Every single thing had a Fisher related memory attached and I wanted it gone.
If my family thought I’d lost my mind when I packed everything up and moved to a brand-new condo, they certainly didn’t say anything. Though now, I suppose Elias knew.
Fisher finally climbs into the truck after putting all the boxes away. I’m sorry I didn’t help him, but I needed to get away.
He drapes his arm over the steering wheel, leaning my way. “Are you okay?”
I loathe that question. Is anyone ever truly okay? Don’t we all have a variety of things plaguing us at any given time?
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he presses, worry etching the corners of his lips.
“Also, no.”
He nods like he expected this answer. “If you want to talk about it, you can.” He adds even softer, “Any time. I mean it.”
I don’t reply because I don’t want to continue this conversation. I don’t want to think about the crib box gathering dust in a hot storage unit for a baby that never was. I can’t believe I ever forgot about it in the first place. I’m not sure what possessed me to keep it, but I couldn’t bear to part with it. It felt like the last tangible proof I had of my child that once was.
Clearing his throat, Fisher says, “Do you mind asking your brother to help me get this thing in your place?”
I’m happy to have a task to do, so I don’t protest at his request.
Instead of texting, I decide to call my brother instead.
He picks up on the third ring and I put the phone on speaker. “Do I need to help you hide Fisher’s body? Actually, don’t answer that. I can’t be your alibi if I help move the body. What you’re going to do is go to the store and buy a shit ton of cleaning chemicals and … no scratch that, because that’ll look suspicious. Unless you use cash and a disguise. Then it might work,” he muses, trailing off. I press my lips together in an attempt to hold in my laughter. Leave it to my brother to completely distract my mind without even trying.
Fisher clears his throat. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m very much alive.”
“He’s been watching too muchCriminal MindsandBoneslately,” I explain to Fisher.
Elias says, “Whimsy has me addicted to them. I’m just annoyed she’s already watched them before me.”
“I didn’t know you then!” I hear her yell from somewhere in the distance.
My brother scoffs. “You should have subconsciously known that the love of your life was coming to find you and waited.”
“You’re crazy,” she says, her voice closer this time.
Before this can spiral into some sort of weird rant from my brother, I say, “We need your help getting my old couch into the apartment and the other one out.”
Elias is silent for a moment and then he screams, “Yes!” Calming, he adds, “That couch you have right now is quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat on.”
“It’s truly horrendous,” Fisher agrees. “Try sleeping on it.”
Elias snickers. “She’s making you sleep on the couch?”
“Of course I am,” I grouse. “Anyway, are you going to help or not?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in about thirty or forty minutes if that’s okay? I have to stop for coffee on my way. You guys want something?”
“Always,” I reply.
“I’m good. And thanks for the help, man.”
“Yeah, no problem. See you guys soon.”
He hangs up and silence fills the cab of the truck. We make it another block before Fisher says, “Did he really think you might’ve killed me?”