"D-3," Mara mutters the combination as she punches it into the vending machine keypad; the only not-so-modern modern amenity located in The Mare's Nest communal laundry room. As she waits for the snack to drop, she notes a small pink flyer, taped to the machine blocking the Slim Jim's on A-4.

Maybe this could be her chance to mingle with her neighbors, or maybe the moment she makes a fool of herself in front of near strangers. She contemplates all the different scenarios while mindlessly watching the small bag of crunchy Cheetos begin its descent, only to get stuck at the end of the coil.

"Are you kidding me?" Her weak arms attempt to shake the machine, to no avail. If there ever came a time when her life depended on the strength of her upper body, she knew she'd be as good as dead. Case in point: the mystery of the stalled Cheetos.

College was generally the time for 18-and-overs to finally get their sense of freedom from their parents. Their time to stay up late and eat whatever they please. This was not Mara's collegiate experience, thanks to the ever growing presence of her long-term boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, Robert. While there may not have been parental controls on her lifestyle choices while at the University of Chicago, Robert lingered, giving "A Christmas Story"-esque commentary on her daily decisions.

"Why are you eating that garbage?" Robert questions as her Cheetos in the rec room vending machine stall at the top row. "Leave it. That shit will give you a fat ass, anyways." 

The image of Robert's disgusted face as she awaited her harmless snack has stuck with her ever since. "Fuck it," she softly kicks the laundry room machine, now snapped back to the reality of current day. Hopping up on the dryer, she places a manuscript she's editing on her lap and continues her laundry.

"Humming ceiling fan. Leaky faucet. Busted A/C. Malfunctioning washing machine." Harry flips through his maintenance requests for the day in his apartment nearby. Already hours into his day and his neck aches with responsibility. The sounds of nuts and bolts echo throughout his home as he tinkers with his VHS player that malfunctioned when he was watching "Back to the Future" earlier that morning. A flair for things broken, yet still beautiful— a phrase that aptly describes Harry. He never expected a "thank you." But late at night, when he goes over his accomplishments that day, he wonders what it would be like to receive an appreciative smile or nod in his direction. Instead, he takes solace in the fact that he makes people's' lives easier and more enjoyable. As he prioritizes his tasks for the day and puts the pieces of his media player back together, he hears frustrated grunts in the laundry room next door.

Meanwhile, Mara finds it near impossible to focus on her work. It's like Chester Cheetah himself is mocking her. Taunting her. Barely hanging there. Ready to take the plunge any second but purposefully holds back to make her feel desperate.

"FUCK IT." She stomps over to the machine and shakes it with all her might. Again, to no avail.

"Here you go, Miss Stewart." Harry tests the faucet to show the resident that it's working, unaware of the chaos taking place two floors down in the laundry room. "Off to fix that pesky washing machine." He walks over to Ryan, Miss Stewart's 2-year-old son, and fusses with his dirty blonde locks.

"I'll show you, fucker," Mara aggressively says while untwisting one of her wire hangers. Jamming her arm into the dropping point of the vending machine, she reaches up as far as humanly possible. On a mission for the indulgence she paid for, "Eye of the Tiger" chimes in from her LAUNDRY playlist on Spotify. The music plays so loudly, she doesn't hear the swing of the saloon-style doors at the entrance of the room.

To Harry, there wasn't anything cuter than a girl with glasses and her arm shoved up the party end of a vending machine. Her face, pressed tightly against the glass, shows real determination.

"Maybe I want a fat ass," Mara says, her voice labored by her rib cage pushed against metal. Her sailor mouth often came out when she was alone. "Ever think about that, asshole? Fucking mother fucker. Come... to... MAMA!!!" A ring-clad fist pounds on the side of the machine, startling Mara. She pulls away, her vision first focuses on the large grease smudge left behind by her face on the glass and then on the reflection of the super standing behind her. The bag she's so desperately been trying to obtain drops as though it was never stuck at all.

"There ya go." Harry puts his hand out and helps Mara up to her feet.

"Sorry... How long have you been standing there?"

"A bit." He struggles to hide his smile and places his large toolbox on one of the washing machines.

"I think that dryer is broken too."

"You shouldn't use the washer and dryer at the same time. Not enough power."

The growing silence makes her feel idiotic, a feeling she despises more than anything. No noise means assessment and discomfort. A red mark brands her forearm. As she runs her fingers across the war wound, the mark left by her assault against the vending machine, she feels another set of eyes on her. She moves her glance slowly to the left where Harry is undoubtedly staring back. As soon as he notices her acknowledgement, he immediately drops his gaze.

"Nice seeing you," she comments while packing her cargo.

"You... you t-t-too, Mara." His quiet voice is drowned out by the white noise of the building.

With a swift swing of the laundry room doors, she rushes back up five flights to her place. George Harrison will comfort her as she spends the remainder of the day folding her clothes and cooking lunch. "I got my mind set on you, I got my mind set on you. But it's gonna take money!" She sings along with the words, trying to distract herself from the embarrassment that ensued downstairs.

https://youtu.be/WuX6VuPyfZc

Screwing in the front panel of the washing machine, Harry hears a buzz of a nearby appliance go off. Thin lace and light cotton congregate at the bottom of the dryer's barrel. His face turns ghost white at the sight of her silken undergarments. Lacey and delicate thongs lay next to pairs of novelty-patterned boy shorts. Frantically grabbing the material as blind as he can make himself, he fills a spare hamper with the items Mara left behind and walks to Betty's apartment.

"You have Mara's bowl?" Harry asks as he searches Betty's cabinets.

"On the entry table. I was going to return —"

"No... no, I got it." Harry locates the bowls and places it on the top of the garments in the hamper.

"How gentlemanly of you to return her bowl." Betty uses air quotes as she says "return her bowl" while wiggling her eyebrows.

"Grandmum!" All of the blood in his body rushes to his face as he represses a grin.

"And I bet you love her avocado green Pyrex bowl." Betty utilizes air quotes once again.

"That one didn't even make sense," he comments as Betty gives him a peck on the cheek. Life alone is never anything anyone wants to succumb to. Thankfully, when Harry's parents passed, Betty was there to catch his fall. Ever since the moment their family doctor announced their demise, she was there to help him through the rough times and raise him to become the wonderful man he is today. Her husband taught him how to ride his first bike and how to be a dependable super. Betty, herself, showed him how to drive her '67 Mustang convertible. After the death of his grandpa, Betty and Harry became partners in crime. Life without her was unthinkable. Since then, they've made it their mission to take care of The Mare's Nest together.

"Go get em, tiger," Betty jokes with a swat on his bum.

The usual 3-minute walk up the steps has never felt more drawn out. His heart quickens the closer he gets to the familiar yellow Dutch door.

Her angelic voice rings from the other side of the door. With a gentle knock, the top half of the entrance swings open. There she stands, snapping her fingers like a 1950s greaser from "Westside Story" approaching a rumble down an alley, her movements exaggerated and deliberate.

"And do it, and do it, and do it," she accentuates each word of the song with a pop of her hips. "SHIT FUCK! REALLY?" Headphones in and music blaring, she practically yells her startlement. She finds Harry standing in her doorway, beaming and innocent, trying to hold back his laughter to avoid embarrassing the adorable sight in front of him. "Sorry... I really don't curse this much, you just snuck up on me again."

"S'okay." Harry lifts the hamper of her clothes above the bottom half of the door. "Think you left this. Sorry if they're wrinkled. Didn't wanna go through it."

Her heart is warmed by his generosity. The broken hamper bows as he struggles to hold it high enough for her to see what he carries. The light green bowl she delivered Betty's cookies in the night before sits comfortably on the top of her clothing.

"Oh! Thank you!" She shuffles to her door and opens the bottom half, motioning for him to come in. With a jut of her head, Harry stalks into the apartment. The strides of his long legs bring him into a place he's visited so many times before, yet the decor and atmosphere is new to him now. Walls bare. Scarce furniture. Nothing more than an old record player, cooking utensils and a mustard yellow loveseat adorn the open space. He smiles to himself in recognition of the new tenant's quirky personality. There's something about the mystery of her home that intrigues him.

"No problem." He sets the hamper down at the kitchen's entry way.

"I hope you liked my cookies! Sorry I didn't have chocolate chips." She picks up the Pyrex bowl off her laundry and finds a pair of her Star Wars underwear atop her pile of clothes. Her comfy undies. Her "walking-around-your-apartment-alone" undies. Her undies that Robert loathed. The lids of her eyes open wider than she ever felt possible and she throws the bowl back on top of the undergarments. Maybe he didn't see.

"They were wonderful. I prefer them that way." By the rosiness in her super's cheeks, it was quite obvious he at least caught a glimpse of what she so desperately wants to hide.

"Not a chocolate guy, huh?" She attempts to change the subject. He shrugs and nods, dropping his head. "Want something to drink? I have orange juice. Chocolate almond milk. Water."

"I'm okay. I should finish my requests." He starts his walk back to the front door.

"I'm sorry about the stair from last night, by the way."

"Don't mention it. Already fixed it."

"Wow... thank you." She smiles at him endearingly. He smiles back. A million thoughts rush through both of their heads. For her, she thinks about all the times she's made a mistake, followed by immediate reprimandation. For him, it's all the times he's fixed other people's messes with close to zero acknowledgement. They feel secure. Appreciated. Warm. It's unfamiliar territory for the two of them, yet something their minds have been craving their entire existence.

"Have a lovely night, Mara." His British accent mumbling her name makes her heart flutter. Her face hurts from the smile she's inevitably been unable to wipe off.

"Hey! So... the easter egg hunt. Sounds pretty fun." She traces imaginary circles on her hardwood floor with the toe of her combat boot.

"Grandmum does it every year. Quite a few young kids in the building."

"I can come and bring some treats for everyone. Maybe some more of my 'no-chocolate-chip' chocolate chip cookies?"

"I'm sure they'll love 'em." Harry walks to the stairs. Before going back to his work for the day, he turns to Mara one last time. "Make sure you hear the top latch click. The door sticks and doesn't lock."

"Thank you... for everything," she says with an appreciative smile. All her teeth are exposed in complete delight. Harry nods and heads downstairs.