18. LUCAS #3
His eagerness to move on stung, but I tried not to show it on my face.
The last thing I wanted was to spend what little time we had left together pouting or fighting.
“Got it,” I said instead of the alternately harsh and plaintive words I wanted to say.
I steered the sledge through a slow turn down the aisle.
“You ok?” I couldn’t help asking, knowing his legs must be getting tired from the unusual exertion.
He nodded, though he looked a little breathless and red-faced. “Fine. Here.” He heeled himself to a stop beside a stack of boxes on the bottom shelf. “508.25 and .26, this is it.”
I obediently pulled the chair’s boxes off the shelf and threw them—at least they were relatively light—on top of the pile on the sledge. “We good, then?”
He eyed me for a long moment, and for a second I thought he was going to say something, though whether it would have been expressing frustration at my attitude or wistfulness at our forthcoming separation, I couldn’t tell. But then he pressed his lips together and just nodded instead.
We moved together toward the check-out stations, cooperating to keep everything stacked neatly and not sliding away. We still made a good team, no matter what else was going on between us, I thought to myself. Too bad you’re apparently still not a good enough partner to keep him.
I eyed the stack, doing some mental calculations, and realized that there was a very good chance that Max was going to balk when he heard the cashier tell us our total. Time for a distraction. “Max?”
“Hm?” he replied without looking at me.
“Can you do me a favor? Go into the little speciality shop across there while I check out—” I gestured toward it— “and see if you can pick me up some lingonberry jam? I’m not going to be able to get this sledge in there to look for myself, but I love that stuff.
” It was a weak explanation—there was nothing saying I couldn’t leave him with the sledge post-checkout while I went shopping for jam—but I was hoping he wouldn’t realize that.
He raised his eyes to mine, and his lips tightened. I was sure he was going to call me on my subterfuge. But then he just nodded and let his eyes slide away. “You got everything balanced enough without me?”
“Yup, I’m fine,” I assured him.
He nodded again and pushed himself away from the line we were standing in, finding an inactive checkout station whose lane was clear for him to pass through and heading toward the Swedish food store.
I took the opportunity to try to regain my composure without having to hide my expressions from him.
I let my eyes drift closed and tipped my head to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
I was hurting, but I could do this. I owed it to Max to do it and not make him feel guilty about resuming his normal life.
But god, I just couldn’t seem to get over the thought that I was so clearly alone in my feelings.
Max was so eager to get moving, to live independently and away from my sometimes overly-solicitous attitude.
How could I begrudge him that just because I had stupidly fallen for someone who I should have known would be moving on before too long?
“Sir?”
I forced my eyes open and my head down to see the cashier staring at me, wide-eyed, as apparently whoever had been in front of me had long-since walked off.
Oops. Giving him an apologetic look, I started scanning my items, listening to the beeps as each item of furniture was scanned in.
Each one was another brick in the growing wall between me and Max.
Had it only been a few hours ago when I was riding him to completion in bed?
How could I feel so much farther apart from him so quickly, especially when I was still by his side for now?
Too quickly, I scanned the bottom box and turned to the cashier.
“That comes to five hundred eighty-two forty-eight,” he told me.
Trying not to wince, I handed him my card and reminded myself that Max was worth it, and anyway, he’d pay me back, so I wasn’t really out the money.
And hey, that meant he’d have to see me at least once more, to give me the money, right?
I determinedly ignored the existence of digital banking and decided to believe I’d be paid back by an envelope of cash handed over in person.
The transaction complete, the cashier handed me my receipt, which I pocketed—I wouldn’t show it to Max until we’d started unboxing furniture, so he couldn’t force me to bring him back to return stuff because it had been too expensive—and headed toward the specialty shop.
I found Max sitting outside it holding two jars of lingonberry jam.
“I didn’t know how many you wanted,” he said, “so I made an executive decision. Need me to go in for more?”
Two jars would last me the better part of a year at the rate I ate jam.
I shook my head. “This is good. Let’s just go.
” I was back to telling myself that it would be better to get our parting over with rather than let it linger, which meant we needed to get to his apartment and start setting it up ASAP.
Getting the truck loaded up was an exercise in frustration; due to the raised truck bed, Max couldn’t help at all other than to give things an initial shove.
Eventually, I was sweaty and cursing, but had managed to heave every box into place in the truck.
My hair had started out in a ponytail, but by this point, half of it was hanging loose and sweaty in my face.
I shoved it back and redid my ponytail—my hands were probably filthy from handling the boxes, but fuck it—and climbed out of the truck.
“That everything?” I asked Max to double-check.
He gestured to the bare sledge beside him. “Yup. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more useful.”
I frowned at him. “You’re plenty useful, Max. It’s not your fault U-Haul laughs at the notion of accessibility. We’re lucky you could even get into the front seat. Here,” I grabbed for the sledge’s handle, “let me take care of that while you get in.”
Obediently, he wheeled toward the front of the truck.
I watched as he stood unsteadily on his broken leg and his prosthetic and heaved himself into the seat.
I was ready to run and catch him at a moment’s notice if either leg failed him, but he managed the transfer smoothly.
I finished returning the sledge to the designated space and returned to fold up his chair and stow it behind our seats.
“Ready to roll?” I asked, glancing over at him as I settled into the driver’s seat.
There was a minute pause, as if he was considering his answer, and then he gave a firm nod. “Let’s do it.”