The Improbability of Forever (Kismet #2) ✓

27. Move-In

Twenty-Seven

Move-In

My alarm woke me up at eight o'clock (way too early) the next morning.  The second my eyes opened, my first feeling was one of overwhelming sadness.  It was my last day waking up in my room, and even though it was empty and didn't really feel like my room anymore, it was still emotional.

Sitting up on the air mattress, I gave myself five seconds to mope before I stood to strip off the sheets.  The busier I kept myself, the less I figured I'd worry about Cody or Julia or everything I was leaving behind.  I just had to look forward, and everything would be okay.

This was easier said than done.  As the air mattress was slowly deflating, I studied it and realized it must feel a lot like I did in that moment: sad, pathetic, and shrinking.  For a moment, I considered running away to Julia's house and refusing to let my parents drag me out, but I knew it would never work.  I had to leave.

Thinking of Julia made me think of Cody, and then my morning mood was ruined entirely.  Stuffing the air mattress into its bag with much more force than necessary, I decided to think of absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

It's harder than it looks to keep one's mind completely empty.  Every time I started to think, I was brought back to something upsetting that was happening today, and that sucked.

"Quinn?"  Mom poked her head in my door—she was holding some packing tape and scissors.  "Just making sure you're up.  Everything good?  Make sure to put the sheets and air mattress in the box in the family room."

"All right."  I hoisted the air mattress bag over one shoulder and gathered the sheets in my arms.  She studied me for a few seconds, probably trying to decide if it was worth asking about my disgruntled appearance, before she started back down the hallway.

It didn't take me too long to get ready and finish packing up the last-minute things in my room.  Before long I was standing in the doorway clutching my suitcase handle, surveying the emptiness.  I remembered how bright and colorful it used to be, how my bed had always been unmade, how Cody and I used to sit on it and watch TV.  My stomach twisted, and I flicked off the lights.

Downstairs, my family was running around like crazy, prepping for the movers' arrival in an hour.  I grabbed a croissant from the plate on the kitchen counter and began munching, watching Vanessa urge Macy into her travel crate.  

"She won't go inside unless you throw her toy inside first," I told her after watching the struggle.

Vanessa sat back on her heels.  "We packed all her toys last night."

I stood, ruffling Macy's head on my way to the box with her things inside.  After rifling through with one hand while munching on my breakfast with the other, I pulled out a bright purple rubber bone.  "This'll work," I said, handing it to Vanessa.

She took it and threw it into Macy's crate, and my dog followed with a wagging tail.  As Vanessa shut the door she turned and placed her head on her paws, chewing at her bone serenely.

The rest of the morning was a blur.  After I ate, I helped load our suitcases and small boxes into the trunk, then stood back while the movers transported all the big stuff.  Mom was on the phone most of the morning with Mrs. Summers, comparing moving schedules and their progress.  I didn't want to think about Andrew, so I made myself busy when I could.

Finally, it was time to leave.  The house was completely empty, other than a few furniture pieces we'd decided to leave behind for the next owners.  As I walked on the hardwood towards the front door, my flip-flops snapped and echoed.