It took some problem-solving, but I figured out to wet the towels to mop up the bubbles. After I’d cleaned the floor, I piled the wet and dry towels on the counter. I was going to have to wash them. Fortunately, laundry was one of the things I actually knew how to do. While living with Shay I’d figured it out through trial and error and had lost / permanently damaged only a handful of items. (Apparently the ones with tags marked “dry cleaning only” were not just suggestions.)

Pigeon observed me silently as I took my pile to the stackable washer and dryer located next to my bathroom. I decided to do a rinse cycle and then wash them. I then grabbed my phone to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Turned out only dishwasher soap should go in the dishwasher. Which was different from dishwashing liquid. And there were also handy directions on how to clean soap out of a dishwasher when you used the wrong kind.

Feeling reassured that I wasn’t the only one who’d ever done this, I pulled all the dishes out of the dishwasher. When I got to the bottom rack, I noticed that the heavy pan I’d placed in there looked . . . rusted.

I finally gave in and called Shay. I explained what had happened, and after she stopped laughing she told me to send her a picture of the pan in question.

“You put his cast-iron pan in the dishwasher?” she shrieked when my text arrived.

“Is that bad?”

“So bad! I mean, there’s things you can do to try and fix it once you’ve rusted it up like that, but if you don’t want him to know . . .”

“I definitely don’t want him to know.” I’d been at his place for twenty-four hours and I was already destroying his property. This did not bode well.

“Then I think you’re better off buying him a new one. When you do, watch a video on how to take care of it. They’re not like regular pans.”

“Why would someone buy something you couldn’t put in a dishwasher?” I asked.

“Because it cooks certain foods so much better. It’s one of those things where if I have to explain it to you, you’re not going to get it. But time to replace that sucker. And make sure you season it.”

She hung up before I could ask her what seasoning it meant. Time to do more research.

I looked his pan up on Amazon. I gasped when I saw how much it cost. “Why would anyone spend this much on a pan that, I repeat, you cannot put in a dishwasher?”

Pigeon cocked her head at me.

I’d put a self-ban on online shopping mainly because American Express had invited me to stop using their card.

But desperate times and all that . . . I put the pan in my shopping cart and then entered my new address and my debit card information. The new pan was going to arrive in two days, which was plenty of time before Tyler was due back.

Pigeon had continued to study me, keeping her distance. Was it an improvement that she was choosing to hang around me?

“We just had our first adventure together,” I told her.

She gave me a disdainful look and trotted off.

I went back into the kitchen to finish properly cleaning out the dishwasher. I’d have to clean the floor next. My first night alone had been an unmitigated disaster, and instead of being able to save money, now I was going to have to spend what little I’d managed to save up to fix my mistake.

Things had to get better from here on out.

The next morning I took my aunt’s suggestion and checked out the local Ares dealership online. They had several cars that had (according to the internet) low miles for being only a year old. I went to my bank during lunch to see what I could afford. It was the same bank my parents used for both their personal and business needs, and when the manager offered me what sounded like a good car loan, I supposed he did so in order to make my parents happy. The payments sounded doable as long as I stopped ordering food in and actually learned how to cook and shop for groceries, but that was a compromise I was willing to make for more independence.

When Delia dropped me off at my apartment, I gave her gas money, as I typically did at the end of the week.

“This will be the last time,” I told her. “Come tomorrow, I’m going to be a proud car owner.”

“Good for you,” was what she said, but she had that I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it look in her eyes. “Do you need a ride to the dealership?”

“No, Shay is going to take me and make sure I don’t get ripped off.” It was something I hadn’t thought much about until the internet repeatedly warned me that all car salesmen were looking to scam unsuspecting female buyers.

We waved goodbye, and as I headed inside, I checked my phone to make sure the car I wanted was still on the lot. It was a cute little black Honda. I figured my best defense would be a good offense, so I learned everything I could about the car. The blue book value, how much the dealership had marked it up, what I should offer them. Shay would be there to support me, but I was determined that I would be the one making the deal.

Owning a car had become an important symbol for me, maybe even more so than the apartment. It was proof that I could make my own way in the real world, something my mother had accused me of being unable to do, and that I had the ability to provide for myself. A car meant freedom and total independence. I could load it up and go anywhere I wanted. Not that I would, because I had to keep my job to pay for said car, but it was the principle of the thing. In knowing I could.

Not only was it Buying My Own Car Eve, it was also the day Tyler got back from New York. I was excited to see him again. Once I got inside the lobby, Gerald called me over to give me a package. It was the replacement pan, a day late. I was relieved it had finally arrived, and since I’d watched two videos on how to take care of a new cast-iron pan, I was set.

Hopefully Tyler wouldn’t notice.

I mentally reviewed the list of what I had to do that evening. What I wanted to do was to not have to clean or cook at all but to have a hot bath with a glass of wine and then maybe the whole bottle of wine while I binge-watched some television and ate chocolate ice cream.

TV and books had always been my refuge. I suspected that I watched more TV than what other people would consider normal. I mean, if Netflix were a person, I would totally invite it to my wedding. When I discovered that Tyler had a DVR, I nearly shrieked with joy. I left a blue Post-it note on his door asking if I could record my shows. As long as they didn’t interfere with his.

I sighed as the elevator doors shut behind me. Working all day was hard. I felt like somebody in my life should have told me this. It wouldn’t have changed my choices, but at least I would have been more prepared.

Pigeon had started greeting me when I came into the apartment. She still kept her distance, but I figured this was good progress because I needed her to love me so that I could stay.

But today, she wasn’t there. I dropped the package off in the kitchen and headed into my room. To my surprise I found Pigeon there, lying on the foot of my bed. This was new. I said hello to her and then kicked off my shoes, making sure that I immediately closed the closet door after to keep her out. I changed into some yoga pants and a T-shirt and went back to the kitchen to try and cover my tracks. Pigeon decided to accompany me, just out of arm’s reach.

I was unpacking the pan when I heard a loud thumping noise. It had come from Tyler’s bedroom.

My first panicked thought was, Oh no! He’ll know what I’ve done to his pan!