Chapter 21

Lisa

It's really hard to tell Bobby everything he's doing wrong when my hands are full with the mattress we're carrying upstairs and his headphones on. I'd really hate to see him try to maneuver a boat or back up a trailer if he can't even walk forward up the damn stairs while pushing a mattress.

I also don't understand why we're even moving Irene's mattress upstairs. Her apartment will be ready in four days, and there's a couch, plus Bambam's bed is empty. But I'm not arguing, because if she's going to be in my apartment, I'd rather her be in the farthest bedroom from mine just so this will feel less awkward, even though I'll be staying the night at Jennie's this week.

Bobby stops three steps from the top to take a break. He leans his arm on the railing and pulls his headphones off. "This is the only thing we're moving, right? Everything else stays in the U-Haul?"

I nod and sign for him to pick up the mattress again. He rolls his eyes and readjusts his grip, pushing it toward me.

Irene's new apartment is on the other side of the complex. Close to Jennie's old apartment, actually. Irene has tried to back out several times and find somewhere else to stay because she's worried it'll be too much, living so close. But this will honestly be better for everyone. She gets sick so often, and for the past year I've had to spend a huge chunk of my nights in San Antonio. Even if she's only a few miles away, her being in another complex would require me or Bobby to stay overnights when she's sick because she gets so weak, she can't even get out of bed.

With her being in the same complex, it'll make everything easier. I won't have to spend uncomfortable nights in the same apartment as her, but she'll be close enough that Bobby or I can run over there and check on her every hour. I honestly think that's why Jennie was so agreeable to it. She's seen Irene during the sicker times, and Jennie knows when Irene's down for the count, even a glass of water is impossible for her to get on her own. Not to mention her medications, making sure she's doing her breathing treatments while she's weak and recovering from an illness, ensuring her sugar levels are good every few hours. If she weren't in the same complex, her care would require a car to get to her, and leaving her alone wouldn't be possible. But being in the same complex, it actually requires less of my time and less of my presence and, in the end, will make Irene feel more independent. Which is what she wants.

We're leaving everything else in the U-Haul because one of Bobby's co-workers also works part time for the company who is renting it to us. They're allowing us to keep it for the week for just nineteen dollars a day, so it'll remain full of Irene's stuff and parked in the parking lot until she moves into her place.

Irene is still down at the U-Haul, gathering what she'll need to get her through the next four days. Jennie went to pick Sorn up from work. Bobby and I finally get the mattress into the bedroom and plop it flat on the floor. Bobby is breathing heavily with his hands on his hips. He looks over at me. "Why aren't you out of breath?"

"We went up a flight of stairs. Once. And I work out."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. In my room. Every day."

He glares at me like my admitting that I work out daily is some type of betrayal. He stares back down at the mattress. "Is this weird?"

I look down at Irene's mattress, finally inside the same apartment as me. I used to hate that she would never agree to move in with me, and now she kind of is for a few days, and not a single part of me wants it to happen the way that I used to. That's weird for me. For all these years, I assumed Irene and I would end up living in this apartment together and that we'd eventually be married. I never imagined my life taking the turn it did, but now I couldn't imagine it any differently.

So, yes. To answer Bobby's question, it is weird, so I nod. But it's only weird because it all seems to be working out. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Whether that's Irene's or Sorn's or Bobby's shoe, I don't know. But I highly doubt it'll be Jennie's. She's handled this better than anyone, and she has the most reasons not to.

"What if Jennie and Sorn lived together and they decided to move some dude in that they had both dated in the past? Do you think we'd be cool with it?"

I shrug. "Guess it depends on the situation."

"No, it doesn't," Bobby signs. "You'd be pissed. You'd hate it. You'd act like a whiny little bitch, just like I would, and then we'd all break up."

I don't want to think I'd be like that. "More reason to let them know how much we appreciate them."

Bobby kicks at a leaf on Irene's mattress and then bends to pick it up. "I let Sorn know how much I appreciate her all night last night." He grins, and I take that as my cue to head back down to the U-Haul.

On my way down the stairs, I receive a text. I look at my phone and pause on the steps when I see that it's from Jennie. It's a group text with Bobby and me.

Jennie: At the DQ drive-thru down the road. Anyone want a Blizzard?

Bobby: Does a one-legged dog swim in a circle? I'll take a Reese's.

Lisa: M please.

I look down at the U-Haul in the parking lot and watch Irene walk up the ramp and disappear inside of it. This is one of the weird moments we're going to have to learn to navigate. I need to remind Jennie that Irene is here and she might want one. But it feels weird to remind Jennie to include her. It's probably not as weird as anything else that's happened in the last two weeks of us dating. And part of me struggles with what to say to Irene and whether I should even offer her ice cream, knowing she isn't supposed to have a lot of sugar. But I don't want to be the one to bring up her health right now. I'm trying to keep my distance with the hope that she's stepping up and taking control on her own.

Right in the middle of my internal struggle, Irene sends a text through to the group.

Irene: I'll take a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Thanks!

I didn't even realize Jennie included her in the group text. But of course, she did. Every time any of this starts to feel awkward, Jennie somehow alleviates that awkwardness before it's even able to fully set in.

I walk to the U-Haul, and Irene is all the way inside of it, digging in her top dresser drawer. She's throwing stuff on top of the dresser, in search of something. She finds the shirt that she's looking for and stuffs it in a bag. She looks up and sees me standing at the opening of the U-Haul.

"Can you grab this suitcase and bring it up?"

I nod and she signs, "Thank you," then walks out of the U-Haul and heads toward the stairs to the apartment. I walk over to the dresser to grab the suitcase from on top of it, but I pause when I see a sheet of paper on the floor of the U-Haul. I bend to pick it up. I don't want to be invasive, so I set it on top of the dresser, but it's unfolded and I can see that it's a list. At the top, it says, Things I Want To Do, but the title next to it is scratched out and written over. I pick it up, even though I probably shouldn't.

There are three out of the nine things on the list scratched out: skydive, drive a racecar, and have a one-night stand.

I know she went skydiving, but when did she race a car? And when did she have a…

Never mind. Not my business.

I read the rest of the items on the list, remembering how she used to talk about some of these things to me. I always hated that she had so many things she was so adamant about doing, because I always felt like I had to be the voice of reason and it would put her in a bad mood.

I lean against the dresser, staring down at it. We planned on a trip to Europe once. It was right after I finished my second year in college, about four years ago. I was terrified for her to go because even being in such closed quarters on an international flight for ten hours was enough to put her health at risk. Not to mention the change in oxygen levels and atmosphere and being in a touristy area and in a country with hospitals that aren't familiar with her medical history. I tried so hard to talk her out of it, but she got her way because I honestly couldn't blame her for wanting to see the world. And I didn't want to be that one thing that was holding her back.

But in the end, it wasn't me who held her back from actually going. It was a lung infection she contracted that landed her in the hospital for seventeen days. It was the sickest I'd ever seen her, and the entire time she was in the hospital, I couldn't help but feel nothing but relief that she hadn't come down with the illness in Europe.

After that, I wouldn't even entertain the idea of an international trip. Maybe I should have. I realize that now, after knowing how much she resented my caution. And honestly, I don't blame her. Her life is not my life, and even though my only goal was to give her life more length, all she's ever wanted is a life with more substance.

I can see movement out of the corner of my eye, so I turn and look up, just as Jennie makes her way up the ramp to the U-Haul with two Blizzards in her hands. She's wearing one of my Sounds of Cedar T-shirts, and it's hanging off her shoulder because it's too big for her. If I had my way, she'd wear one of my shirts every day for the rest of our lives. I love this effortless look on her.

She smiles and hands me one of the Blizzards. She pulls the spoon out of hers and licks ice cream from it, then closes her mouth over the spoon.

I grin. "I think I like yours better, and I don't even know what flavor you got."

She smiles and stands on her tiptoes, kissing me briefly on the lips. "Oreo," she says. She pokes at her ice cream with her spoon and nods her head toward the sheet of paper I'm still holding. "What's that?"

I look down at the list, wondering if it's my place to even share something like this with her since it isn't mine. "Irene's bucket list. It was on the floor." I set it down on the dresser and grab the suitcase. "Thank you for the ice cream." I kiss her on the cheek and make my way out of the U-Haul. When I turn around to see if she's following me, she isn't.

She's picking up the sheet of paper.