I set a pot in the keep pile. “It’ll go faster if it’s both of us,” I reason.
She clangs a glass against the countertop and I look up at her. “B,” she says sternly, “you’re avoiding.”
I look away. She’s right. Moms are always right. It’s like they’re gifted special magical powers or something.
“Fine,” I grump. “I’ll go do it.”
I wobble as I stand, still not used to the growing belly in front of me.
Boxes litter the downstairs, labeled with either room names or the word donate. I tiptoe around them and up the steps.
The master bedroom is empty, the furniture already gone. I sold it online—I hadn’t wanted to take it with me. The new stuff was delivered yesterday to the apartment. It’s slightly more feminine in style since it’s just me. I figured since this was a new start I might as well get new stuff. Besides, a lot of the things Ben and I bought together would never fit in the apartment.
I grab an empty box off the floor and head into the bathroom. Things like towels and washcloths have already been packed—except for one set while I stayed here—but all the toiletries are still there. I pile them into the box. There’s no rhyme or reason to my method. I just want to get this done and face the last obstacle.
It doesn’t take me long to fill the box with hairspray, shampoo and conditioner, and various body washes and deodorants. Ben always made fun of me for hoarding deodorant, but it’s one of those things I never like to run out of.
I carry the full box to the doorway and grab two more empty ones.
I fill one with things from the medicine cabinet and that ends up being all that’s left in the bathroom. My heart races as I pick up the other empty box.
I pad into the closet and flick on the light. It’s empty except for the one side. My breath catches at the sight of all of Ben’s clothes. They hang there, waiting for him to return, only he’s never coming back. I have to accept that fact.
I step forward with determined strides. I drop the box on the floor and then grab a handful of button-down shirts still on the hangers and shove them in the box. My breath catches when I look down at them but I keep going. I shove everything that’s left of his—jeans, socks, boxers, shirts, all of it—into that one box. The box overflows, unable to hold that much stuff, but I don’t care. My throat catches and I choke on a sob. There’s a sweatshirt on top of the pile. One from our high school with his last name spelled out across the back. He got it for playing football. I pick it up and cradle it to my chest. The baby kicks my stomach, like she feels my turmoil.
I sink to the floor on my knees and sob into his sweatshirt. I remember his sweet smile and kind blue eyes. I feel the whisper of his lips against my cheek and the stroke of his fingers through my hair.
“I miss you,” I whisper, and the baby kicks. I think she’s saying she misses her daddy too. I press a hand to my stomach and feel her little foot press against my skin. “It’s just me and you baby girl,” I choke. “I hope that’s enough for you. I hope I’m enough.”
I wipe my tears on my arm. I’m not wearing any makeup so there’s no smear of mascara, thankfully.
I hold onto the sweatshirt. This … This I refuse to let go.
I leave the box in the closet and turn off the light. Someone else can sort everything into separate boxes.
I did my part. I made the decision to get rid of it all.
Later that evening, my mom and I arrive at the apartment. The walls of the main living area are painted a beige color. It’s not much of a color change but it warms up the space from the stark white. I’m thankful that Justin was willing to let me change the paint colors—as long as he approved them first.
For the bedroom, I chose a color that was in-between brown and gray. It was an odd color, but I liked it, and it made the light upholstered headboard even more of a statement piece.
Ryder and my dad sit on the couch—a gray colored tufted design—drinking a beer. They’re both covered in paint. Ryder even has some sprinkled in his hair.
“Hey,” he says, turning to smile at me as we enter the apartment. “Let me get that.” He jumps up immediately to grab the box from my hands.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” I say. “What about Cole?”
“My mom insists he’s fine.” Ryder waves away my concern. “I’ll pick him up as soon as I leave here. There was something I wanted to show you first.” He checks the label on the box and sets it in front of the bathroom.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “What’s that?”
“Come here.” He nods towards the door that leads into what will be the nursery.