The Apartment Read Online Free Page B

Dad are happy to lend us the money for the air tickets—so no excuses!
    I know you secretly love the idea and you’ll come around—we’ll all have fun and it will be good for us.
    I love you,
    S
    I’m surprised by a quick rush of indignation. How could she do this when I’ve already said no? But I can sense the rot in our marriage caused by this fucking break-in and I know I’ve got to make an extra effort to be positive. I can see how hard Steph’s trying—and, besides, she still knows she’ll win me over with that “I love you.”
    I swivel my chair around and stare out the window at the block work of rooftop air conditioners and silvering in the back lots and the mountain beyond them, looming massive in a hot, clear sky. Paris…She knows me—I’ve always wanted to go. I can’t blame Steph that we’re in such a dire financial position.
    Turning back to the screen, I click on the link she sent. It looks like one of those classic Parisian buildings on a narrow road with a little tree-lined square at the end. The suburb sounds pleasant, apparently close to all the attractions but quiet, near Montmartre, where the artists lived and there’s that big white church.
    In a different life, it
would
be a great idea. But not this life, not now. Even if we could accept money from Steph’s parents to go jaunting overseas, hauling Hayden through a foreign city wouldn’t be as romantic as it sounds. Wheeling a docile little French girl in a pram through the Parisian parks sounds like fun, but we both know how Hayden gets when she needs to pee, when she’s hungry, when she’s tired, when she’s hot, when she’s cold—and not just Hayden. That’s natural for any toddler. Steph’s not being realistic.
    Clicking to the house swappers’ profile, I see a buff young couple called the Petits who have put some tourist links into their property description. I read through a list of literary walks in Paris, and before I realize it, twenty minutes have passed. Just imagine strolling the same cobbles as Hemingway and Gauguin and Monet and Balzac and Foucault—and Woody Allen. It wouldn’t be quite the same as strolling the prefab indoor cobbles, circa 2008, of the Canal Walk mall. Steph chose well—I
have
always wanted to go, and I’ve just thought of a way I can make the trip work.
    I pick up the phone and dial Steph’s parents. I’m relieved when Rina answers; Jan and I don’t get along—he’s only five years older than me and doesn’t trust me with his daughter, despite the fact that I’ve always treated her with love and respect. As a father of daughters, though, I understand where he’s coming from—I’d hate me too.
    —
    “How could you, Mark?”
    That was quick. I’ve only just come back with my daily grande from the coffee shop downstairs. Rina must have called Steph straightaway.
    “I wanted to surprise you back. I thought you’d be—”
    “I’m calling Mom now. I’m telling her—”
    “Hang on, Steph. Think about it.” I stand up and close my office door, but I’ll still have to keep my voice very low to avoid being heard through the cardboard walls. “If you think about it for one minute, you’d know that taking Hayden to Paris with us would be a bad idea.
She’d
hate it.”
    “You’re so distant with her sometimes, Mark. It makes me wonder if—”
    “Don’t start. Please, honey. You know how I feel.” Because I do love Hayden, everything she represents to me. Because even though it was an accident—I assumed Steph was on the Pill and she assumed I’d had the chop—I’ll never forget that feeling when Steph told me she was pregnant. My pure joy took me by surprise as much as it did Steph. For a change, my feelings bypassed my doubts and it took me a while to understand why I was so happy. I was so in love with Steph, the world seemed to glow around her. She was my second chance—one I thought I’d never get and one I certainly didn’t deserve—and the gift of a baby felt