Ella

I flip through the apartment ads in the local paper, and each one is more mundane than the last.

My sigh of frustration is cut short when I spot one that catches my eye. It’s written in a dark pink font, barely readable. I look at the starting line.

“Looking for a flat mate, must enjoy dark humor and tolerate an excessive amount of plants. Inquire within.” It sounds like the setup for a sitcom. Who places an ad like that?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I need.

The search for a place has been a string of disappointments, each apartment looking exactly like the first one, a monotonous view of beige walls and stained grey carpets. This ad, with its peculiar requirements, of course, stands out.

Against my better judgment, I decide to give it a shot. What do I have to lose? Another weekend spent trudging through uninspiring apartments?

The address on the ad leads me to a charming, slightly run-down building that seems to have weathered the years with a certain grace. It’s the kind of place that whispers secrets from another era, something that instantly reminds me of Bricks and Scones café downtown.

Tentatively, I approach the door marked 32B. My hand hovers for a moment before I knock. The door swings open, revealing a guy with disheveled red hair and a sunny smile plastered to his face.

“Oh, hi there! You must be here about the ad? Reed, come on in please!” he greets me with an enthusiasm that feels almost out of place in this cold city.

Reed. I repeat it in my mind. The name does not suit him at all.

“Yeah, I am here about the ad. I’m Ella,” I reply, my tone a deliberate opposite to his cheerfulness. Reed ushers me inside, and the first thing that strikes me is the overwhelming presence of greenery. He wasn’t kidding about the plants.

The apartment looks like a greenhouse, with every available surface adorned with money plants and succulents of various shapes and sizes. It’s like stepping into a jungle within four walls.

“Welcome to my little green paradise! Have a seat please,” Reed gestures towards a worn-out couch adorned with colorful throw pillows. I arch an eyebrow but sit on the couch, sinking into the softness of the aged cushions.

Reed heads to the kitchen to fetch coffee, leaving me alone to gawk at the interior design of his apartment. The first thing that catches my eye is a wall adorned with an assortment of quirky masks – a display of faces ranging from comedic to downright bizarre.

Beside the masks, a collection of vintage typewriters stands proudly on a long table. It’s like a nod to a bygone era. I imagine Reed, clad in a tweed jacket, typing away on one of these relics, composing quirky tales in his odd apartment.

There is a big bookshelf in a corner, with its top shelf bending under the weight of the books. It has titles that range from conspiracy theories involving time-traveling cats to guides on deciphering the secret language of sock puppets. I can’t help but chuckle at the sheer randomness of this person’s reading choices.

The coffee table hosts an odd assembly of board games too, not the usual ones. “Monopoly: Extreme Makeover Edition” and “Clue: Murder Mystery on Mars” hint at Reed’s inclination for reinventing the classics.

Wow. I don’t think this guy ever gets bored.

As I glance at the walls, I notice an intriguing collection of framed postcards that have weird pictures on them– places from movies and books. I look at the one with the picture of Malfoy Manor from Harry Potter.

Interesting. There are pirates, astronauts, and even a ninja duck wielding a tiny katana. I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, wondering if Reed stages epic rubber duck battles during his undoubtedly leisurely baths.

Just as I’m looking around stuff, he returns with two mugs of coffee. The rich aroma fills the air as he hands me a yellow mug, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Hope you like it strong,” he says, settling into a chair. I take a sip, the warmth of the coffee complementing the curious charm of his apartment.

“So, what’s the story behind all these?” I point to the rubber duck specifically.

He grins, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, that stuff, you might find it funny– they’re just my way of keeping life interesting. Every item here has a story, and I like to think of my apartment as a haven for the unconventional.” I think he doesn’t want to accept he has a hoarding problem.

“So uh, tell me about yourself. Must be thrilling looking for new places, no?” Reed initiates, hands folded in his lap now, as if conducting a formal interview.

I raise my eyebrows. “Thrilling? More like soul-sucking. I just need a place to crash without the whole process making me question my life choices.”

He chuckles, seemingly unoffended by my sarcasm. “Fair enough. What do you do for a living?”

“I work at the public library for now. Surrounded by books all day – it’s as exciting as it sounds,” I deadpan, my eyes scanning the room, trying to find a spot not claimed by the relentless green invasion.

“Books are exciting! What’s your favorite genre?” he asks, his eyes widening with genuine curiosity.

I lean back, arms crossed. “I don’t play favorites. They’re… books. Aren’t they all the same?”

Reed grabs a sticky note and jots down a note, seemingly unbothered by my lack of enthusiasm. “Got it, open-minded about books.” I try to suppress my laugh, almost choking on the coffee.

“Now, how do you feel about my plants?” he asks.

My eyes sweep across the plants surrounding me. “If I have to water them, I’m out.”

He laughs, the loud and funny sound filling the room. “No worries! I’ve got them covered. Now, dark humor—yes or no?”

“Is there any other kind? I don’t think so,” I retort, my gaze meeting his with a hint of challenge.

Reed’s smile widens. “I like your style. We might just get along.” Surprisingly, the conversation flows effortlessly and we do get along.

He asks me all sorts of questions that a child would ask and for once, I don’t feel bored or annoyed. He’s fun, I realize.

“So, Ella,” he says after a while, leaning forward in his chair, “if you could have dinner with any historical figure, who would it be?”

I arch an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. “Hmm, let’s go with Nikola Tesla. I bet he’d have some shocking stories to share.”

Reed chuckles, seemingly satisfied with my choice. “Good one! Now, what’s your go-to karaoke song? Don’t hold back, I need to know if you’re belting out power ballads or dropping rhymes.”

I smirk, playing along. “Definitely power ballads. ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ by Bonnie Tyler. I go all in on those high notes.” This isn’t as bad as I was assuming.

He grins, nodding approvingly. “Solid choice. Now, if you were stranded on a deserted island and could only bring three things, what would they be?” Interesting.

I ponder the hypothetical scenario. “A notebook, cereal, and a hammock.” We both laugh.

His eyes light up at my answer. “So, you like writing, I assume?”

“Love. Journalism. I intend on going for it professionally.”

“Wow.”

“What about you?” I ask. “What do you want to do?”

“Emm… oooh… so many things,” he starts to chew on the inside of his cheek. “I want to be an actor, most of all.” He would be a good one. I smile.

As the discussion shifts towards dreams and aspirations, Reed’s infectious optimism begins to chip away at my grumpiness.

He also shares his passion for creating a community garden, envisioning a vibrant space where people can connect with nature.

Eventually, we decide to continue our conversation at the pub “Rattlers” down the street. Reed says it’s the only place with less weird people in downtown LA. His enthusiasm clashes with my more cynical worldview, creating an odd chemistry.

As we chug on the beer and continue the talking, the quirks of our personalities seem to complement each other.

“So, when can you move in?” he asks, leaning back on his stool as if the decision is already made. I raise an eyebrow.

“That’s it? You’re not going to ask for references or check my credit score?”

Reed chuckles. “Nah, all that paperwork is overrated. I’ve got a good feeling about you, and the place could use a dose of your sarcasm. Me too, in fact.” I roll my eyes, but a genuine smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

Maybe this strange, plant-filled jungle could be home after all.