Some might call it minimalist. I call it weird quirks custom to Luke.
When I step into the room, there’s no longer T-shirts on the floor spelling out SOS. Instead, they’re stuffed into his suitcase, everything balled up and messy. His guitar is laying next to the suitcase, like he was playing instead of packing. He picked up the instrument sometime before high school. My mom joked that it was so he could serenade the girls, which is probably true. Luke loves a good ballad.
Rummaging through his suitcase, I find his toiletries in one of the zipper pockets. I move to unzip another pocket, but Luke puts his hand out to stop me.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s my underwear.” He keeps a straight face, but I can see him blushing the tiniest bit.
“Luke, I was the one who put your underwear in the top drawer of your dresser when you moved in,” I point out.
“I know. But you don’t need to check everything.”
I put my hands on my hips, facing him. His face still a little red, he gives me a sheepish grin, which I know is my cue to move on.
“Did you pack clothes for cold weather? It’s going to be windy too. You’ll want a hat, winter jacket, gloves...” I see one of his dresser drawers hanging open. “Bathing suit.” I reach out to fish it out of the drawer.
Luke only owns one bathing suit, and it’s a forest green color.
“Hey, now. No need to help yourself.” He comes up behind me to push me away gently and snatch the bathing suit. He tosses it into the suitcase.
“Why send an SOS signal if you don’t want my help?”
“Because.” He moves me away from his closet and dresser. “I needed to know what to pack, not for you to go sneaking through my drawers.” He pulls his jacket out and tosses it into the suitcase.
“It’s not sneaking if I’m invited.” I smirk, moving from where he pushed me away and back toward his suitcase. I get distracted, however, by a familiar face. “Lamby!” I cry, reaching across Luke’s bed for a small, white stuffed lamb. His fur had once been soft and plush, but over the years he’s grown greyer and feels a bit crusty. He’s the type of stuffed animal that adults think is gross, but to a kid looks well loved.
I was five when I gave Luke the lamb. My mom helped me pick him out. He’s holding a red heart that says “Be Mine” in pink. I turn him over to look for the tag on the butt.
Love, Harperis written in my messy kid handwriting. Theink has bled, making the words less clear, but they’re there. It feels like a lifetime ago that I gave Luke the plushy. He was seven and thought Valentine’s Day was stupid, so instead of a card, I got him the stuffed lamb.
I’d assumed Lamby was long gone.
“You still have him?” I run my fingers over the matted fur. His little head flops down, like the stuffing has been squished time and time again.
“Of course,” Luke says, and when I glance back up, he’s looking at me like this lamb is his prized possession. “You gave him to me.”
I’m about to make a joke that I don’t keep the things he gave to me years ago, but I know that isn’t true. The paintings we made each other as kids are still tucked away in a notebook somewhere.
My hands run over the velvet red heart in the lamb’s hand. The words “Be Mine” feel heavy. Too heavy for five- and seven-year-olds to understand, that’s for sure. No wonder our parents thought we’d be together one day. I was asking Luke to be my Valentine before I even knew what it meant.
It makes me laugh to myself, thinking of how we existed as kids. Two best friends, growing up, sharing every moment together. The good and bad. The exciting milestones and the mortifying moments of puberty. We were both there for it all.
I put Lamby back down, the red heart bright in the corner of my vision as I turn to Luke’s suitcase. I begin to sort through and name items that I think are still missing, mostly additional layers of clothing.
Iceland this time of year is a mix of winter and spring. Somedays it may be sunny and you only need a sweatshirt, while other days you’ll want waterproof winter gear.
Luke and I find a groove. I name an item, he finds it, and I fold and stash it in the suitcase. Maybe helping someone pack would usually feel like a chore, but Luke has an essence about him that makes most things fun. When I was little, I remember our moms would take us grocery shopping together because I was a terror unless Luke was with me. When our mom unleashed us in the store together, we’d make our way through the building quietly, making up games as we walked up and down the aisles. It was usually some rendition of I Spy. My mom would try to play I Spy if Joann and Luke were busy, but it was never the same. Luke was just... Luke.
“You’re lucky I’m here to fold. You’d never be able to fit all this in otherwise.” I fit in a thermal long-sleeved shirt that I’ve seen him wear a couple times snowboarding. I’m impressed with the amount of clothing I’d been able to fit into the suitcase, and even more so, that Luke owned that much in the first place. He’s always been minimalistic with his wardrobe, because he doesn’t see the point in buying something new if you already own the same thing.
When I finally zip the suitcase closed, his closet is mostly empty, and the only thing left in his dresser are shorts that will have no place in Iceland.
I push the suitcase toward him. “Pick me up at five?”
He smiles. “It’s a date.”
I can feel myself blush. Ava’s words are in the back of my mind, and I try to shake them off. It’s just a saying.
