Chapter 4 - The Sound of Silence
An hour later, I was standing in the middle of my new apartment—a sunlit, two-bedroom unit on the fourth floor of a secure, well-maintained building three neighborhoods away.
The space was currently a chaotic maze of cardboard boxes, stacked floor-to-ceiling in the living room. Gabe and his crew had just finished offloading the last of the furniture, positioning my king-size bed in the master bedroom and placing the L-shaped leather sectional against the living room wall, exactly where it belonged.
“Well, Rachel,” Gabe said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he handed me the clipboard to sign off on the job. “That was, without a doubt, the most satisfying move of my entire career. You’re officially liberated.”
I signed my name with a flourish, handing the clipboard back with a grin that felt like it might split my face in two. “Thanks, Gabe. Seriously. Name your price, or let me buy you the best steak dinner in the city.”
“Consider it payment for past graphic design sins,” Gabe laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. “Enjoy your new castle, Rach. Call me if you ever need to move away from family again.”
After Gabe and his crew packed up their truck and drove off into the Manhattan traffic, I collapsed onto my newly assembled sofa. I was exhausted, sweat-stained, and smelling of dust and cardboard, but as I looked around the room—at *my* furniture, *my* art, *my* space—a profound, overwhelming wave of peace washed over me.
For the first time in five years, I didn't owe my mother a single damn thing.
I kicked off my sneakers, ordered a large pepperoni pizza from my favorite local spot on Seamless, and cracked open a cold IPA.
My phone started buzzing against the coffee table at exactly 5:15 PM.
I glanced down at the illuminated screen.
*Incoming Call: Kayla.*
I stared at it, letting it ring out, watching the caller ID flash against the dark glass until it went to voicemail. I took a slow bite of my pizza, savoring the crispy crust and melted cheese.
Ten seconds later, my phone lit up again. Not a call this time, but a barrage of frantic, screaming text messages pouring in rapid succession:
*“Where is the TV??”*
*“Rachel, where is the couch??? Why is the living room empty??”*
*“Did you get robbed?? Call me right now!! Someone broke in!”*
I didn't reply. I just took another sip of my beer, feeling the absolute deliciousness of the impending storm.
Right on cue, less than a minute later, my phone started vibrating again with a heavier, more authoritative ringtone.
*Incoming Call: Mom.*
May you like
I let it ring twice, letting the anticipation build, before casually swiping the screen to answer. I hit the speakerphone button, laid the phone flat on the coffee table, and continued chewing my pizza in absolute silence.
***
