I had just come home from work when Cynthia from downstairs knocked on my door. Cynthia was a single mom and even though she was technically my tenant, we had become friendly over the last couple of months. I had helped her out a couple of times, sometimes with small repairs, and sometimes I had let it slide when money was tight and the rent was a bit late. Cynthia was home during the day and often took deliveries and parcels for me. Sometimes I found a small tupper container with a home cooked meal at my door when I came home.
Cynthia was what they call "fun-sized", a little over 5' and quite curvy. Her skin tone was the blackest black that nature has to offer. She had a broad smile with shiny white teeth and sparkling dark eyes. I liked her - but she was not what I would call "my type".
"Hi Cynthia! What's up?"
"Hi Dan! Sorry to barge in on you when you just got home… but I have a little problem and I was wondering if you could help out. I'm really, really sorry to put you on the spot like this but I need to sort this out this evening… as in the next 30 minutes or so."
"No worries, how can I help you? And come in, please…"
"Thanks, but I have to go right back downstairs and tell them. Thing is, I have an offer to join the catering team for those new Hampton cruises. Small cruise ship, maybe 200 guests, leaves tomorrow at 6, comes back Sunday around 12. It pays quite well, and I really need the money…"
She was talking super fast and I could see that she was tense, her eyes darting left and right while we talked.
"...and I wanted to ask you if you could maybe have an eye on Cat while I'm away". Catherine was her daughter and even though Cynthia and I knew each other quite well, I barely knew Catherine. What I knew was that she was tiny (something like 4'5''?), always wore a black hoodie that hung loosely down a petite body, her hair and face hidden under the hood and rarely more than a mumbled "Hi" from under the hood when I happened to see her on the stairway or outside. I didn't even know how old she was.
"I don't mean like babysitting, don't worry. She's old enough to take care of herself. But I don't want her to hang out alone all weekend, invite god-knows-who to our home, go out, come back late, you know…"
"OK, you mean like checking on her every now and then?"
"Yeah, like… maybe she can stay at your place during the day, do her homework, maybe help with household chores… and she can sleep in her own bed downstairs. Again, I'm sorry to spring this on you, but I kinda really need this job."
"It's no problem, Cy. She is welcome to hang out with me - or just stay away from me and do her own thing. She can watch movies, play XBox or whatever. I don't know what kids do these days".
Cynthia smiled. "Thank you, I owe you big time. She's locked up in her room most of the time, reading this Japanese comic stuff on her phone. She'll probably lock herself in your den and you won't even know she's there."
"Well, my 'den' is also my home office and my home cinema, so if she tries to lock herself in there she will have to fight me first."
Another smile from Cynthia. "Better hope you don't have to fight her. She's one stubborn lady…"
"Hahaha, we'll see about that. But really, it's no problem. I have nothing planned for this weekend. I'll just stay in, do some paperwork. If she wants we can do stuff like go out for ice cream or pizza or maybe a movie, I dunno".
"As long as you have enough water, she doesn't need much else"
"Wait, what? Water?"
"Yes, water. Don't ask me why, but this little package can go down like a gallon a day. I don't know where she puts it. I have to discuss for half an hour to make her eat something other than rice crackers - but I never have to ask twice if she wants something to drink."
"OK, good to know. I hope I'll have enough water on tap…"
"Thank you again, Dan, thank you". For the first time since we knew each other, Cynthia hugged me. I'm 6 '4'' and her head barely reached up to my chest, but she still held me for a good 10 seconds and then scuttled down, giving me a happy look back over her shoulder as she went down the stairs.
I work from home on most days. I'm an SAP consultant and working remotely, be it logging in to a client's SAP system and configuring or fixing stuff or be it meetings with clients, I did all of it from what Cynthia had called my "den". My apartment occupies the two top floors of the house. First the main floor with a big living room, spacious open kitchen, and dining area, all in one large room. Apart from that, just a small hallway and a guest toilet. Upstairs was my home office/cinema, my bedroom, and the bathroom.
When I bought the house, I had been with what I thought back then was the love of my life, Jenn. Our plan was to convert the upstairs floor into several smaller rooms, one or two rooms for what would be our kids, and maybe an additional guest room. I had met Jenn when I had just turned 40 and she was 32. We had three good years. Like really good years. Then one year of house hunting and planning renovations - and during those hectic and stressful times I hadn't even noticed that we had already started to drift apart. I signed the papers, I had bought a house, we moved in and three weeks later I found a note on the kitchen table. A fucking note. On the fucking expensive kitchen table Jenn had chosen.
No rooms for kids. No guest room. But a big-ass home cinema for me and the biggest desk with the most expensive ergonomic chair I could find. Midlife crisis here I come.
That was four years ago. Four years also happened to be the longest dry spell I had in my life (of course not counting the first 16 years which were technically a dry spell but sure didn't feel like one). For the first year after Jenn left, I basically became a hermit and spent hours playing video games and even more hours watching old movies. All James Bond movies in a row. A complete Hammer box set in one long weekend. All seasons of The Sopranos and The Wire over Christmas and New Year's.