The Last Apartment

The Last Apartment

It was Ruth Smith’s birthday. She was turning eighty-nine years old, which felt like a milestone to her. She didn’t have anyone to celebrate with, so she sat in her apartment and talked to Leo, recounting bittersweet memories of her life: a lost love, an estranged daughter, and the quiet solace of her routines. Leo listened silently, offering no judgement or consolation.

She spent her birthday this way— hoping for a phone call, a sign that someone remembered her, though she hardly expected one. Then, as the hands of the clock inched past seven o’ clock at night, her telephone rang. Ruth let her hand hover over the receiver and glanced at Leo for silent counsel.

“Do you think it’s her?” she asked, her frail voice barely more than a whisper. Leo sat stubbornly still on the side table, voicing no opinion.

“Okay,” she whispered, finally picking up the receiver with resolve.

“Hello?” she asked wearily. Ruth was sure she knew who it was.

“Mother? I need to talk to you about something very important.” The voice on the other end rang into Ruth’s ear with an irritating familiarity. It was her daughter, Ada. Just as she’d thought.

“I’m listening.” If you bring up that subject again, I won’t pay it a moment’s attention. Ruth settled onto her couch, bracing herself for a long, difficult discussion with her second daughter.

“So, I’ve been talking to John, and we’ve agreed that the best route to take is for you to come live with us, at least until we can find you your own place. I would drive up to get you—”

“No.” Ruth practically snarled into the phone because, really, how many times did they need to have this argument? Ada hadn’t even mentioned her mother’s birthday, instead diving straight into a subject that meant nothing to Ruth.

“No?” Ada sounded confused. “Mother, I thought you’d be happy with this plan. I’ve tried so hard to come up with an idea you’d like—”

“By ‘your own place’ you mean a nursing home, don’t you?” Ruth interrupted drily. There was a moment of silence, and then Ada gave a harsh sigh.

“Yes,” she admitted. “But anyone could see that it’s for your own good! The last time I was there, you spent a whole day thinking a banana was your phone—”

“An honest mistake.” Conversations with Ada always followed this pattern: Ada launching into her opinions, and Ruth cutting in only when she could no longer bear her daughter’s stubbornness.

“Mother, you’re what—eighty-nine? You can’t stay in that crumbling apartment building by yourself. It’s not safe. And that rent-controlling buzzard, what’s his name… Steve Dutton? is cheating you out of all your money and using it to—”

“You remembered.” Ruth couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “You remembered and you didn’t even bother to send a card!”

“Huh?” Ada was not pleased to be interrupted when she was just getting steamed up.

“My birthday. You said I’m eighty-nine. I just turned eighty-nine today! And you know what? No one cared enough to even call me! Not even you!” Ruth rested a trembling hand on Leo’s sleek, black side. Ada was silent for several seconds, and when she spoke again, her voice was tinged with guilt.

“Oh… your birthday. Is today the twenty-seventh already? I’ve been so busy today. The grandkids came over for a while today—total chaos, you know—and I sort of lost track of time…. Anyway, happy birthday! I suppose I could send you a check—”

“Don’t bother.” Ruth’s words were like chipped ice. She was thoroughly frustrated with her daughter.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I really am.”

“Let me make one thing clear, Miss Ada-I-Know-Everything-Pants, I am fully capable of supporting myself. I am of sound mind and body, and I have no intention of accepting the charity of people who don’t have the decency to say, ‘I love you.’ I will never come live with you and John. Ever.”

“Fine,” Ada replied coldly. “I made you this offer out of the goodness of my heart, and you rejected it. Well, I can tell you, you won’t get this opportunity from me again. You can stay in your dingy, old apartment all by yourself and never speak to me once more for the rest of your life!” She hung up.

Ruth stared at the receiver in her hand for a long moment, slightly troubled. The silence around her felt accusing. Was it her fault that neither of her daughters cared about her? Was it an oversight on her part that she didn’t even know where her precious Mary was and hadn’t for the past fifty years?

“But she doesn’t want to see me,” Ruth said to Leo, her voice breaking the stillness. “She said I ruined her life…”

Ruth could no longer tell herself that it had been a good decision to divorce the girls’ father and move seven hundred miles away to Delaware. Alone. She had left the girls in Maine with her brother and his family for an indefinite amount of time, hoping to escape from the pressures of her life. Ruth realized now how well she deserved the biting words Mary had hurled at her as she drove away: "This won’t solve your problems! Running away never does! I just didn’t believe you could ever turn your back on us!” Ruth had ignored the heaviness in her chest and driven on without a backward look.

And then the letter she’d received from Mary at her new address in Delaware. Ruth had read it with shaking hands. It was short and to the point: Don’t bother to come back. You’ve ruined my life, and Ada’s, too. Uncle Willard will take care of us. I never want to see you again.

Ruth never received another letter from her daughter, the silence settling in Ruth’s chest like a stone. Willard’s answers came in icy monosyllables. Ada, bound by the promise to her sister, pressed her lips together and looked away. Pride stinging her resolve, Ruth never wrote to her ex-husband.

“It’s my fault,” Ruth murmured, stroking Leo’s side. The admission had simmered in her bones for years. She’d watched connections unravel thread by thread, and the loneliness felt earned. She’d left Charles chasing the illusion of freedom, desperate to escape a life that felt like walking the same dimly lit corridor every day. She’d seized her independence, only to find it tasted bitter—her family’s absence the price she’d paid.

Ruth hugged Leo close. “One blessing, at least, emerged from the wreckage.” Leo seemed to understand—he’d witnessed Ruth’s second chance at happiness. Contentment had colored her days, though shadows of regret sometimes crept in. Her new husband’s warmth was steady, his listening ear a balm she’d never known with Charles. Thirty years ago, a heart attack stole him away, leaving Ruth with an ache that never quite faded. She still set two cups on the table, his memory lingering in her quiet thoughts.

A pang twisted in Ruth’s chest when she thought of Ada, the distance between them as persistent as the rain. Forgiveness was a language they no longer spoke, and Ruth forced herself to look away from the ache.

Ruth set Leo gently aside and moved to the window. Rain patterned the glass with a thousand tiny prisms, city lights blurred behind them. The world beyond pulsed with life, indifferent to her longing. She touched the cool pane, memories flickering between her reflection and the night.

Perhaps a cup of tea, perhaps a whispered birthday tune—small comforts for an evening that belonged, finally, to herself and Leo.

She woke stiff-necked, a damp patch cooling her collar. As she wiped her chin and shuffled to the window, she noticed the rain had faded to a soft mist—like sorrow distilled overnight.

“Morning, Leo,” Ruth said, stretching until her jaw popped. She patted him fondly as she shuffled past.

She hummed an old tune while coffee brewed, curtains drawn back to a stubborn darkness. Somewhere among the clatter, she searched for her denture cream, grateful for the simple rituals that greeted her day.

Ruth felt like nothing could ruin her good mood. She drank her coffee with Leo at the kitchen counter, talking to him freely. He didn’t hint toward a feeding, didn’t stir, but listened silently.

She finished her drink with a warm feeling inside and went to change out of her crusty pajamas. She chose pink pants, a tie-die shirt and a pink scarf so that the clothes would match her carefree mood. She remembered a day long ago, when she had woken up and officially become a thirty-eight-year-old woman. She had dressed in clothes very similar to the ones she had on now, ready to take on the day. Mary and Ada had practically fainted when they saw her. “Mom,” they’d admonished, “you’re thirty-eight now. Don’t you think you should dress, um, more your age?” Ruth took this to mean that her daughters officially saw her as an ancient fossil and thought she should start wearing old people’s clothes.

Ruth laughed at the old memory as she swiped her car keys off the counter. She hadn’t been flattered then, but now she thought it was funny.

Ruth headed for the door. She wanted to go to the store and buy ingredients for a belated birthday cake. Yesterday was wasted by angry words and silent musing—why couldn’t she try to celebrate again today?

Ruth’s good mood lasted until she opened the door and saw her landlord, Steve Dutton, striding up the outside stairs purposefully. Ruth knew he was coming to talk to her, because she was the only tenant in the building. Ruth dreaded visits from Steve nearly as much as she did phone calls from Ada. They were like two peas in a pod.

“Yo!” Steve yelled at her, only the top half of his body visible through the stair slats. He was still climbing the steps.

Ruth’s good mood evaporated. She considered going back inside and ignoring him but then realized it would be better to confront him and get it over with. She waited.

Steve finally cleared the stairs and hustled over to her, his face shiny with sweat and his overweight belly bulging over his belt.

“Here,” Steve panted, shoving a dull yellow slip of paper into Ruth’s hand. Ruth leaned away from him slightly as she looked down at the piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked wearily. She couldn’t make heads or tails out of the fancy writing all over it.

“Notice of eviction,” Steve answered, finally seeming to catch his breath. He drew himself up self-importantly.

“Eviction?” Ruth repeated stupidly. Then, “Why?”

“I’ve set the whole place to be demolished. Some big construction company came to me and offered me a good price for my land, and I said yes.” Steve’s eyes practically rolled back in his head with pleasure as he sighed, “I can almost smell the money coming my way…”

“You can’t do that,” Ruth barked sharply. Her mind was reeling.

“I can and I have. You’re the last person to be told. I did you a favor. Everybody else is already gone. You’ve got one week to get yourself and your stuff out of this apartment.”

“But…I—this is my home! I have nowhere to go!” Ruth was thinking that this was shaping up to be the worst birthday week she’d ever had. First the squabble with Ada, and now she technically didn’t have a home anymore. And Ada certainly wouldn’t offer help. Ruth felt like the world was falling out from under her feet.

“Then you’d better find a place to go, because if you’re not out of here within a week’s time, I will personally come and set you on the street myself!”

“Oh!” a startled gasp escaped Ruth’s lips.

She had never been spoken to this way by anyone before, except for Mary and Ada. But certainly, never by an almost-stranger.

“You are the most vulgar man I have ever met,” Ruth said, glaring at Steve. “Don’t you feel even slightly guilty, putting a poor old lady who’s never done you any harm out of her home, and—”

“Figure it out, Lady,” Steve growled. “I want that money!” He stalked toward the stairs and disappeared down them.

Ruth felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. A week—that was all she had left with her safe home.

Ruth turned slowly to go back inside, the compulsion to bake a cake gone. She slipped inside, staring vacantly at her hands. She shut the door and sat down heavily on the couch. She reached for Leo and held him on her lap. And then she let the tears come.

“Oh, Leo,” Ruth said soggily to him two hours later. She lifted her tear-streaked face and squinted. Sunlight was streaming through the window, the previous storm sky gone. Ruth creakily sat up and went to the window. She stood looking out for a moment, then viciously yanked the curtains closed. She felt like the sunshine was gloating at her, saying, Isn’t it a beautiful day outside? But not for you! The world goes on while you simmer in your misery and ponder your lonely existence!

“Oh, Leo,” Ruth said again. She turned in the now dim light and peered at his shape on the couch. She put a hand on her wet face.

“Am I crazy, talking to you?” she asked, her voice cracking. “I know you don’t understand. But I wish you did! Why do I have to go through this all alone?” She sank down next to him once again.

The rest of the day was spent in fearful agony. Ruth tried to quell her feelings by talking to Leo, telling him about when her girls were young and didn’t hate her yet. Was it so long ago? Maybe Ruth was drifting back into the past, drifting back to her younger days.

Three tormenting days later, Ruth came to a decision. She sat on the couch, hand poised over the phone.

“Should I do it?” she asked Leo, looking at him through bleary eyes. He offered no advice. Ruth dialed with a shaking hand and held the receiver to her ear. Her heart jumped when a preppy voice answered on the other end: “Hello?”

“Ada?” Ruth’s heart began a fluttering pattern; after all, her daughter had told her to never contact her again.

“Oh. It’s you.” Ada’s voice was flat and unforgiving.

“Don’t hang up!” Ruth ordered, then added, “please. I really need your help.”

“Humph.” Ada sighed a servant’s sigh but stayed on the line.

It only took Ruth a few minutes to explain to her daughter what had transpired. Ada was silent for a long time after she finished talking as she worked things out. Finally, she spoke.

“I suppose my offer to come live with us is still open,” she said hesitantly. “And… I’m sorry for what I said a few days ago. On your birthday.”

“I am, too.” Ruth’s heart swelled with joy. Ada was speaking to her! And better yet, she was willing to help her.

Moving day arrived all too soon. Ada arrived in all her splendor to pick up Ruth and take her away. She stood in the doorway, watching her mother as she gazed around with tears in her eyes.

Ruth was bringing with her only a bag of her clothes and a few personal belongings. She wouldn’t need anything else where she was going. Ruth held her cherished belongings in her arms, but she couldn’t help feeling like she was forgetting something. She looked apprehensively around her apartment one more time.

“I know it’s hard,” Ada murmured from her place by the door. “But just think of it as an adventure, a new chapter in your life.”

Ruth nodded. She was appreciative of her daughter’s compassion. But she couldn’t possibly understand what Ruth was going through. Not even a little bit.

Ruth looked around her beloved home once more. Then she stepped over the threshold for the last time and allowed her daughter to lead her away.

A couple of days later Steve arrived to scrounge around Ruth’s apartment. It was the day before the demolitionists came, and he wanted to be sure that he had gotten everything out of Ruth’s apartment that he might sell for good money.

At first, Steve didn’t notice the object sitting silently in the shadows on the side table. It was only after he had greedily searched the whole place did his eyes fall on it. He went quickly to the table, hoping for an expensive antique vase. Then he sighed in disappointment. It was not a vase at all.

It was a simple black urn, tastefully molded. The name ‘Leo Smith’ was carefully engraved into the lid, along with a passionate note: Leonard Smith, you’ll always be near me. Love, Ruth.

Steve picked up the urn, and feeling the weight of it, opened the lid. He cautiously poured the contents onto the table.

Small, dusty flakes poured out, each one imbued with the love Ruth had bestowed on them for the past many years.

Steve put the urn down in disgust and turned his back to the ashes. He couldn’t possibly know what it was, how important it was. And he couldn’t possibly know what a special and sacred thing Ruth had unwittingly left behind.