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“Thank you, but I think I need to spend this time with her alone. She thinks you’re the reason I’m moving to the city in the first place.”
“Well, aren’t I?” he asks. I can hear his smile through the phone.
“Yes and no,” I answer truthfully. “It will be nice to be closer to you, but I need my own space as well.”
“I’m teasing,” he says playfully. “Of course you need your space. I’m glad I’m able to help.”
“I never had a chance to properly thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my pleasure. Speaking of pleasure, I need to see you tomorrow. I thought we’d take a look at furniture styles so I can help you furnish your tiny place,” he says deadpan. “Also, I went over the lease. Everything looks okay, you just need to sign.”
“Okay. And I have other news.”
“Oh?” His interest is once again piqued.
“I told Anthony last night that I was moving, and I gave him my notice.”
“Really?”
“I plan on breaking the news to my regulars next weekend, so it might be rough.”
“I can come down and keep you company,” he purrs into the phone.
“No, I’ll be okay. But thank you for asking.” I let him down easy. I need this time alone with my friends.
“Okay. How about brunch tomorrow?” he says still stinging from my denial.
“Oh, brunch!” I love going to brunch.
“After, we can check out a few places, and you can-” I cut him off mid speech.
“You know I can’t afford much,” I remind him.
“No, I know. Ideas only.”
“As long as you understand my budget.”
“I’ll pick you up around nine?”
“Nine is fine.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” he says. I can’t wait to see him. The last time we were in the same room was last Monday for dinner, and that was five days ago. I want to run my fingers through his hair. I shake my head and gather my thoughts.
“Me, too.” My mom appears from downstairs ready to help me pack. “I’ve got to go,” I mutter disappointed.
“Okay, until tomorrow,” he whispers.
“Goodnight,” I breathe into the phone and hang up.
“Who was that?” my mother asks.
“Chase. He’s taking me to brunch tomorrow and then furniture shopping.”
“I miss going to brunch with your father,” she says with a slight melancholy edge to her voice.
“I do, too.” I hand her a box before the conversation turns tragic.
It takes two hours to pack up all of my belongings into identical brown boxes. All ten of them. Nine of which are full of clothing and shoes. The last box was for miscellaneous items from around my room that my mom made me pack. Stuff from my childhood, like a stuffed animal or some old books.
