My Tomorrow by Megan Nugen Isbell Page B

it behind us, I stopped in my tracks, completely in awe of the place. 
    “Wow,” I whispered involuntarily as my eyes took in the massive apartment.
    “What’d you say?” he asked from across the room where he was taking off his iPod armband and placing it on the granite countertop in the kitchen. 
    “Um…I was just thinking your apartment is beautiful.”  I wondered if I sounded as timid as I felt.
    “Thanks,” he said, walking into the great room and turning the TV on. “Why don’t you watch some TV while I shower and get changed?”
    “Okay,” I said, taking the remote from him.
    “I’ll only be a few minutes.  Make yourself at home,” he said and then disappeared down a long hallway and I suddenly found myself alone in the huge room.  I just stood there, staring at the apartment, feeling completely intimidated and totally out of my comfort zone.  The couches were perfection in black leather and the chrome accents were modern and sleek.  It looked as if a page had been ripped out of a design magazine and glued into Drew’s apartment.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d designed the scheme himself.  Everything else about his style was flawless and I was certain it crossed over into interior decorating. 
    I finally stopped my gawking and made my way to the couch, sitting myself down as my body molded perfectly to the leather and my eyes started wandering again.  The whole apartment was spotless, which honestly surprised me.  Ethan had a hard time even getting his clothes in the hamper.  Who was I kidding though?  So did I.  Drew’s house, however, had not one thing out of place, not one speck of dust.  It didn’t really feel like a home.  Homes were lived in.  This place didn’t look lived in.  It was too flawless. 
    I tried not to focus on the perfect apartment and I settled on the huge TV screen.  It had to be at least a sixty inch.  Since moving to New York, I wasn’t used to seeing TV on anything but my laptop and this was overwhelming, almost like being at the movie theater.  The Yankees and Blue Jays game blared through the speakers and I struggled to turn down the volume, but the remote had more buttons than mission control and I finally gave up.  Instead, I found the power button and turned it off.  It was then I spotted the architecture magazine on the coffee table.  I picked it up and noticed a page had been dog-eared.  Turning to it, I saw a picture of a building and in the caption underneath, it identified the designer as Andrew Saben, a promising young New York architect.  I stared at the words, shocked to see his name in print and I quickly flipped to the front of the book to find the issue date and I discovered that Drew was twenty-five at the time of publication.  I didn’t know much about architecture, but I did know that was an impressive feat. 
    “I see you found my pride and joy,” Drew’s laugh cut in and I fumbled as I tried to close the magazine and set it back down.
    “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have been nosing around your stuff,” I said, looking up at him from where I sat on the couch.  Aside from the running gear at the park, I’d never seen the casual side of Andrew Saben.  I was used to his slacks, dress shirts, and occasional ties at the office, but he looked like a regular guy now.  If I didn’t know differently, I might’ve thought he was some cocky college kid in his loose jeans and gray zip up hoodie.  His black hair that had been drenched in sweat at the park was now hidden by a faded Yankees hat. 
    “This was my first publication,” he said, picking up the magazine and looking down at it, a slight smile curling up on his face. “I was pretty excited.  I think my mom bought like fifty copies of this magazine.  It was my first big piece of work.  It happened as I was finishing up grad school.”  He looked at it again before closing it and setting it back down on the table. “I don’t know why I keep it out here.