Page 7 of The Snowball Effect
Having wanted to preserve the small amount of battery she’d accumulated before leaving the apartment, she hadn’t really checked her phone on her commute other than scanning to see if Allegra had called or emailed.
But, as she started to take in all the notifications that had popped up since she’d turned her phone on, thateasyfeeling fled yet again.
By all accounts, Emma’s life should have been in a great place right now.
Her grandmother had settled into Primrose Grove, an assisted living community in Astoria that she actually seemed to enjoy. Not a lot, but a little bit, and for now,a little bitwas enough.
She’d finally graduated with her master’s degree last month. She had landed a more-than-decently paying job atOlly. Assisting Doctor Magda Woods for the last two years while getting her graduate degree had been hard as hell, given that Woods loved to bust her ass, granting no favors and giving no slack. Ever. Not even when Emma had the flu.
But it had paid off when Woods met with Emma as graduation approached and granted Emma her stamp of approval. In the literary world in this city, Magda Woods’s professional recommendation held a lot of weight. Thatreferential phone call she’d made to Allegra had made all the difference to Emma getting this job.
She finally –finally– wasn’t living with her three vampiric roommates in the apartment right next to the fucking subway in Jackson Heights anymore. No, she was living in Greenwich Village, in a cozy two-bedroom. It was, undoubtedly, the nicest place she’deverlived in, quirky bedroom outlets or not.
Unfortunately, that apartment was shared with Regan Gallagher, so that really put a damper on things.
Forgetting to set the time after the power had gone out wassotypical of Regan. Emma should have expected it.
While Emma hadn’tlovedher previous roommates and how they’d been jammed into their small apartment like sardines, she had appreciated that they all seemed to want to have the same level of involvement with her that she wanted with them – very, very little. They’d stayed out of her business and all adhered to their roommate agreement to a T.
Living with Regan couldn’t be more different.
When Regan had approached her with the offer to move in, Emma had been baffled before she’d found herself laughing, certain that Regan was telling her a ridiculous, nonsensical joke.
But, no. She’d been serious.
Regan was near the very bottom of the list of people Emma would choose to live with, wedged firmly between the friendly-yet-unhygienic girl who sat next to Emma in their Shakespeare course and the smarmy know-it-all guy who worked at her favorite bookstore.
But when she was offered Sutton’s bedroom, in a much safer, nicer, and more convenient neighborhood, for the same monthly price that she was paying for her last lease… well, Emma figured she could manage any roommate for that.
She debated daily if that was the truth.
The day Emma moved in, Regan overzealously knocked a box out of Emma’s arms, resulting in it crashing to the floor. The box that had, naturally, contained one of her grandmother’s porcelain hummingbird figurines that she’d given Emma when Emma had moved out. The figurine had, of course, shattered.
And things hadn’t really improved since then.
Regan loved to sing loudly to herself while she cooked and cleaned. Hell, while she tied her shoes. She questioned Emma incessantly whenever they ran into one another, and if she wasn’t peppering her with inane questions, she rambled about her own day with stories Emma didn’t ask for. She was consistently banging around in the kitchen at all hours of the night.
She didn’t stick to a bathroom schedule of any kind. In fact, her entire schedule was unpredictable to Emma. She knew Regan managed Topped Off, a coffeehouse, but there was no semblance of regularity or consistency in how she flitted about her days. It was highly disconcerting.
Like a lot of Regan’s behaviors were.
Once, less than a week into Emma moving in, Regan had exuberantly thrown Emma’s door open when she’d returned home from work at ten in the evening. Emma had startled, and barely managed to pull up the shorts she’d been changing into before bed to cover her ass before she’d whirled around to demand, “Is there an emergency or something?”
To which Regan had given Emma an absurdly confused look before answering, “… not that I know of? Why?”
“Because that is theonlyreason you should ever be opening my door without knocking,” she’d snapped back, incredulously, before gesturing for Regan to get the fuck out.
So, while things on the home front were geographically the best they’d ever been, logistically, it was a nightmare.
And, as she stared dismally down at her phone,somehow,Regan didn’t manage to be the most stressful thing in her life right now.
Not when she faced five texts and a missed call from Kimberly.
Hurricane Kimberly – 6:52 AM
Good morning, Emma Bo Bemma!
Hurricane Kimberly – 7:27 AM