What would her mother say when she came home—in the earliest hours of the morning—and found that their entire apartment had been rearranged? And that Marigold had let a stranger help her do it? That it was his suggestion?
Though … this wasn’t true. Not entirely.
Marigold did sort of know why she’d let him talk her into this, and it wasn’t just because she thought, for sure, that now she could ask for his help with the voice work. North’s company had been the most entertaining she’d had in ages, since her friends had left for college last autumn. With North, she didn’t know what would happen next. And for the last several months, Marigold had known exactly what would happen next. A broken, depressed mother and an endless schedule of work, alleviated only by the silent company of her computer—and the world and people contained within it.
North was real. North was flesh.
And now her own flesh was covered with a thin glaze of sweat. Great.
It was just after ten o’clock, and she was paper-toweling her armpits, when she heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. She hastily threw away the paper towel and greeted him at the door.
“Happy solstice.” North handed her a tree stand.
“We do have one of these. Somewhere,” she added.
“I believe you. I think you have one of everything in here. But I’m not betting on our chances of finding it.”
Marigold wasn’t sure if she was amused or annoyed.
North barged past her and into the apartment. “Thank you, North,” he said.
Annoyed. Her jaw clenched. “Thank you, North.”
“You’re welcome, Marigold.” He glanced around the room appreciatively. “Wow. You got more cleared out than I thought you would.”
“Like I told you earlier: I’m stronger than I look.”
“It’s brighter in here, too.”
Marigold couldn’t refute that, but … everything still had to come back inside. She wished she could throw it all away instead. “You seriously think we can fit all of that back in here? And with enough room for the tree?”
“You sound doubtful. Why do you sound doubtful? I have yet to do a single dubious thing in your presence.”
Dubious. That was another good word. Not only did she like how he spoke, but she liked what he spoke. “You’ve done a few dubious things,” she said.
“Name one.”
“Helping out me, someone you don’t even know, in such an extreme manner? That’s textbook dubious.”
“I’d like to argue that”—he grinned—“but I can’t.”
“Why are you helping me?”
His eyes returned to her apartment, scanning its square footage, measuring its nooks and crannies. “Because I have superior organizational skills. I sense how things can fit together. I’m, like, a human Tetris. It’s my superpower. It’s my duty to help you.”
Marigold crossed her arms. “Your superpower.”
“Everyone has at least one. Unfortunately, most people have dumb ones like always being the first to spot a four-leaf clover. Or always being able to guess a person’s weight to the exact pound.”
Marigold wondered if that were true. It was nice to think that she might have a superpower, even a dumb one, hidden inside of her. What might it be?
“Okay.” North pushed her back into the real world. “While I move the rest of this furniture”—she hadn’t been able to move the bigger items—“you’ll need to vacuum and dust. It’s like eight cats live here. Do you have eight cats?”
“I have eighteen.”
“Ah. But you do have a vacuum cleaner?”
Marigold lifted her chin. “Yes, of course.” Though, admittedly, they hadn’t been able to use it here.
“Will Ms. Agrippa be angry to hear you vacuuming at this hour?”
“Very.”
North’s eyes glinted. “Perfect.”
* * *
Marigold vacuumed, fended off her neighbor, and dusted the newly emptied areas of her apartment while North hauled around the furniture. She hadn’t wanted to admit that they didn’t have dust rags—well, they did, but God only knew where they were packed—so she used washcloths from one of the trash bags. They were the decorative washcloths that they used to save for company.
The apartment had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. When the front rooms were clear, North explained their next move. They were standing in the center of the small dining room. Marigold had never stood on this particular patch of carpeting before.
“We’re gonna turn this room—since it’s divided from the others—into your storage space. We should be able to fit almost everything in here, including the stuff from your bedrooms, and we’ll stack the rest alongside that wall.” He pointed toward the longest wall in the living room.
Marigold frowned.
“It’s all about how it’s packed and stacked,” he said. “What I saw when I arrived was a complete mismanagement of space.”
She understood his logic, but after how she’d been living for the last year, she still couldn’t imagine anything different. Or, she had to acknowledge, maybe she wasn’t allowing herself to imagine it. Maybe that would only lead to disappointment.
“The movers did that,” she said. “They’re the ones who put everything up here.”
“But you left it.”
Marigold was too ashamed to answer his unasked question. Why? She wasn’t even sure she understood the full answer. Thankfully, North was already walking through the apartment again. “We’ll need the biggest, flattest pieces first,” he said.
“Like the china cabinet?”
“Exactly.”
They carried it together, stiffly and clunkily, but the instant it was in its new place, Marigold felt … lighter. The sliding-glass door was free and clear. She could see outside—the tree lot, the grocery store, the December sky. The crescent moon. She could step onto her balcony, if she wanted. If it weren’t so cold and windy.
And now there was a place for the tree.
“What’s next?” It was hard to downplay her excitement. “The bookcases?”
North shook his head. “That’s an empty china cabinet. Wasted real estate.”
“Oh.” Marigold hesitated. The cabinet usually held a mixture of hand-thrown pottery crafted by her mother’s friends and heirloom china that her grandparents had actually brought here from China. But she had no idea where these items were currently located. “I’m not sure where we packed the nice dishes,” she admitted.