“I don’t know why I agreed to help you with all of this. I hate moving. Why don’t you just throw everything away and buy new tuff?” my best friend, Angela, complains as she helps me drag in my rolled-up area rug.
“Most of this stuffisnew,” I remind her. I stand from the bent over position I was in to survey the space around us. My new home is covered in boxes and wrapped-up furniture that all needs to be put together and arranged.
“Why’d you buy so much?” Angela huffs as she slams the door behind her.
“Hey, easy with the door! I don’t want my new neighbors to think I’m inconsiderate by making too much noise.”
“But youareinconsiderate, making me lug all of this stuff up here.”
I glare at her. “You’re being dramatic. We’ve brought up one rug and a couple of bar stools. The movers did the rest.”
Heading over to the bar area, she retrieves her bottle of water and sighs. “You’re right. I was just teasing.”
I smirk, but when I continue to look around the smile fades. I start to feel intimidated, not knowing where to even begin with everything. “Why did I get so much?” I ask out loud.
“Because this place is double the size of your apartment in Boston,” Angela helpfully answers.
“More than double, actually.” My place in Boston had been around four-hundred square feet. It was tiny, but on a teacher’s salary in one of the most expensive cities in the country, it was what I could afford. Thankfully, my new job meant a doubling of my salary, which meant a larger, more comfortable living space.
“Yeah, and you spent years waiting for your ex to propose so you kept putting off getting new furniture or a new place, hoping to one day share it with him.”
Cocking my head to the side, I place my hands on my hips and stare at my friend. “Really?”
She merely shrugs as she continues drinking her water.
I shake my head. Angela has been with me through all of the ups and downs of my previous relationship. I knew she disliked Matthew, but she’s a good enough friend not to voice those opinions directly to me, even when I knew she really wanted to. All that’s gone out the window since I broke up with him.
“If Eric wasn’t working today, I would’ve asked him to help us put all of this furniture together.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine if you need to take off. I can put this stuff together myself. You both have done enough for me as it is.” Angela and Eric allowed me to keep my furniture at their home while I went to Mexico, and let me stay with them for the past week and a half until my new home was ready to move into.
“Oh no, you definitely owe me some pizza for helping move this in and put this stuff together. Let’s go. The sooner we get started, the sooner you feed me.”
“You don’t have to work tonight?” Angela owns and operates her own bar. Considering it’s a Saturday, I figured it’d be one of the busiest times of the week and she would want to be there.
She shakes her head. “I can go in later. My new manager has it covered. She’s been great.”
I nod. “Good. I really didn’t want to have to do this on my own,” I confess, causing Angela to laugh.
We spend the next three hours putting together my bed frame, couch, bar stools, and dining room table. By the time we come up for air, not everything is completed but it is starting to look more and more like a place I could get used to living in. The undercurrent of anxiety that’s been with me for the last few days begins to ebb just a little bit as I can feel myself getting more settled.
Now, only if this deep sadness I’ve felt ever since I got on that damn plane in Mexico to fly home would go away, too.He’s gone, Janine,I tell myself. Again.
I know he’s gone. And wherever Emanuel is, he’s probably not thinking about me.
“Hey, don’t forget the extra cheese,” Angela says as she hands me my cell phone. “Oh, and garlic knots. Definitely don’t forget the garlic knots.”
I give her a funny look. “Hungry much?”
She laughs. “I’m starting to eat like my husband. Don’t let that muscular build on him fool you. That man can eat. Just like the rest of those guys. You should see them when they come into the bar and order food. My poor kitchen staff falls all over themselves to get their huge orders out.” She shakes her head.
I give her a suspicious look as she continues to peruse the menu.
“Oh, and make sure they add the sausage, onions, and peppers to the pizza. Do you want pepperoni, too?”
I giggle. “Yeah, blame that appetite on Eric if you want to.” I suspect her husband is responsible for her increased hunger for one reason or another, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “I’ll get half with all of your toppings and half plain.”
She shrugs.
