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“Happy birthday!” she squeals, as the box barely fits through the door.
I laugh, stepping back to let her through. “Oh my God, what the hell did you buy?”
“Something for your new apartment.” She beams.
“You mean, your new apartment?”
“No,” she chastises, “Yours.I want it to feel like home.”
I try not to panic when I think about being anywhere by myself. I used to be a strong, independent woman who could stand up for herself, but now I just feel like I can’t do anything for myself anymore without dread.
Being snatched off the street and drugged isn’t something you get over, even after therapy. I feel like I’ve definitely crossed a bridge; nevertheless, the scars will remain forever.
I can’t go anywhere without being overly cautious and being on the lookout for everything.
I know I’m lucky in the grand scheme of things. I understand it could have been so much worse, and I don’t want to go there. If I do, I may never leave the house again.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say as she sets the box down on the table.
“I wanted to.”
I eagerly tear at the bow and then the paper. It falls to the ground as I start to get giddy. I don’t know who is more excited, my sister or me. Giggling, I pull the last of the paper off and inside is a beautiful new quilted satin bedspread with matching pillows. It’s plush, luxurious, and exactly what I’ve been looking at for weeks. She also loaded the box with my favorite Bath and Body Works candles, lotion, and body mist.
“Thank you. I love it,” I whisper, getting all teary.
“Hey,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t cry. Today isn’t going to be a day about tears, it’s only going to be about how much fun we can have and champagne we can drink.”
“Thanks for coming with me.”
She pulls back. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Me either. It feels good to be back.”
She holds me at arm’s length. “Mia? Are you sad about leaving?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. The city…it holds too many memories for me. I’m thrilled about having this change, starting again, and being close to you.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
There’s no way to tell her that sometimes it feels like that’s an impossibility. “I know you do, and I want the same for you.”
“I’m very happy,” she says. “Angelo is wonderful. I’m madly in love with him and feel like such a sap admitting this. I never thought I’d find anyone again after Dane.”
I smile, knowing she is genuinely content. “I never liked Dane,” I say.
“Well, that part of my life is over now. Angelo is the future. I want to grow old with him, and I want you to have that too. We can bring up our kids together like we always talked about.”
I shake my head. “You’re talking kids already? God help us.”
She smiles. I know she’d make a great mom, and I’ve always wanted to have kids someday as well. I always imagined I’d be a stay-at-home mom after finishing my career in advertising. How far from reality that seems now.
I actually didn’t want another job in advertising when I moved to Boston. I needed a change. Helping Rayne in the gallery and working at Bijou has given me time to have some breathing room.
I only realized how stressful my job was once I left it.
“Angelo wants a lot of kids,” she tells me matter-of-factly. “He’s more than happy to knock me up the first chance he gets.”
“Before you can even get the new gallery up and running?”
