My Neighbor Came Home Sobbing From A Terrible Date — Her Confession Changed My Life

Part 2

Brenda walked back down the stairs, and the hard click of her heels against the concrete was not accidental.

It carried all the way down on purpose and it did not stop until I heard the Range Rover door slam below.

I stood there at the railing for a long time after she pulled away from the curb.

Then I crossed the hall and let myself back into Megan’s apartment.

She was at the sink washing the lunch plates.

The window over the sink was open.

The afternoon light was hitting the side of her face.

She looked up and tried to smile.

I nodded.

I did not ask her the question Brenda had just planted in me.

But the question sat there between us anyway like a single hair on a clean tabletop.

Neither of us picked it up.

Both of us could see it.

She finished the dishes.

I dried.

We talked about nothing for fifteen minutes and the nothing felt heavier than it had ever felt in this kitchen before.

That night I lay on my back in bed staring at the ceiling fan turning slow circles overhead.

Why had she chosen apartment 3A?

She had once told me very casually that she found the listing online, but had she ever told me how many places she had looked at first?

Had she ever told me how she ended up walking past our building in the first place?

I shook the question off.

Then I came back to it.

Then I shook it off again.

I could not get to sleep until almost three in the morning.

Saturday morning came.

She did not bring two coffees.

She brought one.

She held it out to me and I took it.

She said gently that I seemed quiet last night.

I told her I was just tired.

She nodded.

She did not push, but I watched her eyes slide very briefly to the cedar hook on the wall next to my door.

For the first time, the brass key looked heavier than it had ever looked before.

It looked like it was no longer keeping a small promise, but holding a small question.

I opened my mouth to ask the question.

I closed it.

She saw it happen.

She set her coffee down on the counter.

She told me if there was something I wanted to ask her, I should just ask it.

She promised she wouldn’t break.

I held the cup in both hands.

I made myself ask her if she knew I lived here before she moved in.

She did not answer immediately.

She put her own cup down.

She took a long careful breath.

She asked if she could tell me tonight, not because she was hiding, but because she wanted to tell me right.

I nodded.

She crossed the hallway back to her own door.

I heard it close behind her, but I did not hear the lock turn.

Thursday night at eight, Megan knocked on my door.

She was holding a shoe box under one arm.

There were no shoes inside, just paper.

She walked past me without a word and set the shoe box down on my dining table.

She told me to open it after she finished talking, or during, whenever felt right.

She sat down across from me.

She kept both hands flat on the wood.

She slid the box across the table, and now I had to decide: do I open it and see the truth, or do I walk away from the only person who ever truly saw me?