There are over 70 thousand apartment buildings and over a million residential apartments crammed into New York City's 300-square miles. One may say it was the low, yet still ridiculously high, rent at The Mare's Nest that drew her in. Or the fact it...
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The sounds of children laughing and chatting neighbors echo through the stairwell. Rows upon rows of cookies and lemon bars sit atop Mara's kitchen counter, cooling to the perfect temperature to be delivered to the Easter party. After hours of debating with herself about the number of people that would be in attendance, she finally decides it's better to be safe than sorry and bakes twice as much as she'll actually need.
Her face, while marked with white flour and powdered sugar, is also flush and damp with sweat from hard work. Hard work that helped her briefly escape her neuroses and crippling insecurities. Just as she begins to feel a sense of vindication, an all-too-familiar name flashes across the screen of her cellphone.
"Robert," she reads aloud. Her thumb hovers over the answer key. "No..." she whispers to herself, ignoring the call and placing the device in the back pocket of her jeans. As she steps out to deliver her first round of desserts, a bright-colored spot in the potting soil of the plant outside her front door catches her attention — an intricately painted Easter egg.
The design is mesmerizing. Brown speckled tones on the organic shell mix perfectly with the brick red of the artistic fowl. Teal and navy leaves and branches complement the earth tones while pops of white bring life to the image and bring her to her knees in admiration.
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"Wow," she whispers, observing the artwork. Her eyes feel sore in the best way possible. She wants to take in every detail. Every perfectly chosen color. She places the egg back in the ceramic pot, soaking in one last look before heading to Betty's apartment. She takes every step down the stairs lightly and deliberately, trying her hardest not to break another floor board.
"Hello?" Mara says with a small knock on the familiar yellow door. With hardly any force, the door slowly creaks open, welcoming her into the quaint apartment without words. Only the high-pitched sound of the entrance.
"Mara, dear!" Betty walks to the front as fast as her frail bones will allow. Her tired, yet lively, voice reminds Mara of her own grandmother's. One she hasn't heard in years.
"I brought some desserts!" Proud of her contribution, Mara holds her tray of goodies in front of her before placing it on the dining table next to deviled eggs, egg rolls, quiches, and a plethora of other delicacies brought by the guests.
