“This is it, yeah. My humble abode. I was just cleaning out the clothes I have here.” I wait a beat before continuing, “Charlie asked me to move in with him for real.”
She looks like the cat that ate the canary, eyes bulging just a little, biting her lip to prevent the smirk from spreading. “So, are you?” she asks mildly, but I’m not fooled. The excitement brims in her voice. Vivian snoops nonchalantly around the bookshelf, skimming the titles of the books and movies. When she reaches the DVDs, she grabsSorority House Horror Three: Topless and Terrified,holding it up and looking at me with surprise. “Youhatehorror movies.”
“I know!” I exclaim, dropping onto the couch. “Yeah, I think I will. I mean, on the one hand, we’ve known each other for such a short amount of time. But on the other hand, we’ve already been living together for almost all of it anyway. As soon as I was discharged, he moved me into his place, after coming over to see what the situation would be here.”
She picks up a picture frame that had been face down on the bookshelf. I’m the only person in the picture, the Eiffel Tower behind me. It’s an older photo, my eyes shielded by cheap sunglasses and a wide-brimmed sun hat.
“I took this picture.” She’s smiling wistfully, as she returns it to its spot. “We went right after I moved in with Connor. It was part of my post-bar trip. We spent two weeks eating baguettes and getting drunk under the Eiffel Tower.”
My heart breaks that I don’t remember this at all. “We’ll make new memories.” My voice cracks awkwardly, but Vivian offers a smile, squeezing my shoulder.
“For what it’s worth, I think you and Charlie are good together. Also, like, special circumstances. I know it’s reality TV, but thereisa reason that relationships start on Big Brother. You’re in close proximity, you’re limited in what you can do, all your time is spent with the other person. Ainsley couldn’t handle not being the center of his world, but you’re more independent than that.”
I’m looking through my desk drawers when she says this and I spin around. “Ainsley?” I ask, hoping that my voice isn’t too colored by curiosity and jealousy.
“Yeah, his ex-fiancée. They broke up about a year ago, maybe? She hated the long hours that he worked and bounced. They were supposed to get married this fall.” Vivian isn’t looking at me because she’s poking around in the bags of clothes. I’m glad she’s not really paying attention to me, because I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. Did we go on his honeymoon? Is that why we got the champagne and the flower petals? My heart sinks. Vivian finally looks up and sees the look on my face and even after years apart, she’s able to read my mind.
“Oh, honey. I doubt that’s what your trip was about. And even if it was,youwere with him, not her.”
I try to take her words to heart, but I know I’m going to have to talk to him about this later; this feels like another pretty large omission on his part. Now I feel even more concerned that maybe we are going too fast.
“I don’t know how independent I can really claim to be, since I’m living with him, not working, and spending all my time with him.”
“Okay, well, again, extenuating circumstances. Besides, you made it here all on your own. These setbacks are temporary. What’s with these clothes?” Vivian attempts to redirect the conversation.
“I’m just going to donate them all.”
She nods absently and sits on my bed, running her fingers over the quilt. “I think about your mom a lot. Whenever I’m about to make a big life change, I wonder what she would think. She always had the best life advice.”
“Like ‘If the sex isn’t good don’t waste your time,’ you mean?” A wave of grief hits me.
“I think the exact saying was, ‘If it’s not giving you an opportunity, an orgasm, or joy, then fuck it, but not literally.’”
We laugh, both fighting back tears now.
“She would have loved Charlie. She would have seen how much he cares about you and how much he has taken care of you.” Vivian squeezes my hand and I know she’s right. We reminisce some more about college and our first apartment, while I move to the bathroom to clean out my medicine cabinet. I pause, fishing out a bottle of allergy medicine. I look at it, confused for a minute, before setting it back where it was, tossing an expired prescription bottle into the trash.
“You have allergies? Since when?” Vivian asks, sitting on my suitcase to cram my blankets into it.
“I don’t know.” I look at it, wondering whether I should hold on to it, but decide to leave it on my shelf. Passing back through to the bedroom, I collect some picture frames, the photo from Paris and one of my parents from my graduation, and make sure they are in the bag I’m taking back to Charlie’s.
Our trek down the stairs is slow and full of slap-happy giggles as we both struggle. Maybe it’s going down instead of up, maybe it’s the Tylenol from earlier, or maybe it’s just having Vivian by my side, but my knee doesn’t bother me as much. We split a cab back downtown, since, she says, she’s played hooky from work long enough.
Vivian has gotten me thinking again about who I want to be and where I want this relationship to take me. I know that in time, Charlie and I will figure out the ‘getting to know each other’ part. I tell myself that the important thing is that I don’t hate how he chews or whether he leaves his cup of water beside his bed all night and day.
Benji offers to help me with my bags when I get back to the apartment, but I decline, determined to complete my task myself. I started out on my own and I made it back to the apartment on my own too.
Once the task is complete, I’m filled with pride. The first thing I take out of my bag is the photo from Paris, but the buzz of my phone on the table startles me and I drop it, frowning when it hits the ground. The text is innocuous, just Vivian saying that she hopes that we can hang out soon, even if it means earning the ire of her boss, but the back of the picture frame has popped open.
Scooping the picture off the ground, I see that there is a second photo tucked behind the one of just me. In it, my arms are looped around Vivian’s middle, her arms around my shoulders, both of us grinning like we’d won the lottery. Behind us is Notre Dame, so I assume it’s another picture from our mysterious trip to Paris. I swap the pictures, placing this one in the front of the thankfully uninjured frame, and find it a home on top of the dresser.
After unpacking the rest of my meager possessions, I dive into the next herculean task I’ve assigned myself for the day: sorting through the hundreds of photos I took during our two weeks away. I have two cameras and a phone full of pictures to inspect and I’m eager to order pictures to hang on the walls.
I start with Photoshop, another charge to my credit card to worry about later. Muscle memory seems to kick in as I remember which tools I need and where to find them and I work hard, sharpening some parts and lightening others. I fall so deep into editing the photos that I’m startled by a knock at the door. I holler that I’m coming, taking care to save my progress before hurrying to the door. Benji smiles behind the peephole and I pull the door open, confused.
“Deliveries, Miss Elia.”
I smile as I open the door, not sure what it could be now. He hands me the boxes, and once they’re in my hands, a muted clink of metal on metal tells me exactly what’s inside. I fight the tug of a different sort of smile on my lips while Benji is still standing there. Once the door is closed, my body shivers in anticipation, thinking of what is contained in the light box.