My mom would want me to take care of my dad tonight,even though it was a pain in my ass. I got out of my car, trudged over to the fancy doors of the fancy high-rise, and punched in the code. Sure enough, the doors slid open and I was inside.
Thank God no one was in the lobby, because any human who lived in that sleek, modern building would take one look at me and assume I was an unkempt interloper who should be kicked out on sight.
I slunk over to the elevator, punched the code into the keypad, and the shiny doors opened as adingechoed around me. I got in and groaned aloud at my reflection in the mirrored wall. I actually looked worse than I’d thought, so I licked my finger and worked hard at scrubbing away the black makeup streaks that’d settled beneath my eyes and smoothed out my hair.
I wondered yet again what the hell was going on in my life as I rode up to the thirty-first floor.
I lived paycheck to paycheck and currently had only about three hundred dollars left on my credit card limit, yet I was in a private elevator on its way up to an NFL star’s condo. I didn’t belong in a place like this and nothing about the situation made sense.
And that thought screamed through my head even louder when the elevator doors opened, because Connor’s apartment (or condo—I didn’t know the details of his financial portfolio) looked like something from a Bravo real estate show.
“Hello…?” I said, because I wasn’t sure how it worked when an elevator went straight to someone’s apartment. Was there some other door I needed to go to and knock? I stepped out into a small foyer of sorts, sleek and beige, and I could hear all kinds of noise coming from down the hallway.
I could also see three fluffy cats—two gray, one orange—lying on top of each other on a fancy chair that didn’t look like it was meant to hold a pile of tabbies.
I could hear Matty laughing down the hall, my dad talking, other voices I didn’t recognize; it sounded like a full-on party. I slowly walked in that direction, very aware of the fact that I was wearing my threadbare Coyotes jersey with paint stains, as well as sweatpants that had a hole in the knee. My hair was in a messy bun and Iknewthere were still a few black mascara streaks under my eyes from my emotional meltdown at the cemetery, so yes, please—force me into a party situation.
But when I got to the end of the hallway, my mind was blown by two things.
The first—his living room.
DearLord.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire unit, as far as I could see, and all the furniture and trims were light colors and warm wood.
It was stunningly beautiful,the kind of place that would be included in an article about “clean lines” and “simple elegance” inArchitectural Digest. I knew nothing of design aesthetics, but living somewhere like this would be sublime.
You could literally see down into the field where the Minnesota Twins played, which was, frankly, too overwhelming for words.
Talk about perfection.
But the second thing that blew my mind made me smile despite my grief and annoyance, because my father was standing there with a game controller in his hand, laughing with Josh Reed and Justin Teeders like they were all best friends.
He looked so damn happy that I felt like crying again.
“There she is,” I heard, and when I turned around, I saw Connor coming toward me from what appeared to be a kitchen.
“How old are you?” I blurted out, because he didn’t act that different from any of my friends from college, but this place was unreal and nothing like a place someone my age could own. “Twenty-four, right?”
“Why do you want to know?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Curiosity. I know you were drafted last year but I’m not sure—”
“Yeah, twenty-four,” he said.
Twenty-four, holy shit.So impossible.
“I can’t believe you’re my age and ownthis.”
Oh my God.I quickly said, “Wait—you understand that I’m not talking about money, right? I just mean—”
“No, no, I get it,” he said with a funny smile. “I feel the same way every time I come home. Two years ago, I was living in a shitty house that smelled like beer with three roommates who threw ragers twice a week. So how the fuck do I own this? And I’m not even sure I like it.”
“What?” I asked in disbelief, lowering my voice because I’d just mentioned the most personal question topics and I was in a room full of people.Idiot. Thank God it was chaotic and loud. “It’s beautiful. How do you not love it?”
“I mean, Ido. My sister did a lot with the decorator and whenever I come home, it’s very relaxing and I can’t even believe it’s mine. But I also don’t feel equipped to own property, if that makes sense. Like what the hell do I know about real estate? I was the guy who slept on a futon at the last place I lived.”
I smiled at that, because it made total sense, even to a pauper like me.