“This hasn’t taught you anything about the perils of moving?” he asked, as he rushed ahead.
“No, you’re right,” I said. “We should stay here forever. I don’t ever want to move another thing.”
The sun started to set as we brought in the last of it. This was the beginning of something. We could both feel it. It was us against the world.
“Do you think you’ll be able to handle my dirty dishes?” he asked with his arm around me, kissing my head.
“I think so,” I replied. “Do you think you can handle the fact that I always want it to be ninety degrees in the house?”
“No,” he said. “But I will learn.”
I kissed his neck because it was as far as I could reach. My calves didn’t have the power to get me any higher. Ben moaned. It made me feel powerful to elicit that type of reaction without even meaning to. It made me feel like one of those women that oozes sex appeal in even the simplest of tasks. I felt like the Cleopatra of my apartment.
I rubbed my nose further into his neck. “Stop it,” he said falsely, as if I was doing something tawdry. “I have to return the truck by seven.”
“I wasn’t trying anything!” I said.
“Yes, you were! I’m too tired!”
“I wasn’t trying anything, really. I’m tired too.”
“Okay! Fine!” he said, grabbing me and pulling me toward my bedroom. Our bedroom. It was now filled with his stuff on the floor and resting against the walls.
“No, really. I’m so tired.”
And just like that the tides shifted. “Fine! I’ll do all the work,” he said. He laid me on the bed and lowered himself on top of me. “I love you,” he said, kissing my cheeks and my neck. “I love you so much. I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.”
“I love you too,” I said back to him, but I don’t know if he heard me. He had started to focus on other things.
Thirty minutes later, I was naked and leaning over him, resting his head on a pillow and asking if he wanted me to take him to the hospital.
“No! No,” he said. “I think I just threw out my back.”
“Isn’t that what old men do?” I teased him.
“Look at how much crap I lifted today!” He winced in pain. “Can you get me my underwear?”
I got up and gave it to him. Then I put on my own. I wrapped my bra around me and threw on a T-shirt.
“What should we do?” I asked. “Do you want medicine? Should you see a doctor?” He was still trying to get his underwear on himself. He could barely move. Not wanting to see him struggle, I grabbed the waistband of his underwear. I shimmied the back up under his butt as subtly as I could. Then I pulled the front up to his waist. I pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and I laid it on top of him.
“Do we have any ibuprofen?” he asked me.
There it was. “We.” The best kind of “we.” Do “we” have ibuprofen?
“I don’t myself, I don’t think,” I said. “Any in the boxes?”
“Yeah, in a box marked ‘Bathroom.’ I think I saw it in the living room on the floor.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I kissed his forehead and went into the living room.
I scanned the boxes across the room and finally saw one labeled “Bathroom.” It was under plenty of other heavy boxes. I was sure it was one of the first ones we’d unloaded. I moved box after box until I got to it, and then I opened it to find another labyrinth inside. After way too long, I found some ibuprofen and brought it to him with a glass of water.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes scrunched from the pain. He thanked me.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“Elsie?” he moaned.
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna have to return the moving truck.”
“Totally fine,” I said, even though having to drive that huge truck through Los Angeles traffic was not my idea of a good time.
“You actually, uh . . . ” he started. “You have to leave now. It’s due back in twenty minutes. I’m sorry! I didn’t think about how long it would take you to find the ibuprofen.”
I jumped up and threw on a pair of pants.