I also don’t understand why we’re even moving Maggie’s mattress upstairs. Her apartment will be ready in four days, and there’s a couch, plus Brennan’s bed is empty. But I’m not arguing, because if she’s going to be in my apartment, I’d rather her be in the farthest bedroom from mine just so this will feel less awkward, even though I’ll be staying the night at Sydney’s this week.
Warren stops three steps from the top to take a break. He leans his arm on the railing and pulls his headphones off. “This is the only thing we’re moving, right? Everything else stays in the U-Haul?”
I nod and sign for him to pick up the mattress again. He rolls his eyes and readjusts his grip, pushing it toward me.
Maggie’s new apartment is on the other side of the complex. Close to Sydney’s old apartment, actually. Maggie has tried to back out several times and find somewhere else to stay because she’s worried it’ll be too much, living so close. But this will honestly be better for everyone. She gets sick so often, and for the past year I’ve had to spend a huge chunk of my nights in San Antonio. Even if she’s only a few miles away, her being in another complex would require me or Warren to stay overnights when she’s sick because she gets so weak, she can’t even get out of bed.
With her being in the same complex, it’ll make everything easier. I won’t have to spend uncomfortable nights in the same apartment as her, but she’ll be close enough that Warren or I can run over there and check on her every hour. I honestly think that’s why Sydney was so agreeable to it. She’s seen Maggie during the sicker times, and Sydney knows when Maggie’s down for the count, even a glass of water is impossible for her to get on her own. Not to mention her medications, making sure she’s doing her breathing treatments while she’s weak and recovering from an illness, ensuring her sugar levels are good every few hours. If she weren’t in the same complex, her care would require a car to get to her, and leaving her alone wouldn’t be possible. But being in the same complex, it actually requires less of my time and less of my presence and, in the end, will make Maggie feel more independent. Which is what she wants.
We’re leaving everything else in the U-Haul because one of Warren’s co-workers also works part time for the company who is renting it to us. They’re allowing us to keep it for the week for just nineteen dollars a day, so it’ll remain full of Maggie’s stuff and parked in the parking lot until she moves into her place.
Maggie is still down at the U-Haul, gathering what she’ll need to get her through the next four days. Sydney went to pick Bridgette up from work. Warren and I finally get the mattress into the bedroom and plop it flat on the floor. Warren is breathing heavily with his hands on his hips. He looks over at me. “Why aren’t you out of breath?”
“We went up a flight of stairs. Once. And I work out.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. In my room. Every day.”
He glares at me like my admitting that I work out daily is some type of betrayal. He stares back down at the mattress. “Is this weird?”
I look down at Maggie’s mattress, finally inside the same apartment as me. I used to hate that she would never agree to move in with me, and now she kind of is for a few days, and not a single part of me wants it to happen the way that I used to. That’s weird for me. For all these years, I assumed Maggie and I would end up living in this apartment together and that we’d eventually be married. I never imagined my life taking the turn it did, but now I couldn’t imagine it any differently.
So, yes. To answer Warren’s question, it is weird, so I nod. But it’s only weird because it all seems to be working out. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whether that’s Maggie’s or Bridgette’s or Warren’s shoe, I don’t know. But I highly doubt it’ll be Sydney’s. She’s handled this better than anyone, and she has the most reasons not to.
“What if Sydney and Bridgette lived together and they decided to move some dude in that they had both dated in the past? Do you think we’d be cool with it?”
I shrug. “Guess it depends on the situation.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Warren signs. “You’d be pissed. You’d hate it. You’d act like a whiny little bitch, just like I would, and then we’d all break up.”
I don’t want to think I’d be like that. “More reason to let them know how much we appreciate them.”
Warren kicks at a leaf on Maggie’s mattress and then bends to pick it up. “I let Bridgette know how much I appreciate her all night last night.” He grins, and I take that as my cue to head back down to the U-Haul.
On my way down the stairs, I receive a text. I look at my phone and pause on the steps when I see that it’s from Sydney. It’s a group text with Warren and me.
Sydney: At the DQ drive-thru down the road. Anyone want a Blizzard?
Warren: Does a one-legged dog swim in a circle? I’ll take a Reese’s.
Ridge: M&M please.
I look down at the U-Haul in the parking lot and watch Maggie walk up the ramp and disappear inside of it. This is one of the weird moments we’re going to have to learn to navigate. I need to remind Sydney that Maggie is here and she might want one. But it feels weird to remind Sydney to include her. It’s probably not as weird as anything else that’s happened in the last two weeks of us dating. And part of me struggles with what to say to Maggie and whether I should even offer her ice cream, knowing she isn’t supposed to have a lot of sugar. But I don’t want to be the one to bring up her health right now. I’m trying to keep my distance with the hope that she’s stepping up and taking control on her own.
Right in the middle of my internal struggle, Maggie sends a text through to the group.
Maggie: I’ll take a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Thanks!
I didn’t even realize Sydney included her in the group text. But of course, she did. Every time any of this starts to feel awkward, Sydney somehow alleviates that awkwardness before it’s even able to fully set in.
I walk to the U-Haul, and Maggie is all the way inside of it, digging in her top dresser drawer. She’s throwing stuff on top of the dresser, in search of something. She finds the shirt that she’s looking for and stuffs it in a bag. She looks up and sees me standing at the opening of the U-Haul.
“Can you grab this suitcase and bring it up?”
I nod and she signs, “Thank you,” then walks out of the U-Haul and heads toward the stairs to the apartment. I walk over to the dresser to grab the suitcase from on top of it, but I pause when I see a sheet of paper on the floor of the U-Haul. I bend to pick it up. I don’t want to be invasive, so I set it on top of the dresser, but it’s unfolded and I can see that it’s a list. At the top, it says, Things I Want To Do, but the title next to it is scratched out and written over. I pick it up, even though I probably shouldn’t.
There are three out of the nine things on the list scratched out: skydive, drive a racecar, and have a one-night stand.
I know she went skydiving, but when did she race a car? And when did she have a…
Never mind. Not my business.
I read the rest of the items on the list, remembering how she used to talk about some of these things to me. I always hated that she had so many things she was so adamant about doing, because I always felt like I had to be the voice of reason and it would put her in a bad mood.
I lean against the dresser, staring down at it. We planned on a trip to Europe once. It was right after I finished my second year in college, about four years ago. I was terrified for her to go because even being in such closed quarters on an international flight for ten hours was enough to put her health at risk. Not to mention the change in oxygen levels and atmosphere and being in a touristy area and in a country with hospitals that aren’t familiar with her medical history. I tried so hard to talk her out of it, but she got her way because I honestly couldn’t blame her for wanting to see the world. And I didn’t want to be that one thing that was holding her back.
But in the end, it wasn’t me who held her back from actually going. It was a lung infection she contracted that landed her in the hospital for seventeen days. It was the sickest I’d ever seen her, and the entire time she was in the hospital, I couldn’t help but feel nothing but relief that she hadn’t come down with the illness in Europe.
Warren stops three steps from the top to take a break. He leans his arm on the railing and pulls his headphones off. “This is the only thing we’re moving, right? Everything else stays in the U-Haul?”
I nod and sign for him to pick up the mattress again. He rolls his eyes and readjusts his grip, pushing it toward me.
Maggie’s new apartment is on the other side of the complex. Close to Sydney’s old apartment, actually. Maggie has tried to back out several times and find somewhere else to stay because she’s worried it’ll be too much, living so close. But this will honestly be better for everyone. She gets sick so often, and for the past year I’ve had to spend a huge chunk of my nights in San Antonio. Even if she’s only a few miles away, her being in another complex would require me or Warren to stay overnights when she’s sick because she gets so weak, she can’t even get out of bed.
With her being in the same complex, it’ll make everything easier. I won’t have to spend uncomfortable nights in the same apartment as her, but she’ll be close enough that Warren or I can run over there and check on her every hour. I honestly think that’s why Sydney was so agreeable to it. She’s seen Maggie during the sicker times, and Sydney knows when Maggie’s down for the count, even a glass of water is impossible for her to get on her own. Not to mention her medications, making sure she’s doing her breathing treatments while she’s weak and recovering from an illness, ensuring her sugar levels are good every few hours. If she weren’t in the same complex, her care would require a car to get to her, and leaving her alone wouldn’t be possible. But being in the same complex, it actually requires less of my time and less of my presence and, in the end, will make Maggie feel more independent. Which is what she wants.
We’re leaving everything else in the U-Haul because one of Warren’s co-workers also works part time for the company who is renting it to us. They’re allowing us to keep it for the week for just nineteen dollars a day, so it’ll remain full of Maggie’s stuff and parked in the parking lot until she moves into her place.
Maggie is still down at the U-Haul, gathering what she’ll need to get her through the next four days. Sydney went to pick Bridgette up from work. Warren and I finally get the mattress into the bedroom and plop it flat on the floor. Warren is breathing heavily with his hands on his hips. He looks over at me. “Why aren’t you out of breath?”
“We went up a flight of stairs. Once. And I work out.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. In my room. Every day.”
He glares at me like my admitting that I work out daily is some type of betrayal. He stares back down at the mattress. “Is this weird?”
I look down at Maggie’s mattress, finally inside the same apartment as me. I used to hate that she would never agree to move in with me, and now she kind of is for a few days, and not a single part of me wants it to happen the way that I used to. That’s weird for me. For all these years, I assumed Maggie and I would end up living in this apartment together and that we’d eventually be married. I never imagined my life taking the turn it did, but now I couldn’t imagine it any differently.
So, yes. To answer Warren’s question, it is weird, so I nod. But it’s only weird because it all seems to be working out. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whether that’s Maggie’s or Bridgette’s or Warren’s shoe, I don’t know. But I highly doubt it’ll be Sydney’s. She’s handled this better than anyone, and she has the most reasons not to.
“What if Sydney and Bridgette lived together and they decided to move some dude in that they had both dated in the past? Do you think we’d be cool with it?”
I shrug. “Guess it depends on the situation.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Warren signs. “You’d be pissed. You’d hate it. You’d act like a whiny little bitch, just like I would, and then we’d all break up.”
I don’t want to think I’d be like that. “More reason to let them know how much we appreciate them.”
Warren kicks at a leaf on Maggie’s mattress and then bends to pick it up. “I let Bridgette know how much I appreciate her all night last night.” He grins, and I take that as my cue to head back down to the U-Haul.
On my way down the stairs, I receive a text. I look at my phone and pause on the steps when I see that it’s from Sydney. It’s a group text with Warren and me.
Sydney: At the DQ drive-thru down the road. Anyone want a Blizzard?
Warren: Does a one-legged dog swim in a circle? I’ll take a Reese’s.
Ridge: M&M please.
I look down at the U-Haul in the parking lot and watch Maggie walk up the ramp and disappear inside of it. This is one of the weird moments we’re going to have to learn to navigate. I need to remind Sydney that Maggie is here and she might want one. But it feels weird to remind Sydney to include her. It’s probably not as weird as anything else that’s happened in the last two weeks of us dating. And part of me struggles with what to say to Maggie and whether I should even offer her ice cream, knowing she isn’t supposed to have a lot of sugar. But I don’t want to be the one to bring up her health right now. I’m trying to keep my distance with the hope that she’s stepping up and taking control on her own.
Right in the middle of my internal struggle, Maggie sends a text through to the group.
Maggie: I’ll take a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Thanks!
I didn’t even realize Sydney included her in the group text. But of course, she did. Every time any of this starts to feel awkward, Sydney somehow alleviates that awkwardness before it’s even able to fully set in.
I walk to the U-Haul, and Maggie is all the way inside of it, digging in her top dresser drawer. She’s throwing stuff on top of the dresser, in search of something. She finds the shirt that she’s looking for and stuffs it in a bag. She looks up and sees me standing at the opening of the U-Haul.
“Can you grab this suitcase and bring it up?”
I nod and she signs, “Thank you,” then walks out of the U-Haul and heads toward the stairs to the apartment. I walk over to the dresser to grab the suitcase from on top of it, but I pause when I see a sheet of paper on the floor of the U-Haul. I bend to pick it up. I don’t want to be invasive, so I set it on top of the dresser, but it’s unfolded and I can see that it’s a list. At the top, it says, Things I Want To Do, but the title next to it is scratched out and written over. I pick it up, even though I probably shouldn’t.
There are three out of the nine things on the list scratched out: skydive, drive a racecar, and have a one-night stand.
I know she went skydiving, but when did she race a car? And when did she have a…
Never mind. Not my business.
I read the rest of the items on the list, remembering how she used to talk about some of these things to me. I always hated that she had so many things she was so adamant about doing, because I always felt like I had to be the voice of reason and it would put her in a bad mood.
I lean against the dresser, staring down at it. We planned on a trip to Europe once. It was right after I finished my second year in college, about four years ago. I was terrified for her to go because even being in such closed quarters on an international flight for ten hours was enough to put her health at risk. Not to mention the change in oxygen levels and atmosphere and being in a touristy area and in a country with hospitals that aren’t familiar with her medical history. I tried so hard to talk her out of it, but she got her way because I honestly couldn’t blame her for wanting to see the world. And I didn’t want to be that one thing that was holding her back.
But in the end, it wasn’t me who held her back from actually going. It was a lung infection she contracted that landed her in the hospital for seventeen days. It was the sickest I’d ever seen her, and the entire time she was in the hospital, I couldn’t help but feel nothing but relief that she hadn’t come down with the illness in Europe.
