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This is now.
The sooner Dad comes to terms with the fact that all our fears and worries about my health are in the past, the better. And for that to happen, he’s going to have to lighten up and give me a little wiggle room to try new things that, up to this point, were unthinkable. For instance, he’s going to have to let me do chores around the house, and when I start my new school later this summer, he can’t say no when I tell him I want to try my hand at sports. And he’s definitely going to have to let me eat junk food like any other preteen.
I can’t keep the small giggle of excitement contained at the idea of eating a juicy cheeseburger at the mall, or doing everyday tasks like washing dishes or taking out the trash. It might sound stupid to some, but I welcome the normalcy of it all.
Bring it on!
Normal never sounded so sweet.
With these enthralling mundane images dancing in my head, I jump giddy off the truck with the three boxes in tow, only for the sun’s rays to blind me and keep me rooted to the spot. When my light eyes finally get used to the glare, I see two boys across the street, throwing a football from one to the other. I bite my lower lip to suppress the giggle that wants to come out, when the boy with the shaggy brown hair doesn’t pay attention to where he’s throwing, since he’s too busy waving at me, and lands the football right into his distracted blond friend. The brown-haired boy quickly runs over to his friend, now lying flat on the grass, and holds out his hand to pull him up. They are both too far for me to be able to hear what they say to each other, but it must be funny, because they both start laughing, pushing on each other’s shoulders as if nothing happened.
Suddenly a loud whistle slices through the air, stunning them into a standstill and embarrassing the hell out of me.
“Dad, what are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth, my cheeks flushing crimson.
“Watch and learn, kiddo.” He winks at me as he waves the two boys over to us.
I can’t help but chuckle as I watch them try to make up their mind if they should come over or not. But it must not have been too much of a dilemma, because within seconds, they’re both crossing the street and walking up my driveway.
“Hey, are you boys interested in making a few bucks?”
“How few are we talking about, Mister?” The one with the football in his hands asks with a cock to his brow.
“How about ten dollars for each of you? I’d say that’s a fair amount for an honest two hours of work for helping me and my daughter unpack this truck.”
The other boy, the blond one, looks into the U-Haul and then lets out a long exhale, rubbing the back of his head as he begins counting all the boxes.
“By my count, this looks more like a four-hour job for the two of us, sir. But if you throw in lunch and pay us an extra ten dollars, I can call on a buddy of ours and we’ll get this done in the two hours you want.”
“You drive a hard bargain, son. Pizza okay with you boys?”
They both nod with bright smiles on their faces, discreetly looking at me every so often.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Dad slams his open palm over his forehead.
I want to roll my eyes at him so bad, but right now, I’m too nervous to do it.
“My name is Eric Rossi, and this lady right here is my daughter, Valentina,” he announces proudly, pulling me over to him and placing both his hands over my shoulders, giving me a comforting squeeze.
“Hi, I’m Quaid, and this is my best friend Logan,” the brown-haired boy with a full metal grin splitting his face in two introduces.
Even with braces, his smile is infectious, and I can’t help my own silly grin from springing forth.
“I’m Val.”
“I said that already, kiddo,” Dad utters teasingly under his breath.
This time, I do roll my eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Val,” Logan adds, stretching his hand out for me to shake, but it’s a pointless effort, since I’m still holding onto the three boxes I took out of the truck.
Seeing the error of his ways, he rubs the back of his head again, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips, making him look even more endearing.
“So does your friend live far?” I ask, trying to snap out of my awkward state.
“Who? Carter? Nah. He lives right next door to you. We’ll go get him,” Quaid retorts, pulling at Logan’s elbow.
They turn around and stop in the middle of the driveway, talking a mile a minute with each other. Again, I can’t hear them, but I really wish I could, since they look like they are about to butt heads. However, whatever they were discussing so heatedly is quickly resolved, and both boys run across our yard next door in a mad dash.
