Sydney: At the DQ drive-thru down the road. Anyone want a Blizzard?
Warren: Does a one-legged dog swim in a circle? I’ll take a Reese’s.
Ridge: M&M please.
I look down at the U-Haul in the parking lot and watch Maggie walk up the ramp and disappear inside of it. This is one of the weird moments we’re going to have to learn to navigate. I need to remind Sydney that Maggie is here and she might want one. But it feels weird to remind Sydney to include her. It’s probably not as weird as anything else that’s happened in the last two weeks of us dating. And part of me struggles with what to say to Maggie and whether I should even offer her ice cream, knowing she isn’t supposed to have a lot of sugar. But I don’t want to be the one to bring up her health right now. I’m trying to keep my distance with the hope that she’s stepping up and taking control on her own.
Right in the middle of my internal struggle, Maggie sends a text through to the group.
Maggie: I’ll take a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Thanks!
I didn’t even realize Sydney included her in the group text. But of course, she did. Every time any of this starts to feel awkward, Sydney somehow alleviates that awkwardness before it’s even able to fully set in.
I walk to the U-Haul, and Maggie is all the way inside of it, digging in her top dresser drawer. She’s throwing stuff on top of the dresser, in search of something. She finds the shirt that she’s looking for and stuffs it in a bag. She looks up and sees me standing at the opening of the U-Haul.
“Can you grab this suitcase and bring it up?”
I nod and she signs, “Thank you,” then walks out of the U-Haul and heads toward the stairs to the apartment. I walk over to the dresser to grab the suitcase from on top of it, but I pause when I see a sheet of paper on the floor of the U-Haul. I bend to pick it up. I don’t want to be invasive, so I set it on top of the dresser, but it’s unfolded and I can see that it’s a list. At the top, it says, Things I Want To Do, but the title next to it is scratched out and written over. I pick it up, even though I probably shouldn’t.
There are three out of the nine things on the list scratched out: skydive, drive a racecar, and have a one-night stand.
I know she went skydiving, but when did she race a car? And when did she have a…
Never mind. Not my business.
I read the rest of the items on the list, remembering how she used to talk about some of these things to me. I always hated that she had so many things she was so adamant about doing, because I always felt like I had to be the voice of reason and it would put her in a bad mood.
I lean against the dresser, staring down at it. We planned on a trip to Europe once. It was right after I finished my second year in college, about four years ago. I was terrified for her to go because even being in such closed quarters on an international flight for ten hours was enough to put her health at risk. Not to mention the change in oxygen levels and atmosphere and being in a touristy area and in a country with hospitals that aren’t familiar with her medical history. I tried so hard to talk her out of it, but she got her way because I honestly couldn’t blame her for wanting to see the world. And I didn’t want to be that one thing that was holding her back.
But in the end, it wasn’t me who held her back from actually going. It was a lung infection she contracted that landed her in the hospital for seventeen days. It was the sickest I’d ever seen her, and the entire time she was in the hospital, I couldn’t help but feel nothing but relief that she hadn’t come down with the illness in Europe.
After that, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of an international trip. Maybe I should have. I realize that now, after knowing how much she resented my caution. And honestly, I don’t blame her. Her life is not my life, and even though my only goal was to give her life more length, all she’s ever wanted is a life with more substance.
I can see movement out of the corner of my eye, so I turn and look up, just as Sydney makes her way up the ramp to the U-Haul with two Blizzards in her hands. She’s wearing one of my Sounds of Cedar T-shirts, and it’s hanging off her shoulder because it’s too big for her. If I had my way, she’d wear one of my shirts every day for the rest of our lives. I love this effortless look on her.
She smiles and hands me one of the Blizzards. She pulls the spoon out of hers and licks ice cream from it, then closes her mouth over the spoon.
I grin. “I think I like yours better, and I don’t even know what flavor you got.”
She smiles and stands on her tiptoes, kissing me briefly on the lips. “Oreo,” she says. She pokes at her ice cream with her spoon and nods her head toward the sheet of paper I’m still holding. “What’s that?”