Page 84 of From Rivals to I Do

Chapter five

Chapter Five

My room is a whirlwind of organized chaos, a testament to my meticulous packing skills. Three open suitcases sprawl across the floor like obedient soldiers awaiting orders. Two of them are cavernous, housing an array of my clothes, shoes, and personal belongings, meticulously folded, and arranged with the precision of a seasoned traveler. The third is of a medium size and holds more delicate cargo: painting supplies and art materials. Some are new and still in their packs.

Exhaustion hangs in the air, I’m worn out from the marathon of packing I’ve undertaken. I survey my work, nodding with a sense of accomplishment. My hazel eyes scan the room, taking in the neatly stacked luggage. A hint of a smile touches my lips; the hardest part of preparing for our journey gradually slips behind me.

I pull my phone from my pocket and dial a familiar number, my fingers tapping the screen with practiced ease. After a few rings, a warm voice answers on the other end.

“Hey, babes.” Rose’s voice, always melodious, greets me.

“Hey, Rose,” I respond, my voice tinged with the exhaustion of the day. “Are you back home from work?”

Rose chuckles softly, a sound that I’ve grown to cherish over the years. “Yes, just got in. How’s the packing going?”

I roll my eyes playfully, even though Rose can’t see me. “Three suitcases and counting. I could use a break. Mind if I swing by in about an hour?”

“Not at all,” Rose replies. “You know my door’s always open for you. What do you have in mind?”

My thoughts race as I consider the perfect way to unwind. “I was thinking we could go grab some dinner. A little break before we embark on this adventure.”

“That sounds perfect,” Rose responds, her voice warm and enthusiastic. “Where should we meet?”

My mind drifts momentarily as I ponder our dining options. “How about that little Italian place downtown? You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

Rose laughs softly. “Of course, I do. It’s a date, then.”

“Or,” I interject, having a change of mind, “how about I stop by and pick you up and from there, we’d go to Times Square. I wouldn’t mind having a final gulp of New York.” I chuckle.

“It’s all for you,” Rose says. “Any way you want it, I’d be waiting.”

I smile, feeling the warmth of my friendship with Rose. “Great. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

We exchange a few more words, promising stories, and laughter as we look forward to our evening together. I hang up, my weariness momentarily forgotten. I know that Rose is the perfect balm for my sometimes-chaotic life, a friend who has stood by my side since our high school days.

As I resume my packing, my heart is lighter, and the room seems just a bit brighter. Then, I leave to the shower for a wash, and I step into a pair of jeans and a white blouse. I go to check on Alex who’s playing with his Legos. Since my mother isn’t home, I’d take Alex to see his friend from school two floors down. I’d leave him there and get him when I return.

“Change those shorts,” I tell him. “I’ll drop you over at Jason’s place. I’ve called his mommy. Jason can’t wait to see you.”

“Yay!” Alex quickens what he does and enthusiastically changes his shorts, packing his Legos into his play bag. Soon, we’re out of the house in front of Jason’s house.

Jason’s mom gets the door. I can see Jason peeking from behind, his lips tearing apart in happiness at the sight of Alex. It makes me remember last meetings like this. I once had a friend when I was much younger, probably in fourth or fifth grade, who had been so close that when her family was moving out of the state, I had begged my mother to allow me to go with them.

I walk out of the building and flag down a cab. Inside the moving car, I pull out my phone to send a text to Rose, telling her I was on my way.

As I sit in the back of the yellow cab, the city I’ve called home for so long stretches out before me in a breathtaking panorama of urban wonders.

The city’s heartbeat pulses through the streets, and I can feel its energy, a vibrant and unrelenting force that never sleeps. The streets are alive with a diverse tapestry of people, each with their own story to tell, their own dreams to chase. I watch as pedestrians rush past, lost in their thoughts, their footsteps echoing in the canyons of concrete and glass.

The iconic yellow taxis, like the one I’m in, weave through the labyrinthine streets with a kind of organized disorder, their horns occasionally blaring in a chaotic harmony.

The cab inches closer to Rose’s apartment, and I can see her standing outside in a red silk dress, clutching a little bag. The dress is in perfect blend with her spotless brown skin. Her face is dabbed in light makeup, her full lips shiny with gloss. Her dark, curly hair cascades over her shoulders, giving her a classy look.

I tell the driver to stop just in front of her and I lean over to open the door for her.

“Oh yeah, that’s my baby,” I say to her, smiling gleefully.

“Good to see you Amber,” she responds, leaning closer to me for a hug. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” she asks, giving me an eye.

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