The elevator always smelled like somebody’s lunch.

  Not in a bad way. Just a lot of things at once. Garlic plus fried fish plus fabric softener. Someone had taped a flyer beside the buttons that said “LOST CAT” with a photo that was too dark to really see. The edges were curled like it had been there a long time.

  I pressed 19 with my knuckle. The numbers lit up slowly, one after another, like the elevator was thinking about it.

  Behind me, a woman in slippers shifted her grocery bags from one hand to the other. The plastic stretched and made a thin and high sound. She kept looking at the little screen above the door, watching the floors count up.

  “Did they ever fix the leak?” she asked, not really to me. More to the air.

  “Which one?” I said.

  She looked at me like she answered something. “The one by the mailboxes smells like wet paper now.”

  “I don’t live here,” I said.

  “Oh.” She nodded, then looked back at the numbers. “Still. It’s a shame. It was such a nice building.”

  The doors opened on 19 and the hallway felt cooler than the elevator. A cleaning cart sat near the corner. The security guard leaned against it, scrolling on his phone with his thumb. His name tag said SOMCHAI but one of the letters had fallen off so it read SOMCH I.

  He looked up when he saw me.

  “You’re the agent?” he asked.

  “That’s me,” I said.

  He pushed the cart aside with his knee to make space. “Unit 19B. The couple is waiting.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  As I walked, I heard a door somewhere down the hall shut hard. Then another one opened. A child’s voice said something quick and muffled. Then a man answered, but I couldn’t make out the words. Just the shape of them.

  I stopped in front of 19B and knocked. My knuckles made a dull sound against the wood.

  It took a second. Then the lock clicked.

  The man who opened the door looked like he had already been waiting too long. His hair was neat but flattened in the back, like he had leaned against something. He smiled, but only with the bottom half of his face.

  “Narin,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Yeah,” I said, shaking it. His palm was warm and a little damp.

  “Come in,” he said.

  The condo was empty except for a table and two folding chairs. The windows were wide and took up almost the whole wall. You could see the city stretched out below. The cars below move like small pieces of light. Laundry hanging from balconies across the street. The sky was pale and heavy, like it might rain later.

  A woman sat in one of the chairs, both hands folded on the table. She looked at the view instead of us.

  “This is May,” Narin said.

  She turned slowly. Her face was calm, but her fingers kept rubbing against each other like she was checking if they were still there.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” I said.

  On the table there was a plastic container with cut fruit.

  Pineapples and guavas.

  The lid was off and there were toothpicks stuck into a few pieces, but no one had touched them. The fruit looked wet and bright in the light.

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  “Nice place,” I said.

  “Yes,” Narin said. “Best view in the building.”

  He said it like he had already memorized the line.

  May stood up. She moved carefully, like the floor might shift under her.

  “Do you want water?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  She nodded, then stayed standing for a second too long before sitting back down.

  Narin walked to the window and wiped at a smudge on the glass with his sleeve. The smudge didn’t go away.

  “You’ll love the light here,” he said, still facing the city. “Every room gets it.”

  I took out my folder and set it on the table. The paper inside made a soft and dry sound.

  “So this unit just came back on the market,” I said. “Two bedrooms, one bath and new flooring. The previous owners kept it in great shape.”

  May looked down at her hands again. Her thumbs pressed into the edge of the table, just enough to turn the skin white.

  “And the price?” she asked.

  I told her. Her mouth moved like she was counting something in her head.

  “It’s fair for this neighborhood,” I said. “Especially for this floor.”

  Narin turned from the window. “We know,” he said quickly. “We’ve looked around.”

  There was a small kitchen behind him. A kettle sat on the stove. The light on the base was red, but no steam came out. It must have been boiled earlier and forgotten. The handle looked warm.

  “Are you both working nearby?” I asked.

  “I am,” Narin said. “My office is ten minutes away.”

  May’s eyes flicked to him, then back to the table.

  “I’m home most of the time,” she said.

  “Right now,” Narin added.

  She didn’t respond to that.

  From the hallway outside, I heard the cleaning cart wheels roll past the door. Then stop. Then roll again.

  Narin opened a drawer in the kitchen and took out a stack of brochures. He spread them on the counter like playing cards.

  “I always like to show people options,” he said. “Helps them feel comfortable.”

  May got up again and walked into the bedroom. I followed her with my eyes. The bedroom door was open. There was a mirror in the closet. She stood in front of it, adjusting the loose fabric of her shirt over her stomach. Her reflection moved with her, just a little delayed.

  “May,” Narin called. “Come see this.”

  “I’m looking,” she said.

  I stayed at the table. I wrote something on my paperwork that I didn’t need to write. The pen made a scratchy sound.

  “Have you sold many units here?” Narin asked.

  “A few,” I said.

  “Has anyone ever mentioned the noise?” he asked.

  “What noise?”

  He shrugged. “Eh, sometimes buildings just have sounds.”

  I listened then, out of habit. The air was steady. I could hear a refrigerator humming in the next unit. Someone laughing far below. Nothing unusual.

  “It’s pretty quiet,” I said.

  “That’s good,” he said.

  May came back from the bedroom and sat down. She didn’t look at the brochures.

  “Do we get parking?” she asked.

  “One space,” I said. “It’s underground and easily accessible to the elevator.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Her hands stayed on the table.

  Narin picked up the fruit container and offered it to me. “You should try this. It’s fresh.”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  He put it down, but closer to May this time.

  She stared at it. Then pushed it back toward the middle.

  “We’ll think about it,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “Take your time.”

  I slid a form across the table. “If you have questions, just call me.”

  Narin picked it up, looked at it, then set it down without reading.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  I packed my folder. The zipper stuck for a second. I had to press my thumb into the metal tab to get it to move.

  At the door, May stopped me.

  “Is it always this cold in here?” she asked.

  I looked around. The windows were shut. The air conditioning was off.

  “It’s just the floor,” I said. “Higher up, you get more wind. Sometimes the air moves different.”

  She nodded, but her eyes didn’t really take it in.

  “Okay,” she said.

  I left.

  The security guard was still by his cart, still scrolling.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “They’re thinking,” I said.

  He nodded. “Everyone is thinking these days.”

  I waited for the elevator. A woman stood there with a box of pastries. She held it flat with both hands, careful not to tilt it. I could smell sugar and butter.

  “Are you moving in?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Oh.” She looked at the floor numbers instead. “Someone is. I heard.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They say it’s a good unit. But…” She paused, adjusting the box.

  “But what?” I asked.

  She just shrugged. “People always say things.”

  The elevator arrived. We stepped inside.

  As the doors closed, I heard something from down the hall. A sound like a baby crying.

  The woman froze for a second, then shook her head.

  “Must be someone’s phone,” she said.

  The elevator began to move.

  The crying didn’t follow us. It just stayed where it was, behind the door of 19B, like it had a place to be.

  When I reached the lobby, my phone buzzed.

  It was Narin.

  I answered.

  “Did we leave anything there?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “I thought I heard…” He stopped.

  He cleared his throat. “Never mind,” he said. “Thank you.”

  He hung up.

  I looked back at the elevator doors. They were closed and still.

  The building felt busy with people coming in and people leaving. It was the normal rhythm of a place that was doing well.

  I stepped outside and the air was warm and heavy. Traffic moved in long lines. Someone nearby was cooking something with chili stinging my nose.

  Up on the nineteenth floor, the light in 19B was still on.

  And inside, May sat at the table, her hands resting flat against the wood, listening to something that no one else seemed to hear.