Page 64 of One More Round

“Oh, but plan ahead and pull out everything you want to wear over the next week and then a few days after you arrive in LA. Just so you don’t have to go through already-packed boxes and in case your clothes boxes get lost in the mail. That would stink,” Ruby adds.

“You know I can buy clothes in LA, right?” I ask Ruby.

“Yeah, I know, but everything is going to be so new. You won’t have anyone to go shopping with you yet, and it will just be nice to have your old, reliable Chicago clothes.” Ruby sniffs.

“Oh, no. No, you don’t get to be all sad now, Ruby,” I tell her. She’s been very easy-going about this, so I thought I was only going to have to deal with a sad Morgan.

She swipes away a ghost tear. “I’m just worried about your fashion sense. We are shopping buddies. You need me.”

“How about I promise to text or FaceTime with you when I venture out to go shopping? Would that make this a little easier for you?” I offer, knowing it’s not really why she is sad.

“Yes. That would help.”

Morgan bumps Ruby’s shoulder as she passes, placing the assembled box on my bed. “I think Ruby will agree with me when I say that getting to this point, a week out from you leaving, and packing up all your stuff makes it all sink in a little bit.”

“No, I really am worried about her buying the wrong clothes,” Ruby protests.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Morgan says, patting Ruby’s arm. Before I have a chance to reply, Morgan yanks open the bottom dresser drawer.

“OK, this is all sweats and PJs. Grab what you need for the week and I’ll put everything else in here. Ruby, you hit the closet.”

Nearly two hours later almost everything in my room has been packed up. Morgan is an organizational wizard and has everything labeled with Post-its on the outside for easy removal when ready to ship, and printouts right on top, for when I open the boxes once I’m in LA. We will also be sending these in stages to save on money. It’s already going to cost me an arm and a leg to ship, but I don’t have enough stuff to warrant a U-Haul rental. That plus hotels and gas for a four-day trip would be way over my budget, so I’m flying out there. I’m getting rid of a lot of stuff that I don’t want to drag to LA with me. And I’m going to buy new kitchen stuff since I’m not going to leave Morgan without any.

I’m leaving a lot of things in Chicago and starting fresh in LA, and I really don’t know how I feel about it.

“Well, I think you are pretty much packed up,” Ruby says, surveying the room.

“Will you leave all your M&M’s that you hide around the apartment, though? I’m going to need some comfort food and those will make me feel close to you,” Morgan says, in a sort of “I'm totally joking” way. But I’m thinking maybe she’s serious.

“Haha, yes. I will,” I laugh.

“Soooo,” Ruby draws out. “We wanted to run something by you.”

She slides a sideways glance at Morgan. Oh great, now I’m curious.

“We want to throw you a going-away party,” she says. She’s looking at me, trying to figure out what I’m going to say. Actually, both of them look like they are expecting me to say no.

“Uh, sure,” I say, kind of confused. Their hopeful expressions turn to excited ones.

“Oh, good, because we already have it planned. We just needed the final guest list from you.” Ruby claps her hands together.

“What do you mean my final guest list? It isn’t a wedding,” I ask skeptically.

“We kind of already invited everyone we knew but don’t want to miss anyone,” Morgan unapologetically tells me.

“So, when you say you’ve already planned it, you’re not just meaning, in your heads? Like, it’s a done deal?”

They both nod their heads enthusiastically.

“What would have happened if I had said no?” I ask.

“Meh, we would have pouted for a second and then just made it a surprise going-away party,” Ruby replies.

I just laugh. I love these two so much.

Then Ruby pulls out her phone and asks me to start listing off people that I want to be there. Minutes later I’m struggling to think of anyone else to add to the list when I notice Morgan biting her lip and looking all fidgety.

I point at her, cocking my eyebrow. “You. You're being all, twitchy. Spit it out.”

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