I was awake at 4:30 this morning, staring at the time. It’s closing day, I kept thinking, as I tried to coax myself back to sleep.
I slept off and on till 6:30 when I (finally) gave up and got up so I could get outside in the cool morning air for a run. It’s closing day, I thought, as I looked up and saw my apartment building in the distance.
Back home, I showered and got ready quickly, pulling my hair into a messy twist on top of my head. I dressed just as quickly, reaching instinctively for my black lace dress with the pale, pale pink slip underneath. Purposely vintage, it always reminds me of something my grandmother would have worn. Or something from an episode of Mad Men. Either or.
Added my delicate pink shoes, with the pointed toe and the dainty ankle strap.
“You look like a ballerina,” I’ve been told before, while wearing this dress and those pink shoes, my hair twisted up.
I always thought of ballerinas as flimsy delicate things, easily broken into a million little pieces.
I’ve since changed my mind about them, admiring instead their strength and grace, their discipline and their desire to succeed. Their sheer drive.
It was a good look for closing day, I decided, buckling the straps on my shoes.
“How do you feel?” I kept getting asked, throughout the day, by people.
“I’m terrified,” I said honestly, much to their surprise and amusement.
On the way back from a business lunch, my boss turned to look at me sitting in the backseat, my chin in my hand, staring out the window.
“You look very Audrey Hepburn-ish,” she said. “The dress, the big glasses, your hair pulled up like that.”
I may or may not have blinked owlishly at her from behind my sunglasses, then asked, distractedly and panicked, “Do closings ever fall through day of?”
I thought about my grandmother a lot today, wishing when I got dressed this morning for something of hers to wear today. I settled instead for something of Clara’s, a pink sparkly Hello Kitty charm that I attached to a bracelet of hers.
My grandmother would have been proud of me, I kept thinking this afternoon, when I gave up waiting at the office and drove across the city to my lawyers. “Your keys should be here by the time you get here,” Holly (not Golightly) said to me on the phone, when she returned my call.
Why the sudden and constant thoughts of my grandmother lately? Is she here with me, watching closely?
“You can do this,” I told myself, as I climbed the stairs to my lawyer’s office.
I collected my keys, and drove back across the city. Fumbled with the buttons on one of the fobs enclosed in my envelope until the security gate marked Residents swung up.
Parked my car. Fumbled with another fob to get into the building. Filled out forms at security, turned in cheques to the property manager, and then finally (finally) I was opening my front door and walking into my new home.
How delicious my heels sounded as they clicked on the flooring as I walked through the living room and into the kitchen.
“You can do this,” I told myself again, as I flipped light switches, and opened cupboards, searching randomly for I don’t know what. Sat in my deeper than normal bath tub, then sat on the floor in the living room, leaning against the wall in the exact spot my couch will go and looked at the wall where my television will be.
I walked from room to room. Ignored the floors and paint. Pictured instead my dark hardwoods, my Alice White bedroom walls, the aqua blue glass backsplash I’ve already picked for the kitchen.
And then. Then, I marvelled at the wide window sills, in both the bedrooms. Window sills that I could easily sit on (and so can Clara), with my legs drawn up. Window sills for daydreaming on, or watching the rain, or the snow or the sunset. Window sills where I can sit and just be.
WILL do this, I reminded myself. And have already done so.