Page 41 of Delay of Game
GRACIE
Rob’s facegave away his disappointment. His brow set, mouth forming a thin line as he set the box of vinyl flooring by the door.
I bit my bottom lip, surveying the room through his eyes. “I meant to…”
The words died on my lips. I’d had weeks to clear out Aunt Mercy’s room, to move the furniture, box up the donations, and set aside the mementos. Still, the number of a local women’s shelter that posted online that they needed furniture in good condition remained uncalled.
Rob sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair so the ends stood up. He craned his neck down the hallway. “We can’t put all this stuff in the bathroom. Will it fit into your room? Or maybe we can get some of the furniture downstairs?”
I eyed the solid wood furniture doubtfully. “Maybe?”
“I could call someone,” he grunted.
My chest tightened and I rubbed it with a fist. “Don’t do that. How about we work in a different room? I swear I’ll get this done by next week.”
“I have an away game next week. And if we finish this room, you can patch and paint while I’m gone.” His voice sounded tight. Even if he didn’t say it, I’d definitely annoyed him. “Wedon’t need to sort this mess. I just need it out of here. Let’s move what we can downstairs. Everything else lives in the hall.”
The last month of packing had already left a maze of tight trails through the house. More stuff wouldn’t make a difference.
Rob wasted no time pushing an old oak wardrobe across the room and into the hall, leaving barely enough room for him to squeeze back in. Forcing myself not to sort through every sheet of paper and picture, I grabbed a stack of empty boxes, putting them together and cramming as much as I could fit into each. Annoyance radiated off of Rob as he muscled furniture out of the room.
“Do you just want me to handle this? I watched you put down flooring in the kitchen. I can probably put down the flooring on my own. You could go hang out with Mila,” I offered, unsure how much I’d actually retained, but willing to try anything to ease the tension in the room.
“No,” he said through clenched teeth as he attempted to slide a dresser across the floor.
“There are a bunch of books in the bottom drawer.” I pulled open the drawer, frowning at the encyclopedia I’d jammed in there to get out of the way.
“Why?” He collapsed against the dresser, dropping his forehead onto the top.
“I meant to donate those. But…”
“But you didn’t get around to it. Got it.” He crouched down and pushed the dresser forward with a high-pitched squeak of wood against wood. He grunted with effort as he moved it over the threshold and into the packed hallway, my anxiety mounting with each unfamiliar noise.
Cleaning the house shouldn’t be hard. What else did I have to do? I barely went out. Except for my very new exploration into pottery, I didn’t have any hobbies. Hell, I couldn’t even work up the effort to join a gym. At the very least, I should have hadthe house cleared out. But every time I started cleaning a room, memories of Aunt Mercy hit me, and the consuming guilt of not visiting, not keeping her at home, overwhelmed me.
Rob eased some of the tension. Normally, anyway. Having him around made the project feel more like a chore and less like an emotional whirlwind.
Except today.
While I packed another stack of books into a box, he walked back into the room, resting an arm on the door frame.
“Listen,” he said, and my body stilled, filling in the rest of his sentence.
Listen, I didn’t sign up for this.
Listen, you need to handle this yourself.
Listen, you’re taking advantage of my help.
Listen, I just did this for my mom. I don’t want to be around you.
My fears whirled in around my head, waiting to find out which one would come out.
He closed his eyes, wiping his forehead off with the back of his hand. “Work sucked. I’m in a bad mood and I have no business taking it out on you. I thought coming over would take my mind off things, but I might not be in the mood for a project. Why don’t we blow this off for the time being. I’ve got a couple of short days next week. I’ll come back and finish it up before I leave town. Can we do something that’s not this?”
We.
I stuttered over a response. “You’re…Are you…don’t you want me to finish cleaning the room?”
