Another week trailed by, Nate and I still in our easy routine. We would wake up at the crack of dawn and go on a run, pushing each other harder every day. We'd get back to the house and I'd shower first, while Nate did push-ups and other macho-man workouts. Then, while Nate showered, I threw together some lunch for us.
It all felt so domestic, so easy; like we could've been a real married couple. If only we were in love. And not in high school.
After another taxing week of cheer, homework, and suspicious Paisley, it was Saturday and moving day. To pack up everything once again in the span of less than a month was a pain in my ass.
Box after box loaded onto the truck, driven across town, and unloaded. Unpacking this house took a lot longer than the guest house. A lot less boxes were deemed storage and passed on. With so many rooms to fill, a lot more of my stuff could be left out. We lacked help this time, too.
Both of our parents were mysteriously busy and since we couldn't exactly ask a friend, our process slowed even more. I'm ashamed to say I let Nate do a lot of the heavy lifting. So he got a little sweaty and took off his shirt. So I stole a few glances when he wasn't looking. Body like a Greek god, remember.
I unloaded the kitchen supplies first. I loved baking and cooking, and I grew up believing the kitchen was the heart of a home. It was important I got it set up right. Once I fixed it to my liking, I shifted my attention to the family room. The throw pillows took longer than necessary to situate, but I couldn't help it. My OCD and giddiness clashed in a nasty obsession with making this house perfect. Even if it was just pretend.
Over the week before, I insisted on Nate taking the master bedroom. He tried fighting me on it, using stereotypical lines such as the fact that I would need the walk-in-closet space for all my clothes. I didn't buy into it. The real reason he tried pawning the master suite off on me was simply guilt. He'd been doing everything he could, trying to pay me back somehow. I didn't want him to feel that way.
I eventually convinced him to just accept the master bedroom. I was fine up on the second floor in one of the three guest rooms we had. The master suite was down on the first floor, along with the kitchen, dining room, family room, and a front quarter that was bound to be Nate's office. Upstairs, there were three other bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a bonus room that would probably end up being a gym. After the kitchen and living room had been set up, I headed upstairs to pick which bedroom I would call mine.
There was really no difference between any of them, so I picked the one with the most direct sunlight to get me up and running in the morning. It felt like hours of unpacking jeans and racking shirts on hangers before Nate peeked his head into the door.
"Hey, Evie," he said. "We never ate lunch and I'm starved. Wanna order takeout?"
As much as I wanted to cook and break in the new kitchen, we had no ingredients in the fridge and some pork fried rice sounded amazing, so I agreed.
"Chinese?" I suggested.
"Sounds good," Nate replied. "I could go for some sweet and sour chicken."
The food delivered before we knew it and I didn't even realize how hungry I truly was until I looked down at the spread of white cartons Nate popped open. I started to go grab paper plates to eat off of, but Nate stopped me.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Grabbing paper plates," I said, as if it was obvious. Which I thought it was.
"No! Half the fun is eating right out of the carton," Nate insisted.
My eyebrows knit together, but a faint smile etched on my face. "I thought that was something people only did in movies."
Nate laughed. "It's real. I do it all the time."
I chuckled and relented, sitting down at the little kitchen table with him. I struggled with the chopsticks, especially scooping rice, but Nate insisted chopsticks were the other half of the fun. I disagreed. I liked when I could actually get my food in my mouth.
By the time we finished dinner, the sky had faded into dark. Nate grew quiet, and I realized there was so much we didn't talk about. His dad, his responsibilities. I wanted to reach out and listen to what matters, but just as I gathered up the courage to do so, Nate stood up, clearing the table and deciding it was time to turn in. I didn't argue.
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This part is so short. I'm sorry.
YOU ARE READING
Weight
Teen Fiction"Whatever happens, we're in it together," he murmured softly. I gulped, feeling the impact of his words. We were bound by law. And though we weren't in love, we were still in a relationship, however dysfunctional it may have been. *****************...
