Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ANNIKA
Boxes are scattered around our two-bedroom bungalow on Beach Ave in Auburn Hills.
The street name may or may not have factored into my decision to pick this place.
I’m simply obsessed with the beach, and if I am going to be a two-and-a-half-hour drive from it now, at least the street I live on will remind me of it.
As soon as we pulled our moving van up to the house, I squealed in excitement.
The neighborhood is filled with grand old trees that canopy all the houses.
And the air is still. No obnoxious commercial airliners are flying by every half hour or shrill young college students in the distance.
My parents followed us up here to help us unpack and move into our house.
Chloe’s mom was busy with work but made sure to say goodbye before we drove up.
I thought it was nice that she made an effort, even if it was a small one.
My dad had already introduced himself to all of the adjacent neighbors before we finished unloading.
We had been in Auburn Hills less than an hour but it already felt more like home than Southern California ever felt.
The house itself is perfect. It is a one-story, two-bedroom, two-bath bungalow with pale blue siding, a yellow front door, and a white picket fence around the front yard.
The vibes it’s giving off are fun-grandma’s-house.
There is a big oak tree on the right side that shades a part of the house from the afternoon sun.
The backyard is small but just what it needs to be.
There is a dirt planter box begging for veggies to be planted in and a patch of grass.
Our landlord is an old woman, Sheela, who lives a few streets down.
She used to live in this house, and when she entered her seventies, she moved to an even smaller house so she had less to maintain.
She decided to rent out this house instead of selling, and boy, am I grateful.
She said the previous renters had lived there for five years and had just moved up to Portland.
It was only on the rental market for a day before I applied.
The day after we moved in and our parents left, Sheela appeared at our doorstep with a basket of, according to her, famous apple crisp muffins.
I don’t know how famous they are, and I don’t really care.
They are the best muffins I’ve ever eaten in my life.
We invited her in, and she gave us each a big embrace and proceeded to tell us all her favorite spots downtown.
Sheela gives granny energy like a well-needed hug and surprise gifts on a Tuesday.
The kind of granny that leaves sweet treats at your doorstep and sends letters in the mail of newspaper clippings from articles she read that reminded her of you.
She noticed I had a framed poster-size collage of my favorite postcards I’ve collected through the years, so now whenever she gives us a basket of treats, there’s also an old postcard tucked behind the muffins.
I am so grateful to have her in this new town.
It’s been a week since we moved in, and our living room resembles a shallow maze of cardboard boxes.
Our kitchen and bathrooms are the only rooms that are fully unpacked.
Chloe and I each get our own bathroom, which has already improved our friendship.
I no longer get my feet tangled around her curly blond strands after she brushes her hair.
My bedroom is set up mostly except for two boxes of clothes I still have to put away.
I hung up my postcard collage above the couch in the living room, and Chloe made a little painting corner in the breakfast nook that overlooks the backyard.
The biggest difference between SoCal and Oregon is the weather.
There are some sunny moments, but it tends to be overcast. I suppose we are still in spring, and things might brighten up as we get closer to May.
Chloe seems both happier and sadder. She walks around with an empty smile on her face.
The mask I’m familiar with has returned.
I can tell she hasn’t fully grieved from her breakup with Dane.
Even though they’ve broken up before, it’s never been from cheating.
It’s for real this time. She donated all her romance books to a bookstore in San Diego before we moved and boldly announced that she was abandoning the genre entirely.
She’s been sulking around reading books on the Roman Empire and thriller novels.
If she gets a hint of a romantic subplot, she leaves the book on my bookshelf instead and ceases to finish it.
Luckily for Chloe, there is the same chain bookstore that she worked at in San Diego, in Medford, which is a twenty-minute drive from our house.
She was able to transfer easily. The store manager had actually just left that store, and they were looking for a replacement.
I feel like everything is perfectly falling into place.
We are bound to have a misstep eventually.