Starts with a Match

Coming Together

I thought I'd do the kind thing and would take care of my storage unit shit while Toby was gone. One less thing for them to have to worry about moving. Rent a van, have Jim help me toss all my shit in there unceremoniously, unload it and leave me to my own devices.

Thought I was being kind.

Now I'm regretting it.

Cause it's the 24th and I was at post all morning, and now I've got shit piled up in this brand-new house, including my sad excuse for a 'bed' which is really just an old sleeping bag on top of a rickety cot, and it's all taking up space in the living room, and it's a disaster, and Toby's coming home in—

"Hello, helloooo!" There's Toby, walking in through the laundry room cause I left the garage open for their truck. I make a mad dash to gather the loose cardboard and paper sheets I'd left crumpled in the living room and dart them a hiding spot.

Keys jingle and land on the washing machine, then it's a light gasp and a laugh and, "Holy shit! Look at this place!"

It's really nothing. I regretted jumping at it before I saw the rest of it. Emotion-driven decision.

Living room is spacious, if not awkwardly shaped with a fireplace I hope we never use in a corner, attached to an open concept kitchen and dining room. House splits into a hall, and on one side is one bedroom, sharing a bathroom with the rest of the house. On the other side is the second bedroom with its own bathroom. Already I want Toby to have that one.

Ceilings are all tall enough for me but not startlingly high, floors are a dark wood. There's an island in the kitchen, and the appliances are silver and white.

I try to shove more mess into the cabinets of a built-in bar, where I've been attempting to arrange some photos of Claire and Alex, and I find Toby in the dining area, turning on their toes in circles as they giggle to themselves. Their oversized, long flannel flares behind them like a cape.

Toby came home just in time for the sun to be splitting in on the east side of the house, through the kitchen windows. They see me and stumble to a stop, and they raise their hands. "Look, Kev! Look at you, you did amazing!"

Did I? I smile and shrug, and they bounce over to a window seat by the kitchen.

Glad to see they're feeling better. Been checking in daily since the potential Melanie break in, and they never seemed to want to call, only text.

First time I heard their voice again was this morning when they said they were heading back.

Toby inspects the fireplace, then they're darting back to the kitchen, pulling the sliding door open to the alley sized backyard. "So fun! We could get a little dog!"

"You want a dog?" I snort.

You wanna raise an animal together, seriously? We haven't even hugged yet. Why am I still stuck on that almost two weeks later? Jesus.

"I dunno maybe, a little curly haired one—or a cat! Where's your room, did you pick one out already? Can I see the rest of the house—oooh, how big are the closets!" they ask, floating over to me with that cape.

I take a step back before they crash into my chest. "House tour, of course, room pick, not yet—sorry for the mess in the living room," I add, wafting my hand to the boxes I failed to grab and my campsite. They do a doubletake to the disaster then shrug.

"It's part of moving. Now I feel better, cause I'm bringing just as much shit from Spokane. The U-haul on the truck ain't even half of it," they chuckle.

Now I feel better, too.

—

They refuse the larger room with the attached bathroom. Their reasoning is because the room is on the east side and they like sunsets better or something, and that the closet of the second room is much larger, and that it's closer to the living room. I doubt all that, but whatever.