Head Over Feels

He grins, big like I do, and then gets in the car with my precious cargo. I type in the code to open the door, but before I go in, I watch the car drive away.

“He’s a good kid, like you, Tealey.”

“Thanks, Mr. Meisler.” I swing the heavy metal door open and ask, “So your son is taking you and the Mrs. in?”

“Yep. They have a pool and a float with my name on it. I’ll be living the high life out in Jersey.”

I laugh. “You’re making me jealous.”

“Nah,” he says, waving me off. “Sounds like you’ll be living the good life in Manhattan.”

“It’s not too shabby.”

Rubbing his fingers together, he adds, “He’s all money. I could smell that expensive cologne from here, and phew, that suit—class all the way.”

“He’s nice, too.”

“That’s good. Real good.”

“Good night, Mr. Meisler.”

“Night, Tealey.”

I take the steps by two but grab my cramping side when I reach my floor and huff all the way to my door. Inside my apartment, I lean against the back of the door and close my eyes, releasing a breath that’s felt held since Rad showed up on my doorstep. My body sags under the release, and I can’t help but noting that it’s the best release I’ve had in a while.

Desperate times . . .

Why did I think moving in with him was a good idea? How am I going to face Rad day in and day out? When his soulful eyes are on me, it feels as if he can see right through me. As if he can see the feelings blooming inside and the thoughts that want to be verbalized.

After all these years, I have questions about what this is with him, questions that can’t be asked because what if . . . what if he answered them?

Surely, it will get easier to be around him once I move in. It has to be, but what if laughter and good times bond in ways that blur the line of our friendship? And why is my heart racing like the first time we met?

Pulling my head from the clouds and my heart from floating away, I sink into reality. I remind myself that I must pack before I’m too sleepy to finish.

Rad said I can stay there tomorrow, and although it’s sad to leave this place behind, I’m looking forward to a new adventure.

I take a box with only a few things in it from the corner and try to keep my mind on the task at hand instead of what tomorrow brings. But a smile crosses my face when Mr. Meisler’s words cross my mind. “Sounds like you’ll be living the good life in Manhattan.”

I will be, and he’s right about Rad as well. He may be an eligible bachelor, a catch, and all class to most, but tonight, he showed me another side to the man behind the awards. He showed me his heart.

When he says he would have stopped me from marrying Steve, I believe him. It wasn’t his words that convinced me, but the look in his eyes. It was the same look he gave me when he said Steve was a fool.

With sweet words like that being shared, I’m even more excited to see how our relationship grows from here. I’m not foolish enough to think it could be anything more than friends, but I’m happy to finally build on what we’ve always had.

Looking around the room, I sigh. “It’s going to be a late night.”

Less Rad. More packing.

9

Tealey

Beginnings—of a relationship, adventures, and new opportunities—are always exciting.

A siren in the distance wakes me just prior to my alarm going off on my phone. Though still drowsy, I let my mind drift to Rad and wonder if such things are heard where he lives.

Remembering him stopping by last night just to check on me has me grinning by the time I open my eyes. I stretch my arms over my head, catching the first signs of light daring to slip in through the blinds. Normally, I’d groan and pull a pillow over my head, but this morning, I sit up, feeling buzzed for the day even before I’ve had coffee to do the trick.

I pop up and plant my feet on the ground. There’s just enough room to stand in the sea of boxes on the floor. Even though Rad invited me to move in early, I was too tired, and my mind was stuck on other things, namely him, to finish. There’s not much but enough to keep me busy for a few hours.

Something about seeing all these boxes, my life and belongings, hidden in brown cardboard brings a wave of sadness. This is it. My last day.

I won’t hear Mr. Meisler yelling, “Shuddup,” or smell Mrs. Russo’s secret red sauce simmering when it wafts from the second floor. No more sirens in the night or sanitation guys yelling in the early morning hours. Okay, I won’t miss the last two, but the first two for sure.