The idea that he might just vanish from my life completely, and that deep down I might want him to do that, is so overwhelming, that I start crying again.
I’ve composed myself by the time I’m out of the shower. My face is still puffy, and I still look run-down, but I feel better, at least. I wrap my towel around myself and am reaching for my moisturizer when the door flies open.
“Rena,” Zach says, breathless, his blue eyes wide and bright. “Rena, you have got to come and see this.”
apartment #6 – ethan
Chapter Thirty-five
I lurch off the sofa so fast that I fall on my face, smacking my head on the floor and crying out. That’s gonna bruise.
I half scramble, half crawl toward the balcony doors, throwing myself at them and dragging them open, falling against the railing and knocking one of Charlotte’s spider plants off. There’s a high-pitched yelp and the pot smashes on the ground. I don’t even stop to worry about it, though; I’m too busy leaning over and blinking in shock.
I can’t believe my eyes.
I mean, really. I actually take off my glasses and wipe them on my hoodie, jamming them back onto my face so frantically I only succeed in getting new finger smudges on them.
“Is it really you?” I shout down, still not believing it. This whole day has been like some warped fever dream—why shouldn’t this be too?
Charlotte beams up at me and I’ve never been so glad we only live one floor up. She’s far enough down that I can’t see the hazel specks glittering in her eyes, but I can see her freckles. Her hair is wavy, not quite as tame as normal, pushed back from her face by her giant sunglasses. She’s wearing a plain gray dress that must be Maisie’s, because I don’t recognize it, and her denim jacket. She’s wearing her favorite ankle boots, with the small block heels.
“It’s me!” she hollers, bouncing up on her toes. She braces one hand against her sunglasses and uses the other to wave up at me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I saw your video! Did you mean it, Ethan? Did you really mean all those things you said?”
I don’t even hesitate to think about it before I open my mouth to reply.
Someone else interrupts before I finish getting the first syllable out, though, shouting from the main entrance, “Missy, I’m not going to tell you again. You can’t be here if it’s not essential.”
“This is essential, you miserable bum!” Charlotte snaps back at him, and then grimaces. “Sorry, Mr. Harris, I didn’t mean to call you a bum, or miserable. I promise I’ll go in a minute, I know I can’t stay . . . ”
apartment #17 – serena
Chapter Thirty-six
Zach grabs me by the hand; I clutch my towel to me with the other and stumble after him, running to keep up as he drags me out onto the balcony with him. There are people shouting, but it’s not because I’ve just come outside in my towel with my hair dripping wet.
Down below there’s a ginger girl standing outside the building. I think she lives here. I’m sure I’ve seen her around before.
How did she get outside?
“What’s going on?” I ask Zach.
“Remember that video we saw this morning?” he pants. “The one Matty saw and sent in the group chat?”
“That cringe-y proposal video?”
“Yeah,” Zach says. “Ethan. I guess he must live downstairs, because that’s his girlfriend.”
“Wait— that’s Dear Charlotte?”
We only skimmed through the video. It was blowing up online, so we couldn’t not watch it a bit, but it was . . . well, safe to say, it was a bit weird to watch such a long, rambling proposal when Zach and I were on the verge of maybe breaking up.
“That’s Dear Charlotte,” he tells me, in pure, utter delight, and I whisper, “Oh my God,” and we lean over the balcony together to watch.
Charlotte is yelling up, “Did you mean it? All those things you said in your video? Is that really how you feel about me?”
It’s definitely weird to have what might just be one of the most beautiful, strangest proposals happening just a few stories below us when Zach and I are still trying to work out if we actually want to get married and want the same things from our life, but right there, in that moment, it doesn’t matter.
All I know is that this is exactly the sort of thing I will miss sharing with him.
apartment #14 – imogen
Chapter Thirty-seven
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and I do not want to be anywhere else.
I snuggle against the pillows and sheets, wriggling a little closer into Nate’s body. His skin is smooth and warm. I hook one leg over his, my foot skimming up and down his shin.
Nate, however, seems much more interested in the spreadsheet open on his laptop screen, where he has been working out a budget for me for the last half hour. I know I thought he was a stick in the mud, but I’m in no position to question his dedication to completing a project now that he’s helping me out.
“How much did you say you spend each month on nights out?”
“Maybe like five hundred pounds?”
He whistles, long and low.
“What? I don’t think that’s so bad. Few rounds of drinks at the pub, few cocktails at a bar . . . If I go for a meal with anybody . . . Plus taxis there and back, sometimes. Entry fees at a club, sometimes.
There’s usually a bachelorette party or something for somebody too.
Bachelorettes are expensive.”
“Wedding season,” he says, with sympathy, nodding. “I had that start last year. You know I spent, like, two grand just on presents and hotels and stuff?”
“The trick is to not book the hotel, and then have someone take pity on you at the end of the night and let you kip on their floor.
Saves you a lot of money, believe me.”
“Don’t people get pissed off with you?”
“Not if you buy them enough drinks. Which is still cheaper than the cost of a bed-and-breakfast in whatever rural village they’ve decided to get married in.”
Nate laughs. “Okay. Five hundred pounds. Any chance you could make that more like two hundred?”
I almost have a heart attack at the prospect of all those nights I’d have to cut short, or even miss out on entirely.
But, I guess, I would like to pay off my overdraft. And maybe my credit cards.
“Fine,” I tell him, “but only because you’re so dang cute, Honeypot.”
I reach up to cup his cheek in my hand, his stubble tickling my palm, and I wriggle up the bed so I’m close enough to be able to kiss him. I notice his lips start to curve up into a smile before my eyes slide shut, and my heart does a little skip when he sucks lightly on my bottom lip and deepens the kiss.
We’re still kissing when there’s some commotion outside, a girl yelling, “Mad Man Maddox, get your cute butt out here!”
I don’t realize what the noise is all about at first, but Nate pulls away from me and sits bolt upright, recognizing the name immediately—and I guess, the voice too.