Let’s try that again, shall we?

As you make your way down the street, you notice one significant advantage to Sweeney’s building: it’s on the same block as a bus stop, as opposed to your place on Anglesey Street, which was three blocks from a bus stop. Although this means you won’t have a chance to check the Multiplier again before you get there. In fact, from the building numbers, you’re pretty sure you’re almost… aha!

As you approach, you see Sweeney standing out front, playing with her phone. She’s wearing a dress with a really neat geometric pattern on it, and although she didn’t have a ponytail when you looked at her profile image earlier, she does now. You hadn’t realized that ponytails must be pretty easy to make and unmake, but now that you think about it, it seems obvious.

“Hey, Sweeney,” you call out.

She looks up, startled and confused, and you instantly realize you’ve made a mistake: you shouldn’t have any idea what she looks like.

“… you are Sweeney, right?”

“Oh, uh, yes, you’re Jacob? Hi, how did you –”

“Well, you were standing out front, so…”

You’re not sure how to finish that sentence, but fortunately it seems to be enough for her. “Nice to meet you!” she says cheerfully, and shakes your hand.

… did she hold onto your hand for longer than necessary, or did you just imagine that?

“Anyway,” she says, “let’s go in, and –”

“Oh, wait,” you say. There’s an old man with a gray beard and a white stick with a ball on it, slowly making his way through the building lobby. You pull the door open and hold it.

“I got the door for you,” you call out to him.

“Hello, Travis,” Sweeney articulates loudly. “Jacob is holding the front door open for you.” She points meaningfully at her ear, and then at Travis’s ear.

As he steps carefully over the threshold, Travis pauses and turns his head in your direction. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say.

He turns towards Sweeney. “I don’t think I know anyone named Jacob?”

“Jacob is here to look at Bill’s apartment,” Sweeney tells him, then glances at you. “Bill had to move into assisted living last month,” she whispers.

Travis nods. “I see,” he says (and Sweeney winces). “You sound tall?”

“Six foot two.”

“I used to be tall.”

“Did you,” you say, because there’s not really much else you can say to that.

“Time eats us all. I keep asking Sweeney if she’s still as pretty as she was fifteen years ago, and she won’t tell me!” he chuckles.

Sweeney rolls her eyes. “Oh, Travis,” she says. “I was never pretty, I just look ordinary!”

“I don’t know about fifteen years ago, but she’s very pretty,” you tell him, which is… well, she may not look like a model, but you still find her attractive enough that you can consider that true.

“Eh? What?” Travis cups his ear theatrically. “Could you say that more slowly and clearly?”

You’re positive he knows exactly what you said. “Sweeney. Is. Very. Pretty,” you say anyway, and then add “Her. Ponytail. Is. Cute.” and “I. Like. The. Pattern. On. Her. Dress.” for good measure. You hear a buzz from your phone as Sweeney bites her lip and looks away.

Travis grins. “What about –” he begins, but then Sweeney cuts him off. “TRAVIS, YOUR RIDE IS HERE,” she says loudly, and indeed, a taxi has just pulled up in front of the building. Travis shrugs, clearly giving up on whatever it was he was about to ask, and slowly makes his way from the building to the curb, where he gets into the taxi.

Sweeney shakes her head as the taxi drives away. “Travis thinks I need more confidence,” she tells you, blushing slightly. “You don’t have to go along with him on that. But thank you for liking my hair and my dress.”

Sweeney’s dress is on a body that you’re not going to let yourself fantasize about just now, although it’s even better in person than on your phone’s screen.

“Sure,” you say. “Shall we look at the apartment?”

“Of course,” she says, smiling, and leads you into the building and towards the staircase, and… just like with Molly on Monday evening, you’re honestly not sure if she’s deliberately wiggling her butt at you, or if you’re just imagining it.

“So what leads you to be looking for an apartment in late September?” Sweeney asks. “New in town?”

“No, I grew up here,” you say. “But there was a fire in my building on Monday.”

She stops mid-step, and you see her wince. “Oh damn. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“ I’m all right. My stuff is… well, it’s insured, and I’m going back there with a friend this afternoon to see if there’s anything salvageable.”

“Mm. Good luck. Do you know what happened?”

“I heard one of my neighbors fell asleep smoking, but…”

She shakes her head. “You’ll be happy to know this building is smoke-free,” she says.

“Yeah, my old place was supposed to be smoke-free too. But this guy…”

You wave a hand, cutting yourself off, and sigh. “I’m sorry, I’ve been having a really nice morning so far, and I don’t want to make myself upset by talking about Larry.”

Sweeney frowns. “Never tried reporting him?”

You shrug. “A few of us did, a few times, but… I dunno. Landlord lived fifty miles out of town, we didn’t have a full-time superintendent…”

She shakes her head. “Well, I live right downstairs, so if you ever need anything – anything at all – you can come and see me.” She blushes slightly. “I mean, if there’s a problem with the apartment or the neighbors! If you ever smell anyone smoking! Not – not, uh…”

You genuinely hadn’t perceived that as a sexual comment, but now you can’t help seeing it that way.

“It’s fine,” you assure her. “I know what you meant.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” she tells you. “… to see the apartment, I mean!”

The two of you continue up the stairs to the top floor.

“So, are you single?” Sweeney asks as she unlocks the door to Apartment #11.

That question doesn’t have as straightforward an answer as it did on Monday. Technically, you’re single – but then, technically, don’t you have five girlfriends? You’re not sure how much you should tell Sweeney about that. You’re not sure how much you should tell anyone about it, actually. Although… would it even be possible to explain this to someone without talking to her for long enough that she’d start to fall for you? Assuming that’s actually how it works, which you’re really not sure about, you don’t have anywhere near enough data points to make a valid prediction, you really need to spend more time reading the Instruction Manual –

– and you’ve taken too long to answer. Sweeney is blushing again. “I mean… will the apartment be just for you, or…?” she tries.

“I…. I’ve never been married,” you say, which is true. You hold up your hand to show that you’re not wearing a wedding ring.

“Well, I’ve never been married either,” she says as she opens the door. “Didn’t stop me from getting pregnant when I was nineteen.” She’s blushing harder now, and breathing a little funny.

You take pity on her. “Do you need some water?” you suggest.

“Oh! Uh, yes, yes, that’s a good idea,” she says, relieved, then strides into the apartment’s kitchen. The cupboard is empty, so she cups her hand under the sink’s faucet and drinks from that. Meanwhile, you glance around the apartment.

It’s larger than your old place, though not by much. The kitchen – or, well, the kitchen space , it doesn’t have a separate kitchen – looks weirdly familiar. You examine the stove and the fridge; they seem okay, if maybe a little old.

“What do you think so far?” Sweeney says as she wipes her mouth.

“Looks okay. Don’t see any major problems.” You tilt your head towards the door to what you assume is another room. “In there?”

“Oh, sure,” Sweeney says. “Let’s go into the bedroom.”

She blushes again. “I mean –”

“I know what you mean,” you say, and follow her in.

The bedroom is… well, it’s smaller than the one you had back at your parents’ house, and it’s smaller than Tammy’s. It’s maybe the size of Molly’s. But it’s definitely bigger than the one you had back on Anglesey Street… because the apartment on Anglesey Street didn’t have a separate bedroom.

You think about how much Sweeney is asking for rent, and compare it to what you were paying back on Anglesey, and wonder if you were being overcharged.

Sweeney leads you around the bedroom and shows you its window (“you see over there? That’s the community vegetable garden!”), the radiator, and the lightswitch.

“This is the closet,” she says, and opens it for you. There are a bunch of documents on the floor. “Oh dear,” she says, “Bill must have forgotten these.” She goes into the closet, gets down on her knees, and gathers them all up. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”

Before she gets up, you reach out a hand to her. She smiles, and takes it, and you help her to her feet.

She doesn’t let go of your hand until the two of you are walking out of the bedroom. “Thank you for –” she says, then giggles.

“What’s funny?”

“I just realized – you helped me literally come out of the closet!”

Your eyebrows go up.

“I mean,” she says rapidly, “it’s just a funny… the words are… I mean, that’s literally what you did, and it’s funny that it has another meaning, but I’m straight, I’m totally straight, I really am, although there isn’t anything wrong with being gay, I have gay friends, I’ve had gay tenants, I’m just not gay myself, or bi, I’m not bi either, I’m straight, I like men, I love men, of course I do, that’s how I got pregnant, and –”

Is this all because of the Multiplier? you wonder.

You hold up a hand and she stops abruptly.

“Sweeney,” you say carefully, “am I the first time you ever showed an apartment to a guy?”

She shakes her head.

“Am I the first time you ever showed an apartment to a guy who was in his twenties and wasn’t blind or whatever?”

Again, she shakes her head.

“So… relax, okay?”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, then mutters something to herself several times. “Okay,” she eventually says. “I’m sorry. I should be better now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you tell her. “I was worried I’d done something wrong.” That’s… kind of true – if the Multiplier is doing all of it, then that’s pretty much your fault, which is morally equivalent to you doing it.

“No, no, not your fault,” she says with a weak smile. “I just… I just get anxious sometimes.”

“Okay. Kitchen, bedroom, main space… oh, the ad said ‘appliances’, does that include washer and dryer?”

Sweeney smiles. “It does. They’re in the bathroom,” she says, and she leads you there.

The bathroom is a lot bigger than your tiny toilet/sink/shower combo back on Anglesey, although if you subtract the space taken up by the washer and dryer, it’s about the size of Tammy’s. You could definitely share the shower with at least one other person, maybe even two.

You decide not to mention that detail to Sweeney.

You examine the machines – and while you’re at it, you check the lint trap, just in case (it’s empty).

“They look okay?” Sweeney says as the two of you head back into the living room.

“I suppose,” you say. “I gotta admit, I don’t know that much about them – at my old place, I had to go to the laundromat. But they look kinda… old?”

“They’re reconditioned,” she says proudly. “Mr. Dimitrios’s cousin runs an appliance-repair school. These were all graduating projects. I get them for $150 each! The fridges and stoves too!”

You whistle (you’re not sure how much large appliances actually cost, but you know $150 is a great deal).

“How long do they last?”

She shrugs. “Three years? Not as long as new ones, but that’s still pretty good for reconditioned. And – honestly, they’re in great shape. Like, the washers barely vibrate. I’ve tried sitting on them, and nothing happens!”

Her eyes bulge and she turns crimson as she realizes what she just said.

“I – I – I –” she begins.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lie. “Like… they stop working?”

“Um, I, um, I just… um. Never mind,” she mumbles.

It is gonna be interesting – and possibly cringe-inducing – to read Sweeney’s updates log. You change the subject.

“So far, the place seems okay,” you tell her. “But I don’t know if I should just choose the very first place I’ve looked at.”

She nods. “Reasonable, sure. If you do want it, I’ll need some references from your previous landlord? And I’m not promising you’ll get it, even with references. No offense, I really like you, but –”

“HI!” someone calls loudly from the apartment’s open doorway. Sweeney stiffens.