Page 137 of Beautiful Trauma
“I asked them to do the personal items first since they can’t be replaced should your father do something to your place.”
She whispered, “You did?”
With a sheepish look, I replied, “I told them to get all of your jewelry, any photo albums or pictures, and any knick-knacks.”
She laughed. “Do I have knick-knacks?”
“You know. The things you sit around. Like maybe a vase or a figurine.”
“Ah, I see.” She smiled at me. “You’re right that I do have those.”
“I knew you’d want the pieces of art as well.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“It’s kinda wild that I've only seen your apartment on FaceTime,” I teased.
“You weren’t missing much.”
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a piece of you. It holds clues into who you are.”
“Is that right?”
I nodded. “I mean, you’re a neat freak."
With a laugh, she countered, “I am not.”
“Yeah, you are. Like, there wasn’t anything out of place.”
“Excuse me for liking things to be in order.” When I opened my mouth, she jabbed a finger at me. “And save me from the psychoanalyzing that neat freaks are trying to put order into a world of chaos.”
“Hey, I come from a world of chaos, and I’m still a slob.”
“Great. I can already see our first fights over me being too Type A and you being Type B.”
I grinned as I leaned closer to her. “I don’t mind the fights if it means we can have hot makeup sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you would say that.”
Jerking my chin, I asked, “Why don’t you see what’s in the box?”
“What if it’s personal?”
“After me saving your life and you saving mine, I think we blew past worrying about being personal.”
She laughed. “I guess so.”
When she peeled back the lid, she gasped. “Oh, I can’t believe they got these.”
“What is it?”
After digging inside, she pulled out a multicolored bowl in deep reds and oranges. “This is Khokhloma. They’re handcrafted and painted by Russian artists.”
“It’s beautiful.”
