Bliss by Shay Mitchell Page A

“Deaths, plural? How many?”
    â€œFour?”
    â€œYou rented me a death trap!”
    â€œThe place is completely safe. It’s been checked and rechecked. The water is clean. No mold, bugs, toxins, or rodents. The elderly are very good neighbors. No loud music, they go to bed early, and keep the place spotless. If you have some kind of prejudice against old people, then you can always break the lease. But you’ll forfeit the security deposit and your first month’s rent.”
    Demi was too hungover to be angry. It was a large apartment in an immaculate building and a great location. She didn’t hate old people. It was just a bit disconcerting to be the youngest person in the building by fifty years. She put her head down on her desk, and tried to picture Miriam and the gang of ghosts who might be lurking in her bathroom. Friendly ghosts, she was sure, and not necessarily a bad thing. Demi could stand to meet some new people.
    She might’ve dozed a bit, because the next thing she knew, Maya was shaking her shoulder. “I’m up!” she said, and busily tidied her desk like a kid caught snoozing through history class. “I was just resting my eyes.”
    Maya was not amused. “Permit?” she said.
    â€œGoing.” Demi grabbed her bag, left the office, and got in the Audi. It made some suspicious grinding noises, but she ignored them. Should she even be driving this hungover? She drove last night. How could she have done that? Never again, you idiot! She went down to City Hall, parked, and found the right room in the labyrinth of offices, only to find out that the clerk was out to lunch until two P.M. , an hour from now. She texted Maya and said, “Office closed until after lunch. Will go back then. Running errands.”
    Demi made the snap decision do a quick food shop and then head back to the Grace. It was so close, and she could still smell pinot grigio coming out of her pores. She’d bake muffins, take another shower, then get the permit and be back at work with at least five minutes to spare before Maya’s nervous breakdown.
    *   *   *
    The oven was as old as the average resident at the Grace, so Demi wasn’t optimistic about baking there. Plus, she wasn’t much of a baker at all. She followed the recipe and measured and mixed the ingredients carefully. The pumpkin spice muffin recipe was a James favorite. She’d perfected it over the years and was quite proud of it. She hoped her neighbors liked it. Who didn’t like pumpkin? You’d have to be insane not to, a deranged, twisted psychopath. Bonus: It was packed with vitamins A and C, good news for the olds. Demi could use a double dose of antioxidants, too. She’d been treating her body like a garbage dump since the breakup.
    Since the breakup. Her life was now divided between “before the breakup” and “since the breakup.” James’s betrayal defined her life, and probably would for a long time. She could sum up her existence to a new person, “Hi, my name is Demi Michaels. I’m twenty-one and have no clue what to do with my life. My boyfriend cheated on me for years. When I found out, I had to break up with him. I’m desperately lonely. I wish I could bury my head in the sand, and pretend I never caught him. But I did, and now I’m stuck with the anger, zero trust, a jaded perspective on love, an open invitation to AA, pity money, party friends, and no confidence.” Man, she was a real treat these days.
    Demi poured the batter into the muffin pans, and put them in the oven. While they baked, she showered again, changed her clothes, and cleaned up her space. The light was fantastic at this time of day. It gave her a freshly scrubbed, clean feeling.
    Speaking of which, she had a mountain of laundry to do. While the muffins cooled on a rack, she took a duffel bag down to the basement to the washer-dryer room, no quarters