Chapter One: The After

The sweeping movements of a towering crane catches the eyes of Maura outside of the big picture window of Lola's apartment, but only the faint echo of laughter and the hasty clicks of a keyboard lingers audibly in her memory.

Maura settles into the paisley-patterned green armchair positioned in the corner of the living room. She sits neatly on the edge of the chair, careful not to disturb the corners of the blue rug in the center of the room or to allow the clicks of her stilettos to echo too harshly through the empty apartment.

This is the last room to be packed and donated, but for a fleeting moment, Maura tries to imagine herself in a reality where Lola is only fetching a glass of wine from the kitchen. She allows a slight chuckle to escape her lips as she envisions Lola's return to the room.

"Vintage Chanel? Great choice for my funeral. Stylist Maura. I love it," a mirage of her friend's voice echoes in her mind. Lola would have set the glass down on the oval marble table before remembering a coaster for it. Evidence of her forgetfulness sits in light red circles on the coffee table. Maura looks towards the white brick fireplace. It's tiny statues sit parallel to each other on both sides of the mantle, while between it is a gold framed picture of Lola and her first big writing award. Her smile stretched from dimple to dimple. Bright, warm, undying, and stuck between glass and the wood backing of the frame. Maura's wishes for a simpler time but doubts that such an escape would be as easy as she needs. Such a wish might only make it possible to relive the whole agonizing ordeal, but she would be flush with the greatest currency known to man, time.

Maura pushes up on her knees and rises to her feet. The movers would be here any minute and then she would feel a sort of obligation to return the key to Lola's super. Maura exits the living room through an open archway opposite of the fireplace into the kitchen.

Lola's kitchen, now bare and clean, looks almost no different from before. Unused. Like most New Yorkers Lola often preferred the cuisine of the city rather than the food in her kitchen. Her fridge mainly stored wine and ingredients for charcuterie boards made up for last minute hosting. The apartment was rarely without the presence of friends or neighbors. Lola's lifeline was people- people she knew and the ones she didn't, somehow Lola always had a friend in every room. There weren't many that found themselves wanting to be rid of her.

The kitchen hosts another large window looking out onto the vast Manhattan landscape. Towering skyscrapers looking almost manageable from Lola's high rise. This was all Lola wanted as a fresh New Yorker 15 years ago. A high rise apartment in Chelsea, a feature spot in GQ, and a Burberry mink coat. In more ways than one, Lola had accomplished her life ambitions. Now the empty space leaves Maura to wonder if accomplishing anything is worth it. Looking over the large concrete jungle, Maura watches the tiny specks of pedestrians strolling down the street. She sits contemplating the usefulness of all this ambition she has. Planes crash, people get mugged in alleyways, and taxis don't look where they're going. Maura contemplates why anyone should do anything in this life.

Maybe the answer was as simple as love. Love is why we do anything. At this very moment it was hard for Maura to feel anything but the deep empty sadness that plagued her soul.

Maura reminisces on their humble Manhattan beginnings. Both of them stuffed on a queen bed in a studio apartment in Harlem. At night under the orange glow of the streetlights Lola would read Maura excerpts from Vogue. Maura would drift asleep to the sound of Lola's critiques.

Maura flattens her hand against the window and watches as her exhale creates a circle of fog on the glass. She lets her hand trail down the window as she enters the hall. Like the rest of the apartment, except for the living room, the hall is empty. The only sign of previous life are the black holes in the wall where Lola hung frames. Each of those photos now rest safely in a box in Maura's brownstone. Three doors exit off the hall, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Maura places her hand on the golden knob of the first bedroom. Tracing her thumb over the light scratches in the material. Her other hand lingers over the door hesitant to push it open.

Maura shakily pulls away from the door and turns down the hall. At the very end is Lola's room. Her door is framed by the light from the window inside. As she enters the room she lets her body rest against the white frame, her long legs in black pantyhose cross over each other. Maura examines the space that once belonged to her best friend. Lola's large canopy bed once sat in the middle of the back wall of the room. She had decorated the room with the idea of a dreamy escape. Flowing lace curtains, light pink bedding, and a white vanity mirror opposite of the window. Every detail of Lola's dream apartment had been sketched and planned for years. Now, Maura stares at a blank canvas, beckoning a new fashionista to paint a dream on it.

This was the first room she packed, alongside Lola's mother, Penny. They folded her silk dresses and placed her Chanel in garment bags. Maura was silent and almost robotic while packing. Penny placed Manolo Blaniks in their boxes between startling sobs. Maura tried not to pay attention to Penny's cries, so she did as any good New Yorker does and ignored it. They pulled her sheets off the bed and placed it all in one big black contractor bag.

Donations, donations, donations.

That's what Lola wanted. She didn't see a need to burden her family with what to do with her things. What they wanted they could have, but the majority of everything was to go to shelters and non profits.

Her makeup went straight in the trash. Except for her Nude Kate, which her mother pocketed. Maura didn't know what Penny would want with used lipstick, but Maura didn't really care either. They were all tumbling down a cliff, frantically clawing the dirt for some traction. Trying to cling to the tangible evidence that Lola had existed at one point in their lives. Trying to prove to her that they would not forget her so easily.

Maura walks to the window in the bedroom. The view isn't much different from the one in the kitchen. Still the same specks of passerby's and a light muffled sound of honking. New York City. They had dreamed their entire lives of living here. Being among the new ideas and trendy fast pace life of the city. For two small town girls this was an impossible dream, but it was one that they dreamed together. Now, it was only Maura's reality. Alone in one of the biggest cities in the world.

Damn the irony.

Maura turns around to face the master bedroom fully. She leans back into the window frame. As she takes in the deserted room she can feel the prick of tears in her eyes and the hard, unsettling lump in her throat. Maura stiffens her upper lip to curve the feeling, but all her brain can repeat is,

Lola's dead

Maura slaps her hands over her face shielding herself from an invisible audience. She sobs into her hands, allowing her bottom to rest on the window frame and her back to curl into her own arms. Maura had cried before this. She cried when Lola died, at her funeral, and now, but this was the first time she knows she can do so fully. Something inside her peels the bandaid off her heart and she begins to bleed out. With mascara dripping down her face Maura moves her hands to her shoulders wrapping herself in a hug. She squeezes her eyes shut and imagines it is Lola, but her and Lola rarely hugged. It's a regret that Maura didn't realize she had.

Maura walks slowly out of Lola's empty room and into the bathroom. She wets her hands under the faucet and diligently wipes under her eyes, removing any trace of grief from her face. Maura blots herself with a paper towel and takes a long deep breath in the mirror. She stares at herself for a long while until she roughly brushes her dark hair out of her face. She stares more intensely at herself. Lola was considered more beautiful when she was healthy. Lola had long wavy honey blonde hair and big blue eyes. Squeezing her eyes shut she tries to conjure Lola's face in her own mind without assistance.

In truth it has been awhile since Maura has seen Lola's face, her real face, not the shrunken, sickly face she developed in the last two months of her life. Maura can't pinpoint exactly when Lola had lost it, but one day she must of woke up and Lola wasn't the same.

Maura's deep gaze is interrupted by knocking on the apartment door. Maura smiles in the mirror and moves on down the hall, through the kitchen, and into the foyer. She leans into the peep hole and sees the movers from the shelter. Maura unlatches the door and allows them in. She stands by the door holding it open as they gather the last room up.

First goes the marble table in its two parts and Maura can't help but remark each time the men go by "Careful with that, it's marble"

Then the statues "Veiled Virgin, beautiful piece"

The inn table and lamps "Thank you for doing this"

Then the green paisley couch and arm chair "It's a very comfortable set"

As they roll up the rug and pick it up off the floor, one of the movers brings Maura the picture off the mantle. They haul the rug out of the apartment. Maura stands there with her back against the wall staring into Lola's eyes through the frame.

Maura picks her purse off the hanger on the wall and turns off the last light in the apartment. Before closing the door, she looks through the darkness into a place that held so many moments, now mere memories. Maura soaks in a final deep breath, pulls the door gently behind her, and locks it.