The women traded their skates for sneakers, packed their things, and headed to their bikes. Since bicycling was Claire's preferred transportation method, Lucinda had rented a bike for her visit. They'd peddled around downtown Houston all week and used rideshares when they wanted to venture further.
"I'm definitely coming here again," Claire said. "I didn't know there would be so much green space in a city this size." This skate park sat within a large park ten minutes from her apartment. With its sloping hills and lush trees next to Buffalo Bayou, Claire could picture herself hanging out here on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
Fifteen minutes later, their bikes were secured in her building's bike storage area and they entered Claire's sixth-floor apartment.
"You go ahead and shower. I want to check the pie," she said over her shoulder to Lucinda.
Lucinda headed to the bathroom, and Claire took a moment to survey her new home. Boxes were strewn everywhere, but far fewer than when they'd begun. Her furniture had made it from California last week before Lucinda's arrival. When her friend got here, the place resembled a storage room under siege. They'd plunged in the first night and arranged the living area, then continued to unpack and organize throughout the rest of this week. Their days had been a mix of hard work with spurts of play, like the skating adventure today. Luce was not only helping her move in, but also exploring her new city with her.
Claire got distracted arranging books on her bookshelf while Lucinda showered. When the water shut off, she remembered she was supposed to be checking on the creamy coffee pie she'd made this morning, then left in the freezer to set. They were dining later with the Crawford Cookers, a group of residents who got together and shared meals and recipes, and she'd volunteered to bring dessert. She'd met Brinnie—the gang's informal leader—last week, and the woman had introduced her to everyone in the group. It had been the fastest initiation to a new living situation she'd ever experienced. Claire could hardly wait to see Lucinda's reaction to the neighborly group.
"Your water pressure is rad." Lucinda rubbed her wet hair with a towel as she came into the kitchen.
"Yeah, that was a pleasant surprise. I've found nothing negative about this place yet. Although my dad thinks it's too expensive."
Lucinda's mouth dropped open. "Is he aware of how much you paid for that shithole in Cali?"
Claire laughed. "No. And we're not telling him." She ticked off the advantages. "I have twice the space as my old efficiency apartment, a giant bathroom, and an actual bedroom—not just a curtain to hide my bed. Not to mention my fabulous gourmet kitchen. All this for less than I paid in California."
Lucinda high-fived Claire, then turned serious. "I saw your pillbox on the counter. Did you get your appointment with your new neurologist set up? I remember you were worried about making sure all your scripts got transferred without a hitch."
"Yeah, I did. Dr. Jane gave me a recommendation for someone she thinks I'll like, and they got me on the schedule pretty quickly. She also gave me a ninety-day supply to have on hand in case there's some kind of snafu in getting everything moved here."
"Any more problems there?" Lucinda bent over and wrapped the towel around her head.
"No. Things settled down once I decided to leave. Not even an aura since my last seizure. Even the word-fishing is better." Nothing like being struck mute because you lost the word you were about to say.
"Good. It'd suck to show up for work and spaz out in front of everyone."
"Rude!" Lucinda yelped as Claire threw a kitchen towel at her, which she deftly caught. "My grandmother used to call seizures fits. Can you imagine?" She giggled. "The new word is 'episode.' Apparently, 'seizure' has too many negative connotations these days. Whatever. Anyway, the lack of seizure activity proves I made the right decision to leave NanoTechwise. I've incurred far less stress moving across the country and changing jobs than what I experienced there." Claire nodded at her friend, then lifted the next box onto the counter and ripped off the packing tape.
"Are those your mom's things?" Lucinda asked, her eyes softening. Claire shifted her gaze to the box. That sad, puppy-dog look was hard to take. Better to avoid it altogether.
"Yeah. I've already unpacked the everyday pots and pans, but this one holds her bakeware and other miscellaneous items I didn't have room for before. Dad sent them from storage. I intend to bake religiously in this kitchen."
Lucinda moved to give her a hug, but stopped short and pinched her nose. "You need to go shower. I'll start unpacking this box, then you can tell me where everything goes when you're clean and no longer stink."
"What, you don't like my natural aroma?" She shrieked as Lucinda snapped the towel in her direction. "I'm going!"
"I can hardly wait for you to meet Brinnie," Claire said as the elevator ascended. "She's a retired schoolteacher turned painter. I've never seen the woman without paint splashed somewhere on her body."
"She sounds colorful. Pun intended. So tell me about this group we're eating with tonight." Lucinda held the paper plates and napkins while Claire carried the pie.
"I met Brinnie the day I picked up my keys. And colorful doesn't come close to describing her." Claire laughed at the memory of the sixty-eight-year-old woman who'd sidled up to her in the mailroom during her tour of the building. Brinnie's bright green overalls displayed multicolored splotches of paint, and her mismatched Converse high tops—one red and one purple—completed the look. Streaks of paint showed in her hair, the colors a stark contrast to the messy tufts of white arranged with no obvious defined style.
"She kind of barged her way into my… um… shoot. What's the word?"
Luce shook her head.
"You know, the thing you call it when you're getting shown around. Starts with an O?"
"Orientation?" Luce asked.
"Yes! She crashed my orientation session at the Crawford Apartments and managed to extract my life story before the twenty-minute tour was over. Once she found out I liked to cook, she invited me to join the Crawford Cookers. They're a—and I'm quoting here—'diverse group of people who share a common joy in cooking.' They trade recipes, sample each other's cooking, and get together once a month to try new dishes."
Lucinda smiled. "Sounds like you'll fit right in, then."
They exited the elevator and Claire led the way to the resident clubroom. Enticing smells teased them as they got closer. The lounge was a spacious area decked out with multiple TVs, various sitting areas, and an attached catering kitchen, which was perfect for their monthly get-togethers. She spotted Brinnie by the large marble counter and moved to add her dessert to the growing collection of food on display.
