly beautiful scene. Without my mother here, that beauty feels overwhelming. She passed away from cancer a month after I turned 19. They say time heals all wounds, but at 25, I still feel her loss as if it were just yesterday. Recently, my thoughts have been on finding a change of scenery. I've been considering buying my own home instead of renting. In the long run, owning would be more financially sound. Plus, having a place to call my own and start a family is very important to me.
Growing up, I never experienced stability or a sense of permanence. My mom and I were constantly moving, which felt odd to me as a child. As an adult, I decided it was time to start a new chapter by putting down roots.
I turned away from the window and called Mick, a friend and a real estate agent. He's one of those friends you don't see or talk to every day, but when you do, it feels like no time has passed. As the phone rings, I feel a wave of anxiety washing over me. I started to question my decision to buy a house. On the fourth ring, I finally heard his voice.
"Stratton and Milton real estate, this is Mick speaking. How may I help you today?"
"Hey M, Roxy here," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though I can't hide how much I'm trembling. I don't know why I'm so nervous, but my body won't stop shaking, as if the air conditioner is cranked up, making me involuntarily shiver. I silently tell myself, "Get a grip."
"Rox, how have you been?" he seemed genuinely happy to hear from me. Hearing his happy tone of voice helped calm some of my nerves.
"I'm doing well. Sorry to bug you at work, but I have a huge favor to ask."
"Uh oh! That's never good when a conversation starts like that", he laughs.
"It's nothing bad, it's just because you're the best real estate agent I know and the only one I trust," I replied with a smile. The casual back-and-forth between us felt natural. We haven't talked in a long while, and I felt guilty calling him out of the blue for help. We'd been close friends in college, hanging out with a group that included his wife.
"I'm the only one you know," he replied happily.
"Okay, okay, you got me there. You are technically right. Even if I knew another real estate agent, you would still be my favorite." I took a big breath and continued, " Can you help me find a house in the country or a small town on the outskirts?"
"Thanks a lot, M, that would be amazing." I was so pumped to be moving my plan forward that I could barely contain myself. He asked me a few questions about my home preferences, then our conversation shifted to his wife and kids. It was great catching up with him, only I wish it hadn't been all about business. I made a mental note to reach out to my old friends more often and maybe host a get-together once I find a house and move in.
Grabbing my laptop, I sit at the kitchen table to organize the topics for the upcoming blog posts due by week's end. For hours, all I could hear in my house was typing sounds and soft music. My eyes started to blur from staring at the screen too long, and my muscles began to ache. I stood up, stretched my legs and back to ease some of the tightness, then glanced at the clock and realized my best friend Zeke would be arriving soon to hang out.
Zeke's always been the one who's had my back. We've been best friends since elementary school. He knew all my secrets and was there for me when I needed him most - after my mom passed away. He knew I longed to know more about my family history, and he didn't understand why my mother was so secretive about it, but I loved my mom dearly.
My mother and I shared a very close bond, but she never revealed much about her family history, which always puzzled me. She was firm in her belief that there were no living relatives and cautioned me against asking further questions. When I inquired about my father, she simply told me I was better off not knowing him, which only fueled my curiosity. I often wondered if he cared about us or why he abandoned us. As a child, it was difficult to see my classmates with their dads, which made me feel isolated. Over time, I stopped asking because I didn't want to cause my mother additional pain. She had been an incredible mother, and I didn't want to add to her suffering. In the final stages of her illness, she gently took my hand and spoke softly to me.
"Promise me, my sweet girl, you will not go looking for information about our family. There are things I can't tell you because they are too dangerous. Just know that everything I have done is to protect you. I love you so much; please promise me," she says between ragged breaths. I never actually got to promise her because her sickness overtook her, and she passed away a few days later. I can feel tears fall down my face as I am engulfed in my memories.
Someone knocks loudly, jolting me back to reality. I push my memories aside, forcing a smile as I recognize the knock's source - Zeke. I rush across my hardwood floors to the front door, flinging it open, and he stands there smiling down at me, his 6'3 frame towering over me. I take a moment to appreciate how handsome he is, his gunmetal grey eyes shining with warmth, his hair and beard perfectly styled as always. He must've noticed my lingering gaze, because his smile grows wider, and my heart starts racing. It feels like it might burst out of my chest at any moment. For years, I've secretly harbored romantic feelings for him, but I'm too afraid to reveal them. If he doesn't feel the same way, what will happen to our friendship? So, I give him a friendly smile and push my feelings back into the far recesses of my heart, locking them away. Maybe one day I'll find the courage to make them known, but today isn't that day.
"Hey Rocky, take a picture—it lasts longer," he jokes, using his favorite nickname for me as he walks through the door.
"Very funny, Z," I joked as we made our way to the living room. He settled into my recliner, a cozy corner spot he loved, and sank into it. Despite his size, he fit perfectly into the overstuffed chair – it was his go-to spot whenever he visited. I took a seat on the couch, still smiling. I enjoyed the fact that we often had dinner together, even though my enthusiasm for cooking had waned since my mom passed away. We used to cook or bake together on weekends, and now, when I tried, a deep sadness came over me.
"So, Z, what's on the menu for tonight, since neither of us wants to cook?" I asked
"How about we order some subs from the deli down the street?" He suggested. "I love that place." My stomach grumbled in agreement, and we both laughed. "I guess your stomach agrees with me." I placed the order without even asking Zeke what he wanted; I knew his order by heart. He always ordered the same thing: an Italian sub with extra pepperoni and salami. As we waited, I decided to ask him about his construction company, which he co-owns with his father.
"How's everything going at work with your dad?"
"Great so far. Pops and I get along well, but did you know he has decided we need to expand the business?"
"No, I had no idea. Does he know where he wants to open a new branch of the business?" I wasn't surprised Mr. Anderson, Zeke's father, wanted to expand. Their construction company was one of the best firms in the city.
"He's looking into Sugar Creek," Zeke said as he flipped through channels on my TV.
Even though I know the answer to my next question, I ask anyway. "Do you know who is going to oversee it?"
"You know how my pops is? He doesn't trust anyone but me or him to get the new division up and running." He answered. I smile to myself because I know if I found a house in Sugar Creek, then Zeke could move in with me and help renovate my new house if needed. It's nice to have a best friend who is in construction. I scoot to the edge of the couch and place my hands on my knees.
"That's perfect, Z. I want to buy a house in a smaller town, and Sugar Creek is on my list." I look at his face to gauge his reaction. He seems interested as he stares back at me, waiting for me to continue. "If I find a house, would you want to move in and be my roommate slash handyman?"