Me: No, why?
Brandon: Because you’re excited about doing a charity event.No one gets excited about that.Even me, who came up with the idea in the first place.
Me: Don’t you think it’s a good cause?
Brandon: Of course, but they’re still awkward AF.And it’s not like I’m really good with people, let alone kids.
Me: You can’t punch anyone.
Brandon: I’ll try to remember that.
I slide my screen back to ClikClak.The video already has a hundred thousand views.I nod in satisfaction.With this sort of traction early on, this video will probably do pretty well.
And I didn’t even have to take my shirt off.
It’s almost as if I had something important to say, and people listened.
Weird.
Chapter 6: Rachel
My plan to buy a ticket to a Boston Buzzards game was not enough proof of my growth to prevent my grandparents from kicking me out.They think they’re helping me.All it’s doing is hurting me.I didn’t think I could be sadder than when I lost Richie.This is a new low, even for me.Every time I try to convince myself that this might not be horrible, my gram’s words ricochet around my brain
You’ll always have a home with us.
It’s not true anymore.
There’s no such thing as always.At least not for me.
I have to move.I have no choice.But also, the real estate market in Sharon, Massachusetts, where my new office is going to be, is ridiculously expensive, so I’m forced to live a few towns away in Mansfield in order to save about $1000 each month.My commute will take at least twelve to fifteen minutes, and that doesn’t include any extra time to stop and pet cats along the way.
The apartment complex where I find a rental that won’t break the bank was built in the early ’70s.No matter what kind of renovations they do on the inside, there’s no disguising it.It has a sad pool that I’ll probably never go in.The apartment interior is a wash of tan and white.From the oak kitchen cabinets to the beige carpets to the white vertical blinds that cover the sliding glass door to the tiny balcony, the whole thing has about as much personality as a piece of dry toast.
Perfect for me.
I mean, it’s not.It’s not at all what I would pick if I were moving into my dream place.This whole thing is more of a nightmare than a dream, sort of like the story of my life.It’s available and cheap, and it’ll do.What other choice do I have?
The past two weeks have been a whirlwind, sapping my already sparse energy.I currently vacillate between seething and sobbing.Both are draining.Who knew how tiring it would be to find a place to live, pack up all my stuff, buy furniture, and make sure I have internet?Adulting totally sucks.I’ve driven up and down I-95 more times in the past fourteen days than I probably have in the last fourteen years.
All the work of getting moved in doesn’t even include my job responsibilities in setting up the new office.My first day there will be September fifth.To soften the blow, Gramps made me South Regional Director.It’s a fancy way of saying I’m in charge in the new office.
It’s a sizeable promotion, complete with a sizeable pay raise, and I’d be honored if I didn’t have to leave my home.
If I wasn’t so alone.
My new place smells weird, like desperation masked with cheap primer.At least it smells better than my day job, though that’s not saying much.The bar’s pretty low for that one.
Through some creative negotiation—okay, I cried in the rental office—I was able to move into my apartment the last week of the month rather than on the first.The delivery truck from Bob’s Discount Furniture is a frequent visitor; my only visitor.The Target is less than five miles away, and I make that trip at least once, if not twice per day.
That’s all it took to move me out on my own.
Packing up my room at home was harder than I expected it to be.It’d been easy when I was little, as often as I had to do it.Mom dropped us off with Gram and Gramps almost yearly and then stumbled back into town to claim us about six months later.When we were with her, we’d move once or twice, depending on the state of her relationships.About two months after the last relationship would end, she’d drop us back at Gram and Gramps’s.I used to be good at packing up all my life’s belongings on a moment’s notice.
This time was different.I’d hoped I’d be so fueled by rage that it wouldn’t bother me.Now, though, when I’m going to sleep in some strange place, I have to face the fact that Richie won’t be with me.She’ll never set foot in this apartment.There will be no trace of her in here.
Whenever we’d spend the first night back with Mom, we’d snuggle in our shared bed, and we’d plan what things we’d have in our house when we grew up.In the days before Pinterest, we’d snag oldBetter Homes & GardensandMartha Stewart Livingmagazines from Gram and cut out pictures of how our safe haven would be decorated.
Our house.Together.I’m not supposed to be by myself.
