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“It’s my rent check for next month,” I say out loud.
“If…you can’t pay the rest, you need to move out before the first of May.”
“In five days?” I shriek again. “What, did you come up here to help me pack?”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. Of course, I can help with whatever you need.”
“You mean other than a place to live?” I twist, brushing my palm over my forehead as panic surfaces.
Panic. I’m fucking panicking. I've done a damn good job of holding it together in front of people since Mom died. But now…I’m prepared to break down in tears.
And I’ll be damned if I let anyone see it.
I swipe a hand over my face, composing myself. “Thank you, Mike. I’m good. I've been uh…planning my move for weeks so... I’ll just make my arrangements quicker.”
He nods and looks around. “Listen umm…packing supplies can be expensive, especially in the one hardware store in town. Let me bring up some boxes and stuff for you in the morning.” Mike looks at me thoughtfully and I reach out to hug him. It’s not his fault his father is the landlord from hell who’s been ignoring all my emails and voicemails about the water damage that’s changing grotesque colors every day.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Mike.”
He nods and steps out.
Closing the door, I pull myself together as I look at the valuables I need to figure out what to do with in the next five days.
Before I move myself into my car.
“Looks like skinny dipping and purple tulip tattoos will have to wait.”
7
“Ireally appreciate it, Em,” I thank my boss the next morning as I try to sound as sick as one can without overdoing it. Of course, I don’t have to try very hard to fake it. I’m on two hours of sleep and cried until about midnight before I pulled myself together and started emptying all the closets.
“Just take care of yourself and let me know if you’ll need more than just today and tomorrow to recover.”
“Oh no, no. I’ll be back on Wednesday. Although, I may need Friday afternoon off to uh…follow up with my doctor.”
Friday is my last day in the apartment, where I imagine I’ll be hauling whatever I hoped to keep out onto the street. Since Roger Harris, my landlord, refused to let me use the resident storage unit for a few weeks.
Literally, everything I own that doesn’t fit in my sedan has to go.
“You got it,” Emily reassures.
I hang up and call Mike for those packing supplies he promised. There’s no way I’m telling anyone I know about my eviction. But hell, I’ll take all the help I can get.
On Friday morning, I wake from what feels like the heaviest sleep of my entire life. My body hurts. My fingers are calloused. My hair hasn’t been washed in days.
For five days, I’ve been purging and packing like a madman. Running on instant coffee and whatever remains in my refrigerator since I need to empty it anyway.
But my body isn’t taking as big a hit as my heart. Trying to let go of so much in a forced timeframe is mentally and emotionally draining.
I laugh at myself as I pack these last few hours because of course this had to happen. Hideaway Springs hasn’t been kind to me since my breakup with Noah. My social life, ruined. My hope for humanity, gone. My plans for continuing education in the city paused while I cared for my mother and took the only job in town that would hire me.
And that’s only because I’d spent nearly every day there and practically knew how to run it.
Today, I called out of work altogether since there’s still so much to do. No matter how much I pack, stuff keeps appearing. Staring at me like a candy wrapper I keep stepping over and never picking up.
It’s five o’clock when I finish loading my car with just enough room to fit me into my driver’s seat.
If I'm being honest, there was a lot that had to go anyway. Like the pots and pans, old clothes, the rugs. But I was hoping to have a little more time to part with some of my mother’s things.
