A squeal pulls me out of my mental daze. Mom is jumping into Josh’s arms, him holding onto her tightly as another huge truck with a famous furniture store’s logo printed on the side parks infront of the house. Josh had told Mom he wanted to be the sole breadwinner—his words, not mine—and so she turned her focus from finding work to finding decorations for our new home. My eyes widen when the delivery drivers come out of the back with a wrapped table. Mom looks at me, waving me over, and I walk toward them.
“Bianca! It’s the table I was looking at earlier.” She glances between all of us. Mom hates conflict, actively seeks to avoid it, and right now, she’s hoping everything is all good between Josh and me. He stares at me, and I nod, giving them both a small smile.
“Yeah, I bet it’s really nice,” I mumble. They head back inside and I trail behind them. I treacherously look across the street once again, but find nothing.
I walk into five or more people in the living room putting things in place for us. Entering my room, my eyes widen at the violet upholstered bed frame. Someone mutters an apology as they slip past while holding matching nightstands with glass handles. My mouth parts, words never making it out. Seeing it’s starting to get crowded, I move out of the way, heading back to the living room.
I throw open the French doors leading into the kitchen, catching Mom bringing out some leftovers from yesterday. She waves me over and we sit on our beach chairs we dragged in from outside while the furniture people work on taking the bubble wrap off the new oak table.
I grab the container of noodles and look up to see Mom looking back at me with a little smile. “So, how are you liking your room so far?”
“I like it, I do, and I’m not trying to be ungrateful, but I don’t know.” I put my fork down, a sheepish expression coming over me. “Don’t you think this is all a little much? I mean, my room—”
“That would be my doing.” My head snaps up as Josh slips into a chair next to Mom, a heat of embarrassment sweeping over me. “I realize I may not have handled the incident very well the other day, so I wanted to make it up to you.” I look at him hesitantly. “Kate told me you’ve always wanted a dark purple bedroom set, and thatyou felt like you outgrew your older stuff ...” He trails off and I genuinely don’t know what to say. “We’re all good, then?”
My eyes slide to Mom before a pleading expression comes over her. It doesn’t surprise me that this is Josh’s way of apologizing, and he didn’t inherently react as poorly as I thought he would.
I sigh and nod and give him a small smile. “Thanks.” His chin lowers and his mood seems to improve as he grabs Mom’s hand while he eats.
“Sir, I have a glass dresser for a bedroom. Would that be upstairs or—” My eyes flick upward as Josh holds up a hand. The mover—Larry, from his name tag—shuts his mouth, a smart remark on the tip of his tongue, by the looks of it.
And man, I wish he would say it.
“Upstairs.” Josh answers.
Larry closes his eyes and breathes deeply as if summoning patience. Nodding, he goes over to help the others bring it upstairs.
“Some people, huh?” Josh remarks as if we’ll nod along to the statement, and my face contorts in shock.
Pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I ask, “Can I please be excused?” But I don’t stay to hear their answer before heading to my room.
After a couple hours, I press a pushpin into the last photo. A smile blooms on my face at the finished result. Jamie’s and my funny faces from all our years of friendship stare back, and warmth comes over me. Walking over to my desk, I place the corkboard right above so that I can always see it, our bucket list jumping out at me with the little notes in the margins.
It’s been a while since the movers left, and I can still hear Josh and Mom organizing their stuff upstairs. Their feet make hushed sounds right above my room, and I hope that won’t be a problem later down the line. Decorating has taken up most of my day, being almost therapeutic, but I’m probably going to rearrange my space a couple more times.
Though, in all honesty, I’ve appreciated the distraction as the words from an earlier email have yet to stop spinning in my head.
Dear Bianca Harrison,
We wanted to confirm your interest in Mella Colta University for the autumn semester!
When I was applying for colleges last year, we were given a limit of ten schools since our school provided application vouchers. In the end, I only had nine options, and so for fun, I applied to Mella Colta. Honestly, being denied from everywhere else, I was fully expecting a rejection letter from MC too, but they were my one “yes.” But what with my classes, graduation, the move, and everything in between, I didn’t give them an answer. As I panicked a little more about my future, the need to attend Mella Colta grew, so I emailed admissions, asking—no, begging—for them to please keep a spot open for me. I assumed it was a long shot, that I’d never hear back from them. Then, this email arrived. I guess this is my second chance. Touring dates are coming soon, and from what I’ve researched, they tend to fill up fast. But now that my acceptance is here again, I suddenly don’t know if I’ll actually go.
A knock interrupts my plummeting thoughts, and I make a vague welcoming noise. Mom pops her head in as she brings me a bottle of soda with a glass of ice. She holds them up as peace offerings and I take them from her with gusto. She looks around, placing her hands in her back pockets. “It’s looking good in here.” I nod as I pour the yellow soda into the cup. Mom’s eyes are sunken slightly, tiredness surrounding them. She’s covered in dust and sweat beads along her hairline. “Honey, I know Josh has his quirks ...” I roll my eyes at her lack of a better word. “But he really is sorry about the accident, and he’s been under a lot of stress with the move and—”
“Mom, look. Josh made a mistake, it was my fault, I freaked out, we’re all good.” She opens and then closes her mouth quickly. She sighs, looking down at the floor, her foot nudging my rug a bit.
“I’m not saying that either, Bianca.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry you were triggered, honey. I know where your mind goes, but I also hope that you don’t think I’m not on your side of things.”
My shoulders fold inward, and I realize how harsh I’m being to her, when in reality, Josh has already apologized. I suck in a shakybreath while guiding her into a gentle hug. She stands stunned for a bit before she wraps her arms around me.
“I know, Mom.”
Her comforting aroma envelops me, and I breathe her in, calming down. “I love you, Bianca.”
I smile. “Me too.”
There’s athudupstairs and we pull apart.
