Proposition
ILOOKED LEFT AND RIGHT?as I exited the lift on the twelfth floor not to be taken off guard again, but the hallway was clear. Still, I squelch-ran my way to Glen’s door, thumping on the metal impatiently with my fist when I stopped behind it.
Halfway through my next series of knocks, it swung open, leaving my hand hanging mid-air. My mouth opened to recount the mortifying events of the last five minutes, but one look at Glen told me my story would have to wait. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, dimming the freckles usually so vibrant on her cheeks.
“Glen, what’s wrong?” I rushed into her entrance hall, shutting the door behind me as she stood back and followed my movements with a drawn expression. “Your cheeks are nearly as wet as my clothes, and I’m only saying ‘nearly’ because my clothes are outright drenched.”
“It’s raining?” she asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Sorry.”
“It’s always raining, that’s no news,” I muttered, dragging my wet shoes off to hide my frozen toes in a pair of slippers. “What’s wrong?” I asked again.
“I’ll tell you while you get changed.” Without looking back, Glen turned on her heel, her ponytail swishing from side to side, and shuffled deeper into the flat, expecting me to follow.
Torn between urging her to speak now and needing to get out of my wet clothes, I begrudgingly stomped after her.
The living room was crowded with antiques Glen had acquired from her grandmother along with the flat itself. Dark wooden shelves in different shapes and sizes, with intricate grooves and detailing, took up most of the wall space without appearing cluttered. A vitrine cabinet, a bookshelf, and a vanity exhibited bits ‘n bobs from a different century that begged for attention as we passed them by, but the Victorian-style parlour chair was the actual star of the space. That and the matching lounge suite, which right now was hidden under blankets and covers to keep the actual blue satin seat safe from wear and stains.
We passed all of that into a much more modern looking bedroom, where Glen took a pair of cosy pyjamas out of the closet and threw them at me. I caught them gingerly and admired the pattern on them.
“Cats?” I asked as I traced one of the black figures with a finger and was met with soft, inviting fabric.
“I got those for you for our next sleepover. It was supposed to be a surprise, but we’ll probably never have a sleepover ever again. At least not at my place,” Glen murmured, stomping one of her feet on the fluffy white carpet that covered the space from the foot of her bed to the closet.
Peeling my wet T-shirt off my body and removing the wet bra next, I only managed to give Glen a questioning “mph?’ and a quick glance. Then the pyjama top was over my head, restricting my view and ability to speak as it slid down to hide mischievous nipples and the few folds on my belly that even the dancing I had been doing almost daily hadn’t managed to smooth over. The dry warmth wrapped me in its welcoming embrace, and I sighed before I remembered the topic at hand.
“Don’t be silly, we’ll have plenty of sleepovers.” I tugged at the skirt, the only wet thing I was still wearing while staring at my best friend with a furrowed brow. “And I’ll be wearing these. They feel absolutely amazing.”
“No,” Glen sniffed. “I’m going to have to sell the flat.”
The skirt slid through my fingers and down my thighs until it fell with a heavy squirt as I stared at her. “What do you mean, sell the flat? You can’t sell it, it’s like a family heirloom. Your own grandkids will be inheriting it once you’re gone.”
Glen’s shoulders slumped. I quickly pulled the pyjama bottoms on, taking no time to admire the kittens traipsing around on them, but still managing to appreciate the softness of the fabric against my thighs. All wrapped up in dry clothes, I could focus all my attention on Glen, who was rolling her lower lip around unhappily.
“Remember when I told you A&R’s wasn’t doing so well business wise? Well, they’ve decided to cut me loose. Very likely the entire company is going down, at least that’s what they said while withholding my last pay cheque. I can’t afford this flat without any income.”
A&R’s stood for Antiques & Restoration and was like a second home to Glen who had grown up admiring her grandmother’s pretty furniture pieces before she even learned how to walk. If the company was going down it was to no fault of hers because she’d do anything in her power to see it thrive. Paying her last cheque was the least they could do!
“What?” I squeaked. “No, they can’t do that!”
“It’s already done, Hallie,” Glen sniffed again. “Today was my last day. They said that the contract ends immediately.”
“No, no, Glen, they can’t withhold your pay,” I argued.
