Throwing myself down on the couch, I text Becca to see what she’s up to.
Me: What’s up?
Becca: Not much. I’m off for three days because I have a movie to be on set for next week.
Me: Want to come over?
Becca: Sure. Lunch? I can get subs from Marcos?
Marcos is the place they use on set where she works for lunches and they’re fucking awesome. They’re also hideously expensive, so it’s something we only have once in a while.
Me: Perfect. My treat.
It’s only eleven and I’m already feeling anxious. If I don’t find something to distract myself with, I’m going to drive myself crazy. I glance around, embarrassed at how messy my apartment is. Tidying should probably be my priority, but any motivation I had for cleaning went out the window when I slept in. Who am I kidding? The motivation was never there to begin with, because I hated cleaning with a passion.
I can spend the day cleaning, or I can go and visit Iris.
Iris wins, but too bad for me, she’s not home.
I shake my head, because she’s always home. I vaguely remember her complaining about a lady from a community outreach program who’s been trying to get her out of the house to do her shopping. I trudge back to my apartment, slowly coming to terms with the fact that it’s clean or sit around and stress out.
The thing with cleaning is that once I start, I can’t stop. I guess that’s the power of distraction. It’s like I’m possessed. I even rearrange the living room, moving the couch and the TV over to the other side of the room to take advantage of the beautiful views I have.
By the time Becca turns up just after twelve, I’m wrecked. I open the door, accept the sub she hands me, and start devouring it before we’ve even sat down.
“Thanks,” I say, in between mouthfuls. I should have asked for two.
She stops in her tracks when she sees the living room.
“Been busy, I see.” She smirks. “You hate cleaning with a passion. The only time you do it is when you’re trying to avoid thinking about something.” She smiles at me. “Or someone.”
“How would you know if I hated cleaning?” I grumble.
She’s right, but I hate that she knows me so well.
“Ha, because I saw some of the things that crawled out of your bedroom when we were kids? Dude, I was scared to sleep in your room for fear I wouldn’t wake up.”
“Overreact much.” I sniff, lifting my head.
“Oh, come on. You got away with it, because you were always sick.” She giggles.
We walk outside onto the balcony and sit down to eat. Well, Becca eats, because I’ve pretty much finished mine. I sit with my back against the wall and close my eyes, feeling as relaxed as I’ve felt all day, while Becca crosses her legs and carefully unwraps her sub.
“So, does this thing you’re trying not to think about have anything to do with talking to Luke?” she asks.
“I’m telling him everything tonight,” I admit. “And I’m scared out of my mind.”
“Good.” She smiles at me and reaches for my hand. “Well, not the bit where you’re scared, but the telling him part. For what it’s worth, I think you’re overreacting. He’s going to be fine. He likes you a lot. Sure, it’s going to be a hurdle and probably a shock, but he’ll get over it. You’ll get over it together. I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I was that confident,” I say.
I glance at her, hoping for a subject change.
“How’s work going?” she asks.
I sigh, relieved. I swear that girl can read my mind sometimes.
“Good. Did I tell you about the research project I’ve applied for?” I ask. “If I get it, I’ll spend six months in Switzerland, working on a fertility study.”
“That’s really cool,” she says, sounding genuinely happy for me. “But it’s a long time to be away from your family… and Luke,” she adds, his name rolling off her tongue like an afterthought.
“It’s only six months,” I protest. “Not to mention the fact that this is my dream. It’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
“I know, but exactly how long have you spent away from him since you guys got together?” I frown at her know it all smirk.
“Well, that’s hardly the same, considering we live together,” I retort. “And the way our hours clash all the time, you’d be surprised at how little time we actually do get to spend together.”
Besides, he might not even be an issue then, I think to myself.
“Hey, when’s his place ready?” she asks.
“Any day now.” I frown, not liking how that makes me feel.
“You don’t look thrilled at the idea of him moving out.”
“I guess because I’m not.” I shrug. I like things the way they are. “I hate the idea of him moving out, but I feel like I can’t ask him to stay until I’ve told him that I can’t have kids.” I pause. That made more sense in my head.