Page 28 of Lovesick
“Isn’t this so much nicer than the hospital?” Maggie said, glancing between us. “There’s even a balcony, Mrs. Ellen. Take a look.”
“Oh, back here?” My mom stepped to a door at the back of the room, opened it, and leaned out. “This is awesome. You can see a park… and… what a lovely garden.” She stepped out the door to get a better look.
“Are you okay?” Maggie asked, sitting on the couch beside me.
“Yeah.” I watched my mother lean over the railing and wave, a tender smile crossing her face. There must be a young child down there. “Maggie, I want to stop drinking.”
“You kinda have,” she pointed out. “Now, you just have to keep it up.”
“I know, but I think about it sometimes. Almost called you up to grab me a beer earlier. It might have been the meds talking,” I joked, playing off how close I had been to picking up the phone.
“And I would have told you absolutely not and brought you a glass of sweet tea… My favorite… remember?” She giggled for a moment then let it fade away into seriousness. “I think staying sober is a great idea, and I’ll be here every step of the way to support you through that. Through everything.”
“I know. I know you will, and I appreciate that.” I cupped her cheeks and pulled her close for a loving kiss. “I’m so grateful for you. I love you so…”
Chapter Thirteen
Maggie
“Maggie, has anyone ever told you that you’re an amazing person?”
I stopped in the middle of folding a sheet to think. “Uh… yeah, actually. Marty did. Why?”
“It was a rhetorical question.” Zoe rolled her eyes.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t get it. Why?”
“No kidding. Anyway, I was just saying because things haven’t exactly been the easiest for you lately. I can’t believe you’ve been in the best mood of your life every day. Like, honestly…how are you doing it? I could barely survive studying for finals. Let alone anything else…”
I knew what she meant, but didn’t need to be so painfully tactful about it. “It’s fine to talk about Marty, Zoe. Really. I’ll be a licensed nurse as soon as we graduate. And I’ve learned it doesn’t help patients to talk like nothing is wrong.”
“Okay.” Zoe just seemed relieved to stop beating around the bush. “Yeah, it’s impressive that you’ve managed to stay so happy through Marty’s treatment and finals and everything.”
“I guess it is a little odd. But honestly, I think I was a lot more stressed when I knew Marty was an hour away, and we were both super busy. Nothing that’s happening to him is good, but it brought us closer. Now I can see him every single day.”
“Oh, that’s great. Want some help?”
“Oh my gosh, yes.” I tossed her two corners of the sheet I was trying to fold. Using the age-old technique of teamwork folding, we got the job done in no time. I set the sheets down on the bed, then ended up plopping down beside them. “I can’t believe I’m moving out.”
“Me neither.” Zoe and I took a moment to look around our huge upstairs room with its furniture for three. “It’ll be…different.”
“But good different,” I decided for both of us. “We know what our futures will be after college. Not everyone is so lucky.”
“True.” From Zoe’s expression, I could tell she was thinking what I was thinking - we were going to have a big, bone-crushing goodbye hug when the moving van pulled away later. So we should probably wait for that and not start getting too sentimental right now.
There was still a lot left to do, so keeping the sentimentality in check turned out to be easy. I had to get my dishes out of the kitchen, pack all my clothes into bags and suitcases, and make sure any breakables were secured in bubble wrap or packing paper and nested inside their boxes.
Then, as it turned out, we didn’t have enough boxes. We had all the ones I had used to move in years ago, but apparently my stuff had grown.
Zoe and I argued about what I should do. Should I wait for the guy to arrive and see what he suggested; try to cram the remaining items into already-packed boxes; or put the rest in plastic bags? “Bags will spill, and your stuff will go everywhere inside the truck,” Zoe argued.
“Sure, but I’m literally moving like four miles away,” I pointed out. “If I ask the driver to go slow, it should be fine.”
“And you can’t stack boxes. What if there’s not enough room in the truck for everything without stacking them up?”
“Oh please. I don’t have anywhere near enough junk to fill up a whole truck. I’m only getting one because I have zero friends in New Orleans with pickups.”
Abigail entered at that moment, and we both turned to her and asked at the same time, “What do you think?” She raised her hands in the air, turned on her heel, and left again.
