Patience

1

December 10, 2019

The morning light of Los Angeles California streamed through the chantilly lace curtains hanging in the window. They weren't the most flattering window dressings that ever lived but they were cheap, so they stay in Tori's room-and the light breeze blowing in from the open window was making them flutter. She was sleeping on her stomach, brown hair knotted and twisted but brushed over to the right side of the bed as Tori's right cheek was pressed firmly into the pillow her face facing away from the god awful sunlight streaming in. Her eyes shoot open and she glares at the obnoxious ringing coming from her nightstand. She picks her phone up and sees Mallory's name flashing along with a picture of the redhead against the barre in her studio wearing a red flamingo skirt and a black leotard. Mallory pulled the picture off of Instagram and made it her contact picture when they exchanged phone numbers two years prior. 

"It was my day off, you woke me up." Tori whines into the phone.

"I'm sorry...hey, what are your plans for today?" Mallory questions.

"I'm off, so nothing. Why?" Tori asks rolling onto her back.

"Well I have to meet a wedding dance client and I guess they're bringing someone that's super high profile and they want to meet in a place where they can't be like stalked I guess. The bride said she wanted secluded, safe, and quiet. I was wondering if we could maybe use your apartment?" Mallory inquires.

"Would they be okay with that?" Tori sighs. 

"The Bride said an apartment would be fine...It's just that, I live above the studio and my studio is right in the heart of Los Angeles you're at least twenty minutes out of the city." Mallory presses.

"I mean, I don't care...but let's keep in mind that it's not necessarily quite in my building and though my neighborhood is safe, the halls of my building really aren't." Tori examins her long red-painted fingernails. 

"We'll be fine." Mallory states.

"Well alright, I mean you do have my spare key and key card. Just let me know when you'll be here and I'll try and make myself scarce."Tori gives in.

"We're meeting around eight tonight," Mallory informs her.

"Well, then I'll make myself scarce in my bedroom. But right now, let me go so I can clean." Tori breathes out.

"Thank you so much...I love you, bye!" Mallory hangs up.

Tori sighs and throws the covers of her purple and teal mandala bohemian bedspread off of her and she places her feet on the coldish hardwood floor. She grabs her discarded black silk bathrobe and slings it over her shoulders before opening the already cracked door and making her way into the kitchen. Granted it's eleven so it's early afternoon, but had Mallory not have woken her up she probably would've slept until at least one-thirty. She starts a pot of coffee because she's slightly grumpy without it in the morning. She watches it brew and then she pours her cup. Two sugars, and cream. Soy Milk is too expensive for her to buy on her own so she just goes with the cheap half and half. It's not that she's lactose intolerant she just doesn't like milk. She'll eat yogurt fine, ice cream, cheese, but she absolutely hates milk. 

After her coffee, she doesn't eat breakfast, so she goes to start her day. It's a cycle really. Get up, coffee, get ready, go to work-if she's working-, come home, eat dinner, watch television, shower, go to bed. Normally on her day off, she digs. Digs for information about who she is. She's called every foster system she's been in, she's been to every fire station in the greater Los Angeles area, she's been the courthouse, hall of records, everywhere to no avail.  And in the new year, she was going to go to the hospitals but she got some devastating news just a week prior that she's not told anyone, not even Mallory. 

She doesn't need to dress up for Mallory's clients, she's going to try her hardest not to make herself known but the only problem is that there's really only four rooms in her apartment, and one of them is a bathroom that she has to walk through the living room to get to it so just on the off chance that she has to use the facilities she's not going to traipse out in her pajamas with messy hair. With that in mind, she digs through her closet and changes into a pair of brown leggings, a light pink tank top with three buttons in it, and lace detailing on the back, a brown knit sweater, and light pink socks. She sits at her little makeshift vanity and brushes through her long brown waves and throws half of it up in a bun on the top of her head leaving the other part down. She does her normal makeup routine-which isn't as glamorous as her clients-and then examines her ears. In her first hole she puts golden dangly earrings, the second she places a diamond and the third a little gold ball. She had her foster care "friend" in Maine do them for her and she was quite surprised when she didn't get an infection...they literally used ice and a sewing needle.

She holds up the little diamond silver moon necklace in the mirror and just does a lip twill. She pushes away from the vanity and heads back out into the kitchen living room area. She leans against the bar and takes out the letter again.

Dear Ms. Cryderman,

We regret to inform you that nothing for you has been filed. Because there were no last names presented on the birth certificate we have no information that we can give you because nothing is set in stone. By law to release any information to you, you must have a legal tie to the parents on the certificate and since no last names were given we can't prove that you're related to someone. 

It pained her, that the head of the records at the courthouse sent her this because it made it evidently clear that even if she were to approach a hospital they may not be able to give her anything either. Meaning her whole move back to California is meaningless.