As I lean my shoulder against the cool glass of the window in my fourth-floor apartment, the rhythmic patter of rain 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 purposeful as they blend into the cacophony of city life. Umbrellas bloom like vibrant flowers against the gray backdrop, each seeking refuge from the relentless downpour.
I zone out while 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 beneath everyday life—topics that inspire thought and spark genuine conversations, far from the limits of household chores.
"Roxanne, are you listening?" my supervisor asks, his annoyed voice jolting me out of my thoughts and cutting through the quiet atmosphere of my home.
"Yes, Mr. D., I heard you loud and clear," I say, my tone steady but polite. "However, I don't believe those topics will attract a larger audience." He huffs into the phone, a soft, dismissive sound that echoes his frustration. I hold my position and wait, bracing for what I expect will be a reprimand or a spirited argument.
"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 won't win this argument today. Instead, I apologize and decide to address the issue at 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 my mother's 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 turn away from the window and call Mick, a friend and 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 start to question my decision to buy a house. On the fourth ring, I finally hear 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 and making me involuntarily shiver. I silently tell myself, "Get a grip."
"Rox, how have you been?" He seems genuinely happy to hear from me. Hearing the warmth in his voice helps 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 reply with a smile. The casual back-and-forth between us feels natural. We haven't talked in a long while, and I feel guilty calling him out of the blue for help. We were close friends in college, hanging out with a group that included his wife.
"I'm the only one you know," he replies 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 take a deep breath and continue, "Can you help me find a house in the country or a small town on the outskirts?"
"Hmm. Let me think about it," he says, teasing. "Well, since you asked so nicely and admitted I'm your favorite, I guess I can help. Tell you what—I'll go through the listings we have in the office and email you the ones that look promising. Sound good?"
"Thanks a lot, M. That would be amazing." I am so excited to be moving my plan forward that I can barely contain myself. He asks me a few questions about my home preferences, then our conversation shifts to his wife and kids. It is great catching up with him, though I wish it hadn't been so short. I make 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 hear in my house is the sound of typing and soft music. My eyes start to blur from staring at the screen too long, and my muscles begin to ache. I stand up and stretch my legs and back to ease some of the tightness. Then I glance at the clock and realize my best friend, Zeke, will be arriving soon to hang out.
Zeke has always been the one who has my back. We've been best friends since elementary school. He knows all my secrets and was there for me when I needed him most—after my mom passed away. He knows I long to know more about my family history, and he doesn'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 was 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 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 source of the knock—Zeke. I rush across my hardwood floors to the front door and fling it open. 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-gray eyes shining with warmth, his hair and beard perfectly styled as always. He must notice 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 says, using his favorite nickname for me as he walks through the door.
"Very funny, Z," I say as we make our way to the living room. He settles into my recliner, a cozy corner spot he loves, and sinks into it. Despite his size, he fits perfectly into the overstuffed chair—it is his go-to spot whenever he visits. I take a seat on the couch, still smiling. I enjoy the fact that we often have dinner together, even though my enthusiasm for cooking has waned since my mom passed away. We used to cook or bake together on weekends, and now, when I try, a deep sadness comes over me.
"So, Z, what's on the menu for tonight, since neither of us wants to cook?" I ask.
"How about we order some subs from the deli down the street?" he suggests. "I love that place." My stomach grumbles in agreement, and we both laugh. "I guess your stomach agrees with me." I place the order without even asking Zeke what he wants; I know his order by heart. He always orders the same thing: an Italian sub with extra pepperoni and salami. As we wait, I decide 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'm not surprised Mr. Anderson, Zeke's father, wants to expand. Their construction company is one of the best firms in the city.
"He's looking into Sugar Creek," Zeke says as he flips 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 himself to get the new division up and running," he answers. I smile to myself because I know if I find 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 watch 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?"