Moving In

Two hours into moving in, Jack was already angry at the thermostat, cursing the summer heat for willing him to need cold air. He settled on lying down on the wood floor, starfished amongst stacks of cardboard boxes.

There was a knock on the door, and he peeled himself from the floor with great effort. A singular cookie wrapped in tissue sat on the other side, and the note that came with it read “Welcome to the building :).”

Jack looked around the corner, but no one was there.

Jack couldn’t help but smile as he bit into the cookie. From his second-floor window, he could see the street below, abuzz with people on a Sunday morning.

Pedestrians sidestepping, children darting through and vendors pausing and moving again.

It was his first job, in this new city. Half of him was apprehensive, the other half excited.

As he wiped the crumbs off his face, he glanced at the tissue in his hand. Printed in its corners, in an elegant script, were the words: “Bake My Day.”

The bakery downstairs.

The scent of cinnamon buns and butter was overwhelming as he entered the bakery. Almost immediately, Jack spotted the cookies in the display case that the one he had received must have come from.

He approached the counter.

“Weird question, Ricky,” he began, glancing at the employee’s name tag. “Do you happen to know who the last person who bought a chocolate chip cookie was?”

Ricky beamed, eyes glittering. “You’re the new guy, aren’t you? Meredith mentioned a new neighbour.”

“Meredith?”

“Apartment 3B,” Ricky said. “She loves welcoming new neighbours.”

Minutes later, Jack was standing in front of Apartment 3B. He had already rung the bell, wondering if the cupcake he’d bought downstairs would suffice as his token of gratitude.

When he heard footsteps approaching, he straightened his shirt, ready to deliver an impromptu thank-you speech with the cupcake. But the door opened to reveal an elderly lady, garbed in an art smock, her fingers stained with paint.

“Hello, I—” he began, fumbling with the cupcake.

The woman smiled, bright and immediate. “You must be Jack. I’m Meredith.” She stepped aside. “Please, do come in.”

“I got you a cupcake.” Jack presented it to Meredith. “As a thank you. For the cookie.”

Her smile never wavered, though she didn’t take it, holding up her paint-stained hands as reasoning. Obviously, Jack thought, cringing internally. He set the cupcake down amongst the paintbrushes and palettes. With nothing to do now with his hands, he suddenly felt awkward.

“Well. Thank you again. I won’t bother you now,” he said, heading for the door.

“Wait.”

Jack paused, glancing back at Meredith.

“I’ve been looking for a subject.” She gestured to a canvas. “Will you sit?”

“Me?” Jack pointed at himself.

Meredith smiled. “Sit.”

He did, unsure where to place his hands. She had already turned back to the canvas, her brush moving in quiet strokes.

“Why me?” he asked, looking down.

“You were at the window.”

He said nothing. The street below carried on, faint but steady. He listened to its sounds as Meredith painted.

When she turned the canvas, he leaned forward.

It didn’t quite look like him. Not exactly. The painting was still unfinished.

Yet, he recognized something in it.

“…Thank you,” he said.

Meredith nodded, her brush moving again.