The Arrogant Architect

BY

LK
Collins

Copyright
© 2016
LK Collins

Cover Design by
Prezident Collins

Edited by Lisa
Christman, Adept Edits

Photography by
Viorel Sima

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing.  

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales
is entirely coincidental.  

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and
trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which
have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is
not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

Lisa,
this one’s for you and you know why.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Well, the clock will hit midnight
in four minutes, and what used to be my favorite day of the year will rain down
on me like a dark cloud of misery. Since watching my mom suffer and eventually
lose her battle with breast cancer, nothing seems to matter anymore– not my
birthday, not holidays, or really anything. Without her, nothing is important.
Yes, I tell myself, I am blessed to be alive. Just waking up should be enough…but
I simply don’t have the feeling I used to about life. All I want is to sleep
the days away, blur them all together. Stay still until my time comes and then
I can be with her again.

Sitting alone in my quaint Rhode Island apartment, the clock
ticks by brutally slow. In front of me is another letter from my mother. Each
year they come and have become the only thing that I have to look forward to on
this wretched day. I have no clue who sends them, or why she decided to have
them sent. My dad and I both get one every year, so I know he’s not the one
sending them. Maybe it’s her way of keeping us going, giving us something to
look forward to without her. Which isn’t a bad thing– that’s what moms do: they
pick you up and push you forward during those times in your life when you don’t
feel like it or even know if you can. And even without my mom here now, she’s
still doing it. And for me, for a brief moment every time I open and read a new
letter, it’s like she’s back, talking to me as I get swept away in her words. I
can hear her voice laced through each one of them. But the letters always end,
as letters do, and the reality of my life swallows me up, pushing me further
and further into the seclusion of my nothingness.

It’s 11:59–I wait ‘til midnight to open them. Not that it
matters, there are no rules when it comes to all of this, but it’s what I do.
This is the way she wanted things. Staring at my name so perfectly written on
the front of the purple envelope the color of lilacs, her handwriting is just as
beautiful as their fragrant scent. Now…it’s another thing that reminds me of
her.

As the clock strikes midnight, I lift the envelope, staring
at it, knowing only a few years ago she had this in her hands. Looking at the
seal on the back, I imagine her licking it closed and I force myself to open
it, breaking something she put together.

    My dear Everly,

Happy twenty-third birthday, my
darling. There are not enough words that I can say to express how hard it is to
not be there with you to celebrate another birthday. But…as I’ve always said,
I’m right there with you in spirit, sitting next to you, wrapping my warm arms
around you, and kissing the top of your soft, blonde hair. Hold onto that
feeling and the bond we share…forever.

How is work? Are you still
cooking? Have you opened your own restaurant? Have you met a guy yet? There are
so many things I wish I could know right now, but I’m reassured that after I’m
gone I’ll have all those answers way before you, and I’ll be right next to you,
guiding you every step of the way. Remember even though the magnitude of
missing out on so many milestones together is a terrible pain, know deep down I
am proud of wherever you are in life. You are a brilliant young woman! Take
care of yourself, Ever, and your dad. I love you more than there are stars in
the sky.

Love, Mom

A tear drips off my cheek and lands on the letter, my
insides burning, the ink bleeding. And the moment of relief…is gone. The
feeling of suffering is immeasurable as I stare at the blurring ink, reminding
me so quickly how hard it is to go on without her. Folding the letter, I
swallow away the tears and set it on my nightstand. Doing my best to regain
calm, to cease the crying, but I can’t fuckin’ stop. What the universe has done
enrages me. Why was it her time? Why?

Falling back against my pillow, I sulk in the misery, but
it’s soon cut short as my cell phone rings. I take a deep breath before I
answer, hating for my dad to hear me upset. “Hi, Dad.”

“Happy birthday, baby!”

 “Thanks,” I respond through a chuckle, hearing how
hard he’s trying to be positive for me. “You don’t have to pretend with me,
Dad.”

“I’m not; I’m happy it’s your birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you read the letter yet?” he asks me.

“Yeah,” my voice crackles, remembering her words.

“What did she say?”

“This one was different, maybe she was having a rough day,
but she was sad, I could tell it was hard for her to write.”

“I couldn’t imagine writing them myself or what I’d say to
you, Ever.”

“Then don’t, ‘cause we’ll forever have each other.”

“You sound like her.”

“She taught me a lot, Dad.”

“She sure did. You still want to have dinner?”

“Of course. Do you want to come over here before dinner and
look at my shower? It’s leaking.”

“Of course, but you’re renting– have you called
maintenance?”

“I emailed and called them over a week ago. They haven’t
responded and the noise is driving me crazy. It’s really all I want for my
birthday,” I joke.

“Okay, I’ll return the sports car I got you then and just
fix your shower.”

“Thanks, Dad, you’re the best.”

Talking with him makes me feel better, probably because he’s
my best friend. Aside from the people I work with, he’s all I’ve got and I’m
all he has. But we are all we need in this life, and it works for us,
especially because we’ve been left with no other choice. All you can do
sometimes is play the cards you’ve been dealt. Lying back, I close my eyes,
looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and enjoying a day off of work.

_____

I wake to a loud bang. It shoots me right up in bed and
shakes my entire apartment. My heart is slamming against the walls of my chest.

What the fuck was that?

Then I hear beeping and yelling, and I wonder if there was a
car accident outside. I glance out the window, but can’t see an accident or
anything that would explain the noise. Then the bang happens again and rocks my
whole place. Automatically, I grip my blanket like it’s going to protect me in
the case of some freak ass natural disaster or nuclear bomb. But the beeping
and yelling continue, and I fly out of bed, determined to find out who or what
is making all the goddamn noise.

Putting my pajama pants on, I rush out my front door
barefoot, so angry as the noise keeps getting louder and louder. Normally, I
never hear anything inside my apartment, it is so tranquil and one of the
reasons why I love living here. As I charge down the stairs, my boobs hurt from
the impact of each step and I realize I don’t have a bra on, but I don’t give a
fuck.

Barging outside, the chilly air winds around me, blowing my
hair wildly, and I wrap my arms securely over my chest. Right away, I spot
where the noise is coming from.
There
are a million workers, around and inside the building next to mine, which has
been vacant for years. “Excuse me?” I ask a guy with a hardhat on walking by,
“What’s going on?”

He points to another man and says, “You have to ask the boss
man.”

Leaning against the side of a ridiculous white sports car is
the “boss man.” He’s dressed like a lawyer, in a suit, talking on his phone,
looking up at the building as he barks orders at someone on the other line.

Who comes to a construction site dressed like this?

Behind me a pallet drops and I almost jump out of my skin.
Marching over to him as fast as I can, fury boils through me. Barely
restrained, I wait for him to end his call, and when he does, he sticks his
phone in his pocket and opens a leather portfolio looking over what appear to
be sketches of some kind.

“Excuse me?” I blurt out, not sure what his problem is, or
why he’s ignoring me.

Is he blind?

He looks up at me, his blue eyes squinting, and then he
raises his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me what in God’s name is going on here?”

He stares at me, looking at me like he doesn’t understand my
question. His eyes scan my body, making me feel uncomfortable, and I wrap my
arms more tightly over my breasts. “Hello?” I wave a hand in his face.

“I heard you,” he reaffirms.

“So, what’s going on?”

He closes his portfolio and tilts his head the other way,
still not saying anything. Is this guy fuckin’ dumb or something??? “What’s!
With! All! The! Noise!?”

“I’m not a fucking dumbass. I heard you.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re acting like one.”

In the background there are more pallets being dropped, the
workers are shouting and cars are honking. I look over and see a huge truck is
now blocking the roadway. “This building is undergoing a twelve-week
restoration project.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s an important piece of history.”

I stand with my mouth gaping at him. I don’t care how
important it is– I can’t live through twelve weeks of this. “Did you need
anything else?” he asks smugly.

“Yeah, I do. Don’t you think it’s a little early to be
making so much noise and blocking the roadway and shit?”

He smirks and looks around at what’s going on. “Pursuant to
Section 7.9 of the Rhode Island State noise ordinance, outside noise can begin
for projects any time after seven a.m.”

 “Are you kidding me!?”

His phone rings and he pulls it out. I storm off, knowing
this is pointless and he calls after me, “Good chat; we should do this again
sometime.” I glare back at him as he answers his phone. He’s looking me right
in the eye, so arrogant and motherfucking cocky. I don’t think I’ve ever been
so frustrated in all my life.

Then he winks at me and I flip him off, stomping back into
my apartment like a child who didn’t get her way. Slamming the door as hard as
I can. The noise still so loud. How am I supposed to live like this for three
months? I’ll go crazy.

I start a pot of coffee in my kitchen and leave it to brew
as I get into the shower. Standing under the water, I let the warmth surround
me and focus on my breathing so it can wash away this newest stress. But I
can’t seem to let what just happened go. The interaction with the smug prick
keeps replaying in my head.

Getting out, I dry off and go through my normal morning
routine. Then going back into the kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee. It’s
only 7:35, there is no way I can stay here with this racket all day or I’ll go
ballistic.

As I finish my coffee, I decide to go into work. I was
supposed to have the day off, but I’m not going to sit here, aggravated. Plus,
my work is the only place where I find peace anymore. I grab a bar for
breakfast and put my chef’s coat on. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize
my mom would be proud.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk down to the
bike rack, trying to ignore the veritable roar of construction mayhem coming
from next door. Thank God that pompous jerk is nowhere to be seen. Unlocking my
bike, I put the lock in my backpack and prepare to ride to work. I so much
prefer riding to driving my car.

“Did you really flip me off?” The guy from earlier walks up
behind me and startles me. Internally, I roll my eyes and zip my bag before
turning around.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you were being a jerk.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

“Then I want to talk to your boss,” I state.

His grin gets wide, from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat, and
he takes another step closer to me. My heart skips a beat and I swallow, not
really sure what’s going on. This guy is soooo not my type.

“Seriously?” I ask aggravated.

“What?” he responds, almost wounded.

“What’s with the silent treatment?”

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment. You asked to talk
to my boss, and…that’s me.”

“No,” I rephrase my question so this time he gets it through
his thick skull what I want, “I want to talk to who owns this building. To
whoever is making these ridiculous decisions to begin…” I trail off, frazzled,
but quickly recover, not letting him– or any man– have that power over me. “To
begin the work so early in the morning.”

“I own the building and I’m running the restoration project,
so you can talk to
me
.”

Shaking my head, I push my bike around him and ride off.
This is a lost cause. “It was nice to meet you, Ever,” he yells out, clearly
having read my name on my coat. I’m hesitant to flip him off again…I think that
has lost its zing for the day.