Ten.Four Hundred & Eighty-Three
He comes in to check on us because it’s after 7 o’clock and we’re still in bed. It’s not that I’m that tired. I’m just procrastinating.
I reheat the blueberry muffins and start the coffee. I promise myself just two small cups.
We google the house and look at the pictures again. We’ll need another sofa because the linen is still for the grown folks only. And also because we’re both so excited.
I have to take care of the basement first. I light some nag champa and start the Fever Dreams playlist. “Fantasy” by Earth, Wind, & Fire.
But are any of us really surprised that she’s late?
The house is quiet with the three of the gone. I repack open boxes, two typewriters, some baskets. I place the hydrangea and rosebud garlands from Jennette in a sturdy plastic container so that they don’t get crushed. There is so much more than I thought there was.
We need to waste a little bit of time so I drive up and down the streets of downtown Naperville taking in the color of the leaves: yellow, orange-gold, fire-red, burgundy, emerald green, brown. There won’t be trees like this in California, I know. I will miss this about the midwest.
The birthday party is actually 30 minutes away. I forgot the present.
No more strip mall sushi.
The house is a disaster. I remind myself that this is what transition looks like: tangled mess, eddies of chaos, neverending questions, and the impulse to try to make everything neat again.