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Charming.
Thanks
At least my reply from Kelsier38 on Bookgeeks is more attentive and… human.
Kelsier38: Hey, I’m sorry, are you okay? That must suck. Let me know if you need to talk.
I draft a quickthank youreply so I’m not leaving him on read and prepare myself to go over to the apartment and face packing up my old life.
“Is Dorian going to be there?”Alice asks as I flip through her Spotify playlists in search of something that doesn’t make my ears bleed, landing onDualityby Slipknot because at least the chorus has a pretty good melody, even if I still don’t understand why they’re screaming at me. Alice taps her hands on the steering wheel like she’s listening to something pleasant.
“No, he should be at classes all day.”
“Okay, that’s good at least.” She indicates and takes a left onto College Road.
“Has he texted you again in the past few days?”
I’m glad she’s forced to focus on the road, I don’t think I could stand her looking at me right now. “Nope. Not after the first hundred ignored messages and voicemails.”
“That’s good.”
“Mm.”
She sighs, glancing at me. “Stef, it is good, you’ll find someone better, but right now, what you need is to get back to yourself. We’ll do some fun things, just the two of us. We’ll go to those throwback afternoons at the movies, cook lots of yummy food, hey, we could even pick up your Korean lessons where weleft off. And maybe you could teach me something in Greek that doesn’t translate to ‘chronic masturbator?’”
I let her words wash over me, even if they aren’t going in. This angsty metal music is actually making sense for the first time.
The apartment looksa little trashed when I let us in, and I remember that I was the one who cleaned and kept it tidy.
I wait for Alice to comment on it, call Dorian a slob or something, but she’s pretending she hasn’t noticed as she storms ahead of me and starts asking sensible questions, like what rooms do I have things in?
“Every room.”
“Okay, let’s start with the bathroom.”
Our toothbrushes are still in the glass by the sink. I tell Alice she can just throw mine out. I already bought a new one when I moved in with her. She moves around the rooms with such a clean efficiency, it’s almost easy to forget that this is my life we’re packing up or throwing out.
We grab my razors, shampoo and cream from the bathroom before moving into the living room where a few of my books are still lined up with Dorian’s on the shelf. There are framed photographs of us smiling on the side-tables, but Alice ignores them. I have digital copies of course, but it feels weird leaving them, like they don’t belong to me anymore, when I’m the one who printed them and put them in the frames. Did Dorian ever do anything like that?
We leave the bedroom for last, and this is the room I was most dreading.
There are pictures in here too. A selfie by the bed of us lying on the pillow together, smiling. Alice ignores it and opens the closet.
“I don’t think I need you to tell me which clothes are yours. Dorian has terrible fashion sense.”
I snort, but that’s not the only reason. Dorian’s taller and broader than me too. At least Alice doesn’t tell me I’m too thin – though I do suspect her of trying to discreetly fatten me up with all those beef dishes she feeds me.
We work methodically, folding and putting my clothes into plastic bags. When we’re finished, Alice asks if I have anything in the drawers. My face flushes.
Acting like she didn’t notice, she springs into action. “I’ll start putting the bags in the hallway to load into the car. Let me know if you need any help.”
I hesitate before opening the drawers beside the bed. The top one has mostly practical things, like condoms and lube and little toys Dorian bought, that we hardly used. But the bottom drawer holds all the memories I collected throughout our relationship. I know it’s a bad idea to go there, but I can’t stand the thought of Dorian just throwing it all out after I’m gone.
I crouch by the bed and open the drawer. A cardboard box a little smaller than a shoe box sits inside, and I take it out and open it.
On top are some ticket stubs from movies we’ve seen together. A few concerts, operas and a ballet. The subway stub from our first date in the city. More photographs I had printed out, though Dorian didn’t understand why when you have them on your phone anyway. They remind me of the stacks of photo-albums at my childhood apartment. Holding faded photographs of generations of people. Going way back to before my grandparents moved to America in the 60s.
I hear voices outside the door and my heart starts to pound, blood rushing in my ears. I close the lid on the box and stuff it into one of the clothes bags before standing up.