Page 121 of The Storm

Give me two choices, and I’m almost guaranteed to pick the worst one.

Not on purpose. I don’t wake up in the morning thinking,how can I ruin my life today?

It’s a bit more subtle.

Like a compass that randomly sometimes doesn’t point north, so I never know I’m about to fuck up.

If there’s a safe option and a dangerous one, I’ll somehow convince myself the dangerous one is the way to go.

When my sister calls me and asks for a favor, it doesn’t feel like I shouldn’t do it.

Still, it’s difficult not to feel like this time I maybe could’ve used an extra minute of deliberation. Out of all the places I could have chosen to end up, Boston should never have been on the list. It’s too close to… everything.

I purse my lips, suppress a yawn, and rub the back of my neck. I’ve been up for nearly two days straight, packing all my shit into boxes and shipping them to Boston, tying up loose ends as I went. Somehow I made it here though. I nudge the suitcase with the few clothes I brought with me to tide me over until therest of my stuff arrives out of the way and walk farther into the apartment.

It’s a three-bedroom in Charlestown with high ceilings, large windows, and trees on the street outside. Dia has the bedroom across the hall and Bridget has the one on the other side of the apartment.

This place is clean. And I meanclean. It’s like serial killer’s bathroom after he went on a murder spree and then got tipped off that the cops have a search warrant. I’m not a slob, but I don’t think I can do this level of tidy. This is brain-surgeon-scrubbing-his-hands-before-diving-into-your-prefrontal-cortex type of clean.

The floors are gleaming hardwood. The walls are white. The furniture looks vaguely Scandinavian and is probably named something unpronounceable that sounds like “byörnklyft” or “västrok.” It’s all very neutral. Like a blank canvas waiting for someone to come around and inject some personality into it.

The glass walls of the shower stall in the bathroom don’t have any water stains on them. Not a single one. Anywhere. It’s unnatural.

I absently pull one of the drawers open and inspect the inside. The freakish neatness has spread here, too. Everything is arranged by size: bottles, containers, boxes—everything. It looks like a luxury department store, to be honest.

I close the drawer, hang my towel on the rack, and place my shaving kit and my toothbrush in the second, empty drawer. Everything here seems to be color coordinated, so all my stuff sticks out like a sore thumb.

There’s the distant sound of a key in the lock, then a thump of shoes, and footsteps.

“Go?”

“Here,” I say.

My sister appears in the doorway and looks around, a wide smile spreading across her face. “All done here?”

“Almost,” I mutter. I turn on the tap, wet the tips of my fingers and flick water toward the mirror.

Dia’s lips twitch. “Better?”

I study the mirror for a bit before I glance at her. “Marginally.”

She shakes her head before she steps closer and throws her arms around me.

We hug for a long time before she pulls away, rolls her eyes, and strolls out of the bathroom. I take one last look around. My blindingly neon-green towel really brightens the place up.

I follow Dia into my new bedroom. The bland white walls could use some art to break up the monotony. Maybe a plant or two. But I’ll wait a bit before I hang anything up. Wouldn’t want to jinx myself.

I sit down on the mattress, bouncing once, twice. Not bad. Not bad at all. I’m exhausted, but I make myself get up again, go back to the bathroom, and change into a pair of sweats. There’s no laundry basket, so I drop the clothes on the floor in the bathroom and leave them be for now. I absently scratch my right shin with the toes of my left foot while I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I splash some water on my face and feel out of place for a bit before I retrace my steps to the bedroom once more.

One could probably mistake it for homesickness, but I don’t miss San Francisco. It never felt permanent anyway. No place has. I’ve spent years in limbo.

Dia keeps eyeing me calmly. She nods at one of the duffels I pushed into the corner of the room earlier. “Want any help with unpacking?”

I make a face and shake my head. “Let’s see if I’ll still be here tomorrow before I put too much effort into this move.”

She quirks her brow the slightest bit. “And why wouldn’t you be here tomorrow?”

I shrug as casually as I can manage. “He might still reconsider.”