The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,69

summer heat. “In my neighborhood, everyone looks like me. I don’t have to worry about taking up too much space or standing out. But then I leave that bubble and I’m not protected anymore.”

She sighed and chewed on her lower lip. “It’s hard because I travel so much. Airports bring out the worst in people, plus I’m not always traveling to big cities. Try looking like me in the deep, rural South. It’s worse in the summer, too.” She held out her sun-kissed arms for inspection. “I get more tan, which makes me look more ethnic, more ‘Other,’ I suppose.”

“It’s not fair,” I spoke aloud. It was a massive understatement, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“No,” she sighed again. “It’s not.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I had to insert my front entrance key at just the right angle and wiggle the door handle with just the right amount of pressure to get my apartment door to unlock. Most days I didn’t mind the song-and-dance, secret handshake details of opening my door, but with someone else waiting in the hallway with me, my anxiety only heightened.

I was a little embarrassed to show Anissa where I lived. It wasn’t a dump, but it also wasn’t a grown-up space like her suburban McMansion. In fact, most of my neighbors were senior citizens on fixed incomes or college students, also with limited budgets. I didn’t know many people in my building because of the constant turnover of the demographic.

Anissa silently entered behind me. I closed and locked my apartment door and watched her survey the room. I knew what she was thinking; it was the very reason I never brought people over—not even Kent or Gemma. This wasn’t a home. It was a storage container. The separate bedroom and kitchenette were the only things elevating my apartment from a college dorm room.

I didn’t have a TV. I didn’t pay for cable, so there was really no need for that purchase either. Nights at home were spent streaming TV shows and movies on my laptop on the subscription services I shared with other friends.

I didn’t have a dining table. I did have two stools at my kitchen island, but I ate most of my meals standing up. It was a bad habit picked up from work. On a plane, I tended to hide in the galley and shovel food in my face out of passenger view and in between services. I’d started to do the same, sad thing at home, facing the kitchen wall and devouring my food in no time.

I reflexively opened the refrigerator door even though I knew what I’d find. Not much of anything. I hadn’t been grocery shopping in a shockingly long time, even for me.

“Can I get you something?” I routinely offered.

Anissa came up behind me and peered over my shoulder into the refrigerator. Her hands fell to my waist in an innocent, but intimate gesture. “What do you have?”

“A tub of butter and a bottle of ketchup.”

She pressed her lips close to my ear. “How about we order a pizza?”

I shut the refrigerator door. “You’re a goddess.”

“You’re pretty free and loose with those comments,” she smirked.

“Maybe I think you’re totally deserving of them,” I proposed.

Anissa pulled out her phone to search for a pizza delivery number while I tried to low-key pick up my apartment. I hadn’t really thought about what we might do after the game, but I also hadn’t anticipated us coming back to my place. Her house was significantly closer to the stadium, and it was an actual house, not a 700-square foot apartment.

“Detroit-style pepperoni sound good?” She held her hand over the bottom of the phone.

I gave her a thumbs-up sign of approval.

I walked over to Honey’s aquarium while Anissa finished the phone call. I tapped against the glass, causing Honey to slide off of her floating island and crash into the water. My turtle and I shared the same level of physical coordination.

“Pizza will be here in half an hour,” Anissa announced. She ended her phone call and slipped the device into the back pocket of her jeans.

She walked toward me; the wooden floor creaked under her feet. “What’s in your aquarium?” she asked.

“Honey.”

“Honey?”

“She’s my pet turtle,” I explained.

Anissa stood beside me and hunched over to get a better look. “I’ve never met anyone with a pet turtle before.”

“Well, now you have,” I remarked.

Anissa continued to stand in the bent over position while we watched Honey together. “It’s