"Hello,hello" I say quickly as I dash past Mimi, the receptionist here at the retirement home. I had been volunteering here for a months and was already familiar with majority of the staff.
"So sorry I'm late today. Traffic". I lied. There wasn't any traffic, but I was not going to explain to her the real reason I was late. Not that it mattered since this wasn't my place of work. The home had specific timelines for all activities, including visits and I hated that I was disrupting it, even by a few minutes.
"Uhm Amari, Miss Malcom would like to see you in her office. She told me to let you know once you came in" Mimi said, from behind me. I didn't even know she was following me.
" Well can it wait? I want to go see Maddison before it's their nap time."
" I think you should see her now, it seemed urgent." she replied. I gave Mimi a confused look and she shrugged. Whatever it was, I'm sure she knew nothing about it. I turn around and use the door that led to the west wing where Miss Malcom's office was. I turn the corner and take a pause before entering to smooth my dress. I just realised I had never been to her office before. I look up at her name, take a small breath and knock twice. I open the door and take a little peek before opening it further. I notice she's on the phone but she notices me and beckons me to come in.
"Yes,yes of course. I'll give you a call back soon. Thank you." She drops the receiver and asks me to have a seat. I take a few seconds to look around. Her office doesn't have a lot of stuff. Just a few paintings on the wall. I notice she has a few photos on her desk which I presumed to be her family. A graduation photo of a young man, with a very bright smile. The other photo was of two girls, about eight and ten years old. No husband, I thought to myself before her voice broke the silence
"Hello Amari. I asked for you to come here because I had something to ask you." She takes a pause and looks down at her desk. When she lifts her face, she gazes right at me with an expression I couldn't quite fire out. Was that anger? Worry?
" I'm just going to go straight out and ask. Did you convince Mrs Ashford to give you money?". I immediately feel my face get hot. My CV eels turned bright red.
"Wh…what is this about? I've never asked her for money or anything before. I've never asked any of them for anything before. I'm so confused right now." I look to her to explain what she meant but she hesitates, as if deciding inwardly whether it was best to tell me. Or not.
"Look I believe you. I've seen you with them,you're amazing. And they love having you around, especially Mrs Ashford. We all do. It's just….."
She pauses. I'm looking at her as though I can find the answers from her sudden pauses, her hesitation, her subtle twitches in her seat.
"She requested to speak to her lawyer yesterday. He came in this morning and when i asked her what it was about, she said something about helping you out."
I close the door gently behind me and let out a deep breath. The shock of what I'd just heard had not left me yet. I make my way back to the reception just as Mimi comes around her desk.
"Can I see her?"
"Sorry. Nap time." I nod okay and make my way out the double doors. The air outside is warm and the sun is still out. I whip out to phone to check for any messages on my way to the car. None. That wasn't surprising. I get in the car and drive the 15 minutes to my small loft. My place is right above the coffee shop where i run the morning shift till noon. I park on the opposite side of the road which is my spot and wave Elaine through the glass doors. It takes a few seconds before she sees me and waves back. The shop is almost empty except for a young couple sitting in the corner.
I go up the stairs and hang my keys. The loft is tiny, the kind that feels like it was made just for one person and one life at a time. It's small, yes, but it's cozy in a way that makes the walls feel closer when the world gets loud. The ceiling stretches higher than you'd expect, with soft light spilling down and making the space feel airy despite its size. Everything echoes gently; footsteps, noise from outside, even silence.
There isn't much furniture, but what's here feels intentional. A worn out couch rests against the wall, its cushions permanently shaped by times spent behind the tv. My bed sits nearby, simple and low, dressed in sheets that smell faintly of detergent. By the kitchen counter stands a single stool, my makeshift dining table, my thinking chair, my everything-in-between. I eat there, lean there, watch the room breathe. There's nothing extra, nothing unnecessary—just enough to feel held, just enough to feel like home. But it wasn't home. It could never feel like home.