ABOUT SAME TIME NEXT WEEK
Shelby traced her fingers over the smooth surface of the china plate, its delicate pattern a stark contrast to the chaos of moving boxes surrounding her. This was supposed to be her wedding china.
Now, like her engagement, it lay shattered on the floor of her new Orlando home.
"Shelby? You okay in there?"
"I'm fine," Shelby answered, wincing at the lie. She was anything but fine. "Dropped some plates." She plucked the broom from a dark corner where it had been propped behind a stack of boxes yet to be unpacked.
"The Lenox ones? From your registry?"
The fine china, now in shards, mixed with dirt and puffs of packing foam in the dustpan and tumbled into the garbage.
"Yes. Just two of them."
Shelby glanced up from her squatting position to find her mother leaning against the arch of the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. The glow behind her had an ethereal effect, the light of the sun peeking out from behind tightly drawn blinds. The house needed to stay cool, so though it was gloomy, the blinds stayed shut until at least dusk. There was no such thing as cool air before midnight in the summer in Orlando.
"I don't need a twelve place setting anyway."
"What if you have friends over? Or have a dinner party?"
Shelby's eyes lifted again, this time betraying annoyance. Rather than argue, she went back to her task of sweeping up bits of what should have been her wedding china set.
“I don’t have twelve friends here, Mom.”
"Well, what if you had a… friend over? You could, you know. He wouldn't have to be a boyfriend. He could just be a friend friend. Someone to spend time with."
"Mom..." Shelby stood, her knees creaking, and returned the broom and dustpan to their corner. "Guys don't do the friend friend thing anymore. If I invite a guy over here to eat, he'll think I want to fuck him and a twelve-piece setting is overkill for that."
"I mean..." Evelyn began, splaying her hands.
Shelby cut her off. "Don't even start," she protested, but giggled as she walked away. "Let's keep working. I only have you until tomorrow and I want to get a lot of this stuff unpacked."
Shelby and Evelyn worked through the afternoon and into the evening, until the sun had set and the house began to cool. One by one, boxes were emptied, flattened and stacked in the garage. Room by room, piece by piece the puzzle of a new life came together.
As they worked, Shelby's mind wandered. The weight of the move, of all the changes, pressed down on her. She paused, holding a framed photo of herself and Lucas, taken just weeks before the accident. Inhaling deeply, she placed it face-down in a drawer.
Shelby felt as if she'd already lived a lifetime in her twenty-eight years, like it hadn’t only been a year since she was a different woman, living a different life. In truth, it had been many years since she was the same old Shelby. After the accident that took the life of her fiancé, she’d been in a tumultuous battle. When it was over and things didn't get better like they were supposed to, Shelby thought a change would do everyone some good.
Then came the packing, stacking up memories into plain cardboard boxes, saying goodbye to a place that had always been home and moving three hours north. Close enough that people could still visit, but far enough away that people wouldn't drop in unannounced. It was a perfect place, a perfect time, a perfect way to start a new life.
"Boy, I feel like I've been beaten with a stick."
Fresh from a shower and smelling like rain, wearing a cotton top and matching shorts that showed off legs that didn't seem like they'd belong to a woman in her early seventies, Evelyn plopped onto the couch next to a listless Shelby. Half a pizza sat between them, half a bottle of cola, and as an attempt to make the meal healthy, a side salad sat untouched on the coffee table in front of them. The TV blared a reality show that neither paid attention to.
"Me too. We made good time today."
Shelby yawned while absentmindedly scanning the room. Earlier that morning it had been full of boxes. Twelve hours later, it looked like she'd lived there for years. Her books, figurines and keepsakes were all attractively displayed on the shelves of floor to ceiling book cases. Art had been hung, photos dispersed sparingly, even coasters had been placed underneath two glasses sweating with condensation. She was home.
This was home now.
"Shelby, your bed is made. You may as well get into it. You should sleep well tonight."
As if on cue, Shelby yawned again and stretched, wincing at the pain of moving limbs that had become tight after resting for a few minutes. "You're right. I'll watch the end of this in my room. Thank God the cable guy showed up."
"Leave that," Evelyn said, slapping Shelby's hands away from the pizza box. "I'll put it away, don't worry."
"Put it in the fridge, okay?"
"I taught you how to put away leftovers," Evelyn said, smirking. "Go to bed."
Shelby leaned over her, dropping a soft kiss on her cheek. "Night, mom. See you in the morning."
"Night, honey. See you tomorrow."
Shelby was going to bed, but tonight would end like all the other nights. She'd lie there, staring at the bluish hue of the TV, then slip onto her back to stare at the reflection of light on the ceiling. Feeling tired, willing sleep to come, to overtake her, to allow her body and mind to rest.
But it wouldn't come. Like every other night for so long, she'd lay awake, thinking, tossing, turning, torturing herself until the sun was just peeking over the horizon. Only then would she feel the cloak of sleep overcome her, giving her a few precious hours before another day began.
What had happened... happened. The past couldn't be unlived, undone. She desperately wanted to, if only to rid herself of this nightly ritual of wishing things had turned out differently.
But they hadn't. And this was her life.
Tomorrow would come. The sun would rise. Life would go on. Guilt-ridden sleepless night or not, when the alarm sounded, Shelby would fold back the covers and get out of bed.