CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Ryland.” I yell his name into the empty condo space when my hot new husband doesn’t greet me as I step off the elevator.
I haven’t figured out where he’s storing the damn orange kayak, but every day I suffer from nightmares I’ll walk in to a matching one waiting for me. No way am I paddling for my life on the bay. I’ve seen the YouTube videos. There are sharks out there. Throwing my purse on the kitchen counter, I yell for him again.
“In here,” his faint response comes from the master bedroom.
The bedroom resembles mine so much my steps falter and I stop right outside the doorway. Clothes are strewn over the floor in a large disorganized pile. Others are stacked in nice neat rows on the bed categorized by item. There’s a pile for shirts, shiny basketball shorts, jerseys, and even a few pairs of jeans. None of this is my fault. I haven't moved my clothes over yet. After the excitement of Ryland’s return home yesterday, we planned to do most of it tonight.
I scan the room again to check, but none of the items in question are mine. He hasn’t started without me. “Did we have an earthquake today?” Simone didn't call me in a panic, so she’s either adjusted or this is all Ryland.
He pops out of the open closet practically vibrating with excitement as he juggles his weight from foot to foot. A pair of stone washed jeans cover Ryland’s legs except a few rips placed too symmetrically to be accidental. A white t-shirt with the words “Classically Trained" and an old Nintendo remote cover his chest. If he’s going to mess up the place he could at least do it with less clothes on.
“Nice nerd shirt.” I point at his chest. He had to have borrowed the shirt from Finn.
He pulls on the collar. “Isn’t it? I forgot I had this here. My best college shirts are in this closet.”
There are more of those shirts around here? That’s concerning.
“I thought I’d get a head start and clean out part of the closet so you can fit your stuff in here.” Ryland leans back into the walk-in and pulls a black long sleeve shirt from a hanger tossing it on top of the growing pile in the middle of the room.
Ryland’s walk-in closet might match the size of my entire apartment. Gym pants can’t take up that much room, but his enthusiasm rubs off on me and I smirk. “What's with the piles?” I ask and point to the items on the bed.
“I made space in the dresser too and gave you the top two drawers.”
My smirk grows into a full-fledged radiant smile at his thoughtfulness. “Thanks.” Who knew this big hulking guy who yelled about a few boxes the first time I met him would turn out so sweet?
Ryland walks in the room and turns to the bed putting his back to me. “No problem. With you being high maintenance, you’ll need as much space as possible. Figured it’d be a good idea to get ahead.”
My smile falls. “I’m not high maintenance.”
He turns back to me with a raised eyebrow. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what? I’m not high maintenance,” I insist.
“Of course not.” He laughs it off, but I’m suspicious. Just because I don’t walk around all day in gym shorts does not mean I’m high maintenance.
“Did you update your name at work today?” he changes the topic before I grill him to give me examples of my high maintenanceness.
“How could I forget? You sent me a reminder every hour. It will take a few days, but my next check will be correct.” Ryland digs through the pile of jeans on the bed, tossing a pair on top of the clothes piled behind him. “What else did you do today?” When I left this morning, he went on and on about everything he had to do before starting his new job Monday, but he never told me what any of it was.
“I met with the guys at Finn’s office to finalize our May fourth plans since I’ll be in San Francisco. We’ve decided Sundays are video game day so you girls either need to move back to where you used to meet or start sharing couches at Cosmo’s.”
“So today you made plans to watch movies in May and then kicked us out of our brunch spot?” I pop a hip out, but it loses effectiveness since Ryland can’t see me. Honestly I'm not upset. He’s like a kid in a candy store every time he talks about being able to spend more time with his best friends. He’s missed them more than he let on.
“Yeah. Oh I also scheduled a company to pack up and list my house in England since there’s no way I’m flying back before Monday."
Well at least one thing productive got finished although I’m sad I’ll never get to see his place in England. Ryland switches his attention from the jean pile to the stack of jerseys. He stares for a moment and then lifts them and hurls the entire stack in what I've assumed is the donate pile.
“What are you doing?” I walk to the pile and pick up a jersey. The logo commemorates a southern California invitational tournament.
He turns to me with a look that says I’m the crazy one here. “Making room.”
“Ryland, these are your old jerseys. You can’t get rid of them.” I throw the jersey back on the bed and reach for the next one. There must be at least ten he tried to throw away.
“I’m pretty sure I can. That’s what the pile is for.” He throws the jersey I saved back on the top.
“These are important.” I try to toss it back on the bed, but his damn athletic hand snatches it out of the air.
