“Reroute,” I say, then turn back to the front of the balcony box, the trim I’m removing, and, unsurprisingly, thoughts of Charlie.
Maybe I’m having so many thoughts about her just because of last night. A small, far-away part of me knew that Charlie was home when Tessa called. But I was so concerned about my sister that I didn’t have brainpower left for wondering if Charlie could hear. Part of me is embarrassed that she did.
The other part of me, though, is glad she did. I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone to literally step in and put things into perspective until Charlie did just that. I didn’t ask her to. She just somehow intuitively knew I needed it. And she knew exactly what I needed to hear. I still can’t get over it.
When I called Tessa today to check on her, she was clearly in more pain than when she’d called from the hospital. But the pain was manageable, and she was getting tons of help. She even had her friends on a rotating schedule to check in on her and help her with the things she needed.
I told her that I was proud of her, and I was impressed at how well she was takingcare of everything. That seemed to be exactly what she needed to hear, too. I swear I could feel her beaming right through the phone. I have Charlie to thank for that.
Or maybe I can’t stop thinking about Charlie because of what I have planned to give her after work. When I first chose this theater as a potential project, I checked out the whole town. I remembered going into a little shop near the theater that made custom-painted wooden signs. The kind you hang on a wall in your home.
I stopped by on my way to work this morning and told the shop owner about my current wall situation and what happened last night. I asked her to make a sign for me that reads,Eavesdropping Level: Expert. I don’t know Charlie as well as I’d like to, but from what I do know, I think she’ll get a kick out of it. The shop owner was so excited to get started on it that she said she’ll have it ready for me to pick up when I leave work. I can’t wait.
As I’m doing a building sweep and locking the place up at the end of the day, I get a call from my landlord. He tells me that it seems some of the electrical wiring was damaged in the leak, especially in the oven area—I’m not sure if he’s talking about the initial leak or the one caused by Josh’s hammer—and that an electrician will need to come by and fix that first.
“But that’s not all,” he says, and I get the sense that he really doesn’t want to say the rest.
“You can tell me,” I say. “I do construction for a living, so I know how many things can delay a job.”
“True. Okay, so you might have noticed when they were doing the demolition that the insulation between the walls had some water damage and a bit of mold. Obviously, it had to be discarded. But the insulation needed between units like yours is on backorder for a week or two.” I can practically hear the grimace in his voice.
“I talked to the restoration company to see if they would put the Sheetrock back up on one of your walls and just wait to do the other side until the insulation came in. That way, you’d at least have something more closely resembling a wall. But the younger of the two guys got injured on a job, and he’ll be out for at least a week.”
“From when he fell and broke our pipe?”
“Um, no… it was another job. Apparently, that wasn’t his only time being clumsy. Since they’re a man down, their schedule is a little too tight, so they aren’t willing to come until all the building materials can be there. I tried to line up a different company, but there aren’t any that are free. It was hard enough getting Demo Daydreams as quickly as we did.”
None of the problems happening are within my landlord’s control, so I tell him that Iunderstand and thank him for trying to get everything taken care of. “Have you told Charlie and Reese yet?”
“I’m calling them next. Wish me luck!”
When I stop to pick up the wooden plaque, the shop owner sees me walk in and excitedly goes over to a counter and picks up the sign she made, showing it to me with a big grin on her face. I’ve noticed that Charlie wears a lot of pink, so I had her do the base color in pink and the lettering in white. And she’s done a fantastic job.Eavesdropping Level:is in blocky hand-lettering, andExpertis in a fancy script.
The shop owner even puts it in a fancy box with tissue paper and everything, and she adds a pink bow. I thank her profusely and promise that I’ll stop back in and let her know what Charlie thought of it.
When I pull into my driveway and see that both Charlie and Reese are home, I start to second-guess everything. What if Charlie doesn’t find it funny? What if getting the call from our landlord saying that it would be longer before we get a new wall has just left her angry or frustrated, and this will only make it worse?
Instead of knocking on Charlie’s door and handing the box to her when she answers, like I had planned, I opt for leaving it on her doorstep. I tell myself that it’s the kind of gift that’s best if it’s not opened in the presence of the giver, and not that I’m doing it this way because I’m worried about whether she’ll find it funnyor not. I knock on her door, then race into my own townhome so I can hear her reaction through the non-wall.
Both women start by wondering what it is, who it’s for, and who it’s from. Then one of them opens it, and Charlie immediately knows the answers to those questions. Their laughter is loud, long, and joyful, and it has me grinning from ear to ear.
This is good. I gave a very neighborly gift, not a flirty gift. I’m still on track.
It’s nearing nine p.m., and I’m sitting on my couch, going over the blueprints for the historic train station in Philadelphia that I’m under contract to restore next, and perfecting my final restoration proposal after getting the structural assessments on my laptop, when I hear a small noise come from my kitchen. I glance over to see a blurry silhouette of Charlie, crouched down and pushing a little basket of something through the untaped flap at the bottom corner of my fake door, next to the floor.
A second later, Charlie stands, and I see her hand slowly maneuvering its way between two of the taped sections of the door, right about eye level. She sticks a pink Post-It note to my side of the plastic and then removes her hand. A secondlater, I hear a small knock before seeing her race away from the door.
I walk over to the note, and I grin as I read it.
Thank you for your very thoughtful gift. I will treasure it always.
P.S. Look down.
I bend down and pick up the wicker basket she left. It’s filled with muffins sitting on tissue paper printed with a wood design. Was she just able to guess that wood is my favorite color? There’s a little card attached, so I open it to read,From your nosy but adorable neighbor.
I shake my head. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a neighbor I’ve had this much fun with. I take a bite of one of the muffins and nearly moan. I’m aware of the state of her kitchen, so I know she didn’t bake these. But I had no idea that there were places that sold muffins that taste this good!
I find the cabinet that houses my office supplies over by my table and shift everything a bit so I can open the drawer and pull out a pad of sticky notes and a pen. I go to the one cabinet and countertop thatwasn’t removed—the one that used to be the bottom of the L in my L-shaped kitchen but is now more like a small island—and I think about what I want my note to say. I’m left-handed, and when I’m not paying enough attention to my handwriting, it slants a lot. I make sure to slow down and make all my letters upright.
