Chapter 6 - The Empty Drawer in Our Queens Apartment
I got home just after one in the morning and the apartment still smelled like dinner. Ethan had left the kitchen light on, the one over the stove that buzzed faintly, and a takeout container sat open on the counter with half a burger drying out inside.
He was on the couch in his sweats, shoes off by the door like he'd been home for hours. He didn't look up from his phone right away.
"You're late," he said.
I hung my apron over the chair and set my bag down. My feet ached from the shift and my shirt still smelled like the restaurant, that warm bread and wine smell that clings to everything.
"Long night," I said. I stood there for a second and watched him. His thumb kept scrolling. His breathing was even. He'd gotten good at looking calm.
I pulled out my own phone and opened the photo I'd taken two weeks before. The one from his nightstand drawer. The silver phone with the cracked corner, the screen lit up with the name Vanessa and a line of text underneath I had already memorized.
I held it out to him.
He glanced at it once, then again, slower. His jaw tightened.
"Where did you get that," he said.
"I found it when I was looking for batteries," I said. My voice didn't shake. I'd practiced that part on the subway ride home. "You told me it was for clients."
He sat up and rubbed his face like he was tired. He did that when he wanted more time.
"She is a client," he said. "Vanessa Hale. Her husband's looking at property on the Upper West Side. She texts at weird hours. That's why I keep that phone separate, so it doesn't wake you."
He said it easy, like he'd said it before. He even gave me a little shrug, like I was making something out of nothing.
"Real estate clients don't send heart emojis at midnight," I said.
He laughed, short and quiet. "You know how some of those Manhattan women are. They think a little flirting gets them a better price. I don't play into it."
I kept staring at him. I wanted him to look at the photo again, to really see it, but he was already looking past it at me.
"Maya, come on," he said. "You're working these restaurant shifts and you're exhausted. You're reading into things."
That was the lie, right there, smooth and practiced. I felt my throat get tight but I didn't answer. I let the silence sit the way I'd learned to at the tables, where a pause makes the other person fill it.
He reached for my hand. I didn't pull away, but I didn't hold on either.
"Is that why you were weird tonight? Did something happen at work?" he asked.
I told him no, nothing had happened, and went to the bedroom to change. That was my evasion. I needed to see the drawer before he could talk me out of it.
Our bedroom was small, just enough room for the bed and the dresser we'd bought off Craigslist when we first moved in. The top drawer on his side had always been his junk drawer. Cords, receipts, the second phone when he wasn't carrying it.
I opened it while he stayed in the living room. I could hear the TV come on, some late-night show with laughing in the background.
The drawer was neat in a way it never was. The cords were coiled. The receipts were stacked. And the space where the silver phone usually lay was empty. Just a faint rectangle in the dust where it had sat for months.
My breath caught and I stayed crouched there for a long moment, my hand resting on the edge of the drawer. He'd taken it with him. He must have checked it after I left for my shift, seen that I'd been near it, and taken it to warn her.
I closed the drawer soft so he wouldn't hear.
When I came back out he'd made up the couch with a blanket and a pillow. He did it without asking, efficient, like this was normal.
"I'll crash out here," he said. "I've got an early showing in Long Island City. Six a.m. walk-through."
He said it like he was being considerate. He folded the blanket over himself and picked up the remote.
I stood in the hallway and felt the whole plan shift. I could have asked for her number, driven into the city, knocked on their building. I had the address from the texts. But if he'd already warned her, she'd be ready. She'd delete everything and turn it into my word against hers.
I thought about the SIM I'd copied last Tuesday, when he'd left the phone on the charger while he showered. I'd taken it to the little cell repair shop on Roosevelt, and the guy behind the counter had cloned it onto a blank in ten minutes for forty dollars cash. It was in my jewelry box now, under the earrings I never wore.
"Okay," I said to Ethan. "Get some sleep."
He nodded, eyes already on the TV. "You good?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm good. I'm agency-scheduled again tomorrow night. Same place."
He didn't even look surprised. "Alright. Make that tip money," he said.
May you like
I went into the bedroom and shut the door halfway. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the jewelry box. The little plastic SIM was taped to the bottom, exactly where I'd left it. I pressed my thumb over it once to make sure it was still there.
I wasn't going to go to their apartment. I was going back to the restaurant. That was the one place where she couldn't pretend she didn't know me, and where Mark would be watching again.
