At twenty-seven, YouTube sensation Ben Leonards is married to his work. If he's not whipping up lasagna with a side of science experiments, he's running statistical analysis of bitcoin during explosive behavior periods.
When a friend asks him to org...
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The last box is impossible to lift off the back of the truck. I don't need the label to tell me it's books.
"Let me carry that." Mike grabs it out of my hands. "Your room or our minivan?"
"The minivan. Is there space?"
"We're getting there but can squeeze it in." No more excuses to stay outside. I wipe the dust and sweat off my hand onto my jeans and run the bottom of my t-shirt across my face. Good choice on no makeup today. I would've looked like a deranged clown. I still myself and enter the duplex, careful not to bump Shelly's bike off the wall again.
Too many boxes shrunk the space inside my room, but I can breathe. Ben is not there. My French cottage was one room as well, but even with Mike's promise to deliver my boxes of books to my office at the University, the amount of stuff Mom packed will not fit.
"Your mother did an outstanding job labeling the boxes." Angie puts another dress of mine on a hanger and sticks it into the closet. "No surprises so far." I told Angie to be on the lookout for 'toys'. Mom informed me that's what she put on the box with the contents from my bedside table. No matter how French or liberal Mom is, the image of her packing my battery operated treasure chest of pleasure turned my cheeks bright red on our latest video call. The arrival of the container was perfect timing. Tall's apartment is overflowing with books without boxes of my stuff in it. I can move everything into my new living accommodations.
"Thanks again for helping." I walk around the boxes and read the list of contents Mom scribbled on each label. "Aha."
"You found the toys?"
"No, the towels." I rip the tape off and the aroma of lavender invades the area. Mom must've snuck in a sachet into the box. The room will smell like summer in Provence for a while. "Hey, don't bring the toys up with the guys around."
"Mike curated my collection, he won't mind—"
"La-la-la." I shove my fingers into my ears and take them out only when I see Angie's lips stopped moving. "Where's Ben?"
"You miss him already?" The eyebrow wiggling goes along with the question.
I feign nonchalance. "Why would I?" I thought I did. But the moment he showed up it's as if we're playing a game of hot and cold. Most of it is me being hot and trying to put down the fire before my internal organs melt, and him treating me with utmost politeness, like we were introduced to each other today.
"Why indeed." More eyebrow action from Angie. "I sent him to the store to buy some snacks. I'm starving and we have a couple of hours before dinner." Angie lets out a moan and stretches her arms in front of her. A big yawn follows. "It's the first time I had to do physical labor since the C-section."
"Feeling ok?"
"Yep, fine, but we won't finish with these today."
