"Are you kidding?" Ulf twists around to look at me. "This is the most excitement we've had in the last two weeks. Gunnar's been hogging all the drama."
"Getting stabbed isn't drama. It's a near-death experience."
"Potato, potahto."
Hakon snorts.
"What Ulf means is we're happy to help. You're Gunnar's ol’ lady now. That makes you even more family than you were before. And family helps family move."
"Even when family's old roommates are complete nightmares?" I ask.
"Yep." Hakon catches my eye in the rearview mirror. "Gunnar told us about those girls. About what they said to you."
"He did?"
"He tells us everything. We're hisbest friends." Ulf shrugs. "For the record, they sound like jealous bitches who can't handle that you found something real."
"Eloquent as always," Hakon mutters.
"I'm not wrong."
"You're not wrong," I admit. "They've been like this since I told them about Gunnar. Maybe longer. I just didn't want to see it."
"Sometimes it takes distance to see people clearly," Hakon says. "Nothing wrong with that. What matters is that you see them now."
"And that you're getting the hell out of there," Ulf adds.
The drive to Trisha's house takes about twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes of small talk, of Hakon and Ulf trying to distract me from my nerves, of me pretending I'm not dreading what's coming.
When we pull up outside, both of their cars are in the driveway.
Of course they are.
I was hoping they'd be at work, or out, or anywhere but here.
No such luck.
"You want us to come in with you?" Hakon asks.
"Please."
We climb out of the van.
Hakon grabs a stack of collapsed boxes from the back.
Ulf falls into step beside me.
The walk to the front door feels like a march to execution.
I knock and immediately hear footsteps inside.
Then the door swings open.
Trisha.
She looks the same as always—bleached blonde hair, too much makeup, that permanent sneer that passes for a smile.
