The Best Part

Thursday October 15th 2020

Lacey looked through the peephole, watching intently as her only neighbor, Dorian, opened his door (completely masked) and looked around. He was just as handsome as he was yesterday, coming to her rescue when the bag of candies for her mother had split and strewn butterscotch around their shared hallway. It was fortunate he had happened upon her picking them up on his way back from his daily coffee run. Even more fortunate that he had not arrived a few moments earlier, when she tore the bag scattering the candies all around.

They had exchanged numbers in case she (or her mom) should need anything. He'd joked how Lacey had a stash of candy (the best part, he'd called it,) to sustain her through 2020. She'd informed him only her mother ate them. Sugarless Butterscotch tasted like leather to her. But Mother had lost a leg to diabetes, watching sugar was important, an endless and thankless job.

She watched Dorian spot the wine and thank you note. He also found the real butterscotch she'd placed there. (She'd paid a fortune for same-day delivery, inspired by him and his sweetness. Worth every penny.) He pulled out a wipe and sanitized the bottle and candy. She hated his mask. Still, she imagined he was smiling. She guessed he was in his late 30s, not too young against her early 50s. He couldn't see her, but she winked anyway.

Later, Dorian sent a text: Thanks for the wine. You didn't need to.

She had spent an hour and five minutes pondering her response before texting : I had extra. Remember the candy. That's the best part!

He hadn't responded. He was probably drunk.

Friday, October 30th 2020

“Bring me my blanket and butterscotch!” Her mother ordered from the corner of their outside balcony.

“After I check your sugar levels.” Lacey said. She glanced at the bowl of butterscotch's, those were the sugar ones... but how much harm could one do? She was tired.

The penthouse suite they lived in was a departing gift from her father, who had passed. He wished to leave her mother in the lap of luxury in the city she loved. Plus, the entire top floor was split between the two apartments. Her side and Dorian's side. They also had neighboring balconies, being that they ran the perimeter of the roof. Lacey had dragged her mother out there every day since leaving the wine a few days ago. 

Lacey stood and then saw him. Dorian, carrying his laptop to an outside desk and chair. She smiled and waved. “Hi!”

Dorian glanced up, maskless out here, and he was just as glorious as she had hoped. He waved and pointed at his earbuds.

The seven months she'd been isolated in quarantine, with only her one-legged mother for company had been worth it just to see him. Had it been seven? Maybe it was five. She'd come here when it had started... hadn't she? Dorian had returned from England, his job saying it was getting harder for Americans to travel. That was a month ago? Two weeks ago? Had she only been watching him for two weeks? Felt like years.

She sent a text : Hello, Neighbor!

It took Dorian eight minutes to respond. Hi, in a meeting.

She'd gone out on the balcony every day after, but no Dorian. He must have grown tired of the rain plaguing Manhattan.

Tuesday, November 17th, 2020

Three or four days later or maybe a week ... or two? Lacey made her favorite. Southern Dirty Rice. She had opened all the windows and left her front door open, knowing Dorian could smell her spell and hear her playing Duke Ellington (a favorite of his she guessed, based on how often she heard him playing The Jaywalker).

She sent another text: Hungry?

Thirteen minutes later he responded : Smells fantastic! Makes me wish I hadn't just devoured my favorite pasta from Pomodoro's.

Seventeen minutes after that, she saw the GrubHub guy arrive at Dorian's. He must have been very hungry indeed ...

Later, she left a container of leftovers, four butterscotch's and two bottles of wine at his door.

Thursday November 20th, 2020

Dorian sent a thank you message a day later..: Thanks, neighbor! You spoil. Gotta watch all this wine. Lol! I drank both bottles in a night! 

Or was it a few days later. (Hadn’t she just left the food and wine yesterday? She had tried to keep track of days by eating a sugar butterscotch a day and counting the candy but there were nights when she kept finding her hand in the candy bowl.) 

She responded: Cheers and don't forget the candy. Best part!

He sent a smiley face. =)

That night, Lacey was on her balcony watching his. She heard an unfamiliar woman's voice followed by Dorian's deep reply. He wasn't being safe! Everyone knew it was safer at home. Alone! He was supposed to be isolated.

Then the sound of glasses clinking and the woman praising the wine?! Her wine!

 But he had said he’d drunk all of the wine? Had she left more wine yesterday? Her delivery was on Tuesdays. Hadn’t she gotten in the habit of opening the box and pulling a wine bottle to always leave at his door? She would carry it over and linger in sight of his peephole as she slowly wiped down the bottle. Maybe she’ d only been thinking of doing that? She should count her bottles. Maybe that would be a better way to keep track of days instead of counting the candy. No, she would count the candy and wine, it would be a backup to help with the passing of the days.

She heard his door close at 5:20 a.m. Lacey smireked, the “lady” would have to step over the sugarless candy she had left and the note that read “More where that came from.”

Later she texted Dorian : How was the wine? I have a membership and they send me too much. I just counted so I am sure I have extra ???

He replied : If you don't want it.

She had left twelve bottles, six butterscotch's and more leftovers exactly nineteen minutes later.

He had not responded. But she could smell him heating up her cooking.

That night she took the needles to the biohazard waste in the belly of her building. She had worn her mask, gloves, and wiped the elevator buttons nine times. Walking to the waste area she heard the sound of trash falling from the shoots and the sound of glass breaking. Curious, she walked towards the dumpster. There on top was her broken bottle surrounded by little wrapped bags of gold. Her Butterscotch.

She glanced at her needle bag. She'd been doing this for ten months? Six? How lucky she was that they were in a pandemic. She had had time to take care of her mother properly. She had started out counting the days by the number of needles in her bag. But these needles just seemed to double every time she looked at it. Her mother had begun to talk nonsense. Saying she already had her insulin. Diabetes did that, it messed with your memory. But it didn’t matter now, too much insulin...not enough insulin was dangerous, both were dangerous. Now Mother was gone, learning that lesson too late.. No one would take notice or care about her mother's sugar levels. The world was in the cusp of a deadly pandemic, they would not care if an older lady got into the candy or lost track of her shots. The bodies were piling up. She would just be one more. 

She would wait fourteen minutes and call 911 to report her mother's diabetic shock. Then after they took the body away, she would text Dorian: Mom died. Want some wine? I can't be alone.

He would come. She had candy.