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“Ow,” Everleigh hissed, and I was already halfway across the apartment, pausing in the doorway to her bedroom, feeling like I would be invading her personal space if I stepped inside.
The bedroom was even more girly than the rest of her apartment. She had a tufted headboard almost in the same shade of mauve as the shirt she was wearing. The bedding was all white, save for the pink blanket folded neatly on the bottom and one of those Squishmallow plushies that were in all the stores. This one white with pink dots, looking a lot like a cow, but with flippers.
“You alright over there?” I asked to her back as she stood in the doorway of her open closet. It was small, even given the narrow spaces of her apartment.
“I don’t use my luggage much, so it’s way at the top. You know, where no shelf has a right to be,” she mumbled, talking mostly to herself.
“May I?” I asked, watching as she turned. “I’m more vertically blessed than you,” I added, getting a small smile out of her. And given the events of the past few days, that felt like a monumental feat.
Her gaze moved up me as I approached, and I reminded myself she was just assessing my claim, not checking me out.
She was right about the shelf. It was high even for someone as tall as me to get to, but I grabbed down her big light pink hard shell suitcase and placed it on the floor.
“Okay. I gotta know,” I said as I turned to see her picking up the Squishmallow and putting it next to the—again, pink—stainless steel flask from her nightstand, like she was readying them to pack as well. “What the hell is that thing supposed to be?”
“Oh,” she said with a sheepish smile. “It’s a sea cow,” she said, wiggling one of the flippers. “Mondy the sea cow,” she added. “I know it’s juvenile, but I use it as a pillow since real pillows get flat so easily. He doesn’t,” she said with a shrug as she moved forward to grab the suitcase, putting it on her bed to unzip it, and reveal another, smaller, hard shell case. Then, inside of that, a hard shell toiletry bag.
She laid each out beside one another, and got to work.
Feeling weird, like I was watching her—and I was—I cleared my throat. “Anything I can do?” I asked.
“Oh, um. Maybe clear out the fridge?” she suggested. “There are reusable bags in the drawer beside it. You can pack some of the things to bring, and maybe just toss anything else.”
“On it,” I said, happy for something to do.
I got the bag and wasn’t exactly shocked to find that the inside of Everleigh’s fridge was like that of one of those damn aesthetic fridge refill videos. All clear acrylic organizers with the contents facing forward. Nothing was in its original packaging. I left the stuff that I knew would last, figuring we could come back for it if she ended up staying for any length of time, and packed the rest. Including four mason jars stuffed with greens, veg, and what looked like chopped chicken on the top. Work lunches, I figured.
Finished, I made my way back to her bedroom to find she’d already neatly rolled what looked like almost every item of clothing in her closet, and somehow fit it in the case.
The other case was already zipped, and I figured it was likely bras and panties in there, and she didn’t want me to see them.
I, ah, I had to agree that it was probably a good thing for me not to know what they looked like. Or I’d be spending the next however long imagining her in them.
“Okay. I think that’s it,” she said, coming back in with her toiletry case. And a bag full of her full-size shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
She was packing like she was moving in.
And I liked that more than was even remotely appropriate.
“What’s up?” I asked after she zipped her big suitcase. Then stared at her bed.
“Would it be really weird of me to bring my blanket?” she asked, gesturing toward it.
“Whatever you need to bring to feel comfortable doesn’t seem weird to me,” I said, shrugging. “I’ll grab another bag.”
I brought back two.
And was not surprised when she filled both of them with more items.
I knew a lot of guys who would call her high-maintenance.
I figured that she just liked her creature comforts.
“Anything else?” I asked as I grabbed all but the smaller rolling bag that she took and moved through the apartment.
“Okay, this is going to seem crazy,” she said, rushing across her living room to grab her records. “It’s just a comfort thing. Even though I have them all digitally,” she said, shaking her head at herself.
“I’m not judging,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t think I cared about anything I owned as much as she dideverythingshe owned. It was endearing.
