Who Is #15?

You already know the moment. The apartment hallway. The bathrobe. The fuzzy slippers. The little bowl in her hand. That expression suggesting she knows perfectly well that knocking on a neighbor’s door dressed like this might make a simple favor slightly more complicated than necessary. But who is she? Her name is Natalie “Nat” Mercer . She is thirty-eight years old, lives alone in apartment 5C, and has been in the building for just under four months. And despite what the neighbors may assume, she does actually own real clothes. The Woman Behind the Door During the day, Natalie works as a claims investigator for a large insurance company. It is nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. Her workdays involve damaged roofs, questionable accident reports, endless photographs, suspicious invoices, and occasionally people attempting to convince her that a swimming pool somehow appeared in their backyard because of storm damage. Nat is very good at her job. She notices details. She remembers contradictions. And she has an unsettling habit of becoming very quiet just before asking the one question someone was hoping she would forget. At work she is usually polished, organized, and almost intimidatingly put together. Tailored trousers. Blouses. Low heels. Hair controlled. Coffee large. Nobody in the office would recognize the woman who comes home, kicks off her shoes at the door, twists her hair into a loose knot, and immediately changes into the softest thing she owns. That woman is much closer to the real Nat. Before Apartment 5C A year ago, Natalie was still married. Not unhappily, exactly. That would almost have been easier. She and Daniel had simply reached that strange point where two people could share a house, a mortgage, a refrigerator, and fifteen years of memories while somehow no longer sharing much of themselves. There was no dramatic betrayal. No screaming match. No suitcase thrown into the street. One evening they sat at the kitchen table, looked at one another, and finally admitted that they had become extremely competent roommates. Six months later, the divorce was final. Daniel kept the house. Nat kept the record collection, the ridiculous ceramic cat they bought on their honeymoon, and an espresso machine neither of them actually knew how to use properly. Apartment 5C was supposed to be temporary. Then she painted one wall. Bought plants. Found the perfect secondhand armchair. And realized that for the first time in years she had a home that belonged entirely to her. Things About Natalie Nat cannot cook anything complicated without calling her younger sister for instructions. She owns eleven coffee mugs despite living alone. She talks to her houseplants while watering them and denies doing so if anyone mentions it. Her favorite guilty pleasure is terrible television—especially dating shows where she spends the entire episode predicting which couples will implode. She keeps an old Polaroid of herself at twenty-two tucked into the frame of her bedroom mirror. In it, she has shorter hair, an enormous grin, and absolutely no idea how complicated adulthood is going to become. She likes that girl. She sometimes misses her. Lately, though, she has begun to suspect that the girl in the photograph never entirely disappeared. The Neighbor The person in apartment 5B moved in before Natalie did. They met properly during Nat’s second week in the building when one of her moving boxes split open in the hallway and scattered paperback novels, kitchen utensils, and several extremely unflattering pairs of socks across the floor. Her neighbor helped collect everything. Neither mentioned the socks. Since then they have developed the kind of casual hallway friendship apartment buildings sometimes create. A conversation by the elevator. A borrowed screwdriver. A package accepted while the other was out. Occasional jokes through half-open doors. Nothing dramatic. Nothing inappropriate. Probably. Nat has caught herself lingering in the hallway once or twice. Pure coincidence, obviously. 11:47 P.M. Tonight has been wonderfully uneventful. Nat has showered. The work clothes are in a heap awaiting tomorrow’s attention. She has changed into pink lounge shorts and a soft camisole, pulled on her favorite robe and fuzzy slippers, and settled onto the sofa with an episode of truly terrible reality television. Tea seems like a good idea. She walks into the kitchen. Kettle. Mug. Tea bag. Then she reaches for the sugar jar. Empty. Nat stares into it. She shakes it once, as though sugar might materialize through determination. Nothing. There are two options. Drink the tea without sugar. Or go downstairs to the twenty-four-hour shop. She looks down at herself. Bathrobe. Slippers. Absolutely not. Then she remembers apartment 5B. Nat stands in the kitchen for several seconds. A smile slowly appears. She finds a little bowl in the cupboard. She could change first. She probably should change first. Instead, she tightens the belt of her robe, picks up the bowl, steps into the hallway, and walks exactly six feet. Then she raises her hand. Knock. Knock. And now you know why she came looking for sugar. You already know what happens next. Or perhaps that is exactly what S.T.R.I.P. Challenge #15 is waiting for you to decide.