When they asked how he’d make money he jokingly told them he’d be a stripper.
He might’ve only been half-joking, I don’t know.
But I love getting texts from him with selfies at different spots around the states where he stops. He takes up odd jobs, from repairing roofs, to putting in swimming pools, at one place he even learned to be a beekeeper.
Last summer, when he came back home for a while, he took me out to Shenandoah Park to camp. We were lying beneath the stars in our sleeping bags when I confessed to him how envious I was of his freedom. His fearlessness to go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.
He said to me, “We’re all trying to figure out who we are and where we belong in the world. The processes might be different and that’s okay. We all find ourselves eventually.”
I don’t want to doubt his words of wisdom, but I wonder how I can possibly find myself if all I feel is stuck.
Hours later, when everything is in order to our parents specifications—well, our mothers’, I’m sure our dads couldn’t care less—we say goodbye and watch them get on the elevator.
Molly closes and locks the door, then double and triple checks that it is in fact locked despite just doing it, and turns to me. “Finally alone.” She blows out a breath. “Should we order pizza and pig out? I’m feeling a Golden Girls marathon.”
I laugh. I don’t even know how our love of Golden Girls happened, but it’s been our go-to for years. A relaxing evening of binge-watching and stuffing my face with pizza sounds pretty good after such an exhausting day.
“I’m in.”
“Will you order?” She begs, jutting out her bottom lip. “You know I hate talking on the phone and I’m app illiterate.”
I laugh, sitting down on the fluffy white couch. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Molly heads back to her room and I flop onto the cushion, Googling the nearest pizza places. Calling, I place the order, bumbling over the address since I’ve yet to properly memorize it. I’m sure the guy on the phone thinks I’m insane, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
“I called the order in!” I holler back toward her room. “I’m going to get a shower, but don’t worry I’ll be out in time to get the pizza!”
“Thank you!” She yells back in appreciation. I know better at this point than to expect her to willingly open the door for any stranger, even if they have pizza. She’s watched way too many episodes of Forty-Eight Hours and Forensic Files to trust much of anyone. Bless her.
Washing the day’s grime from my skin feels amazing. It’s incredible what a hot shower can do for you. Wrapping a fluffy gray towel around my body I cross to my room next door. Pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt from the dresser, I slip them over my body, hanging the towel on the door to dry.
I find Molly getting everything ready for the evening. The show is already on the T.V. paused at the start. She’s set out plates, napkins, and even drinks on the coffee table. When she hears me she turns with a hesitant smile.
“This is crazy right?” She voices, biting her lip. “Us, on our own, like real adults?”
I snort and slide my feet into my pair of slippers I left in the living area. “We are real adults now.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” she admits on a sigh.
“Yeah,” I look out the window, the Tysons Corner mall within viewing distance, “it doesn’t to me either. It’s like we’re playing pretend.”
“Growing up is weird.”
She’s right, it is weird. You spend your whole life being told that you’re prepared for adulthood but then the moment comes, and you realize that school, your parents, everything, has kind of let you down. I mean, taxes for instance—what the fuck are those? I mean, I know what they are, but I don’t know the mechanics of it. Or managing a household. Or—
There’s a peck on the door and Molly squeaks in surprise.
“It’s just the pizza.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her dramatics. Unlocking the door, I smile at the delivery guy and sign the slip of paper he hands to me. I trade it for the pizza with a soft “thank you” and shut the door behind him.
I haven’t even set the pizza on the coffee table when Molly dashes over to lock the door, checking it twice after.
“I was going to lock it after I put the pizza down. My hands were full,” I grumble, desperately trying not to roll my eyes.
“It’s okay. Just wanted to make sure it’s locked.”
I try not to get upset about Molly’s OCD when it comes to things but at times it does grate on my nerves. She’s been to therapy for it, and it helped, but it didn’t rid her of all her ticks and obsessiveness.
Opening the pizza box, we dig into the veggie lovers. I don’t know about her but after spending the entire day moving, I’m starving. As the show plays, I manage to finish two and a half slices as well as two breadsticks. With my belly full my eyes start to grow heavy.
Molly snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Don’t even think about falling asleep on Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia. That’s unacceptable,” she jokes.
“I won’t fall asleep.” I clean up the mess from the pizza and put the leftovers away, still within viewing distance of the television. With everything back in order, I lay down on the couch—it has a chaise on each end—and cover up with a blanket.
As I start to doze off, despite my declaration not to, I hear Molly whisper, “We did it, Emmie.”
But I know we haven’t really done anything. Not monumental anyway. This is one tiptoe in an infinite walk.
Chapter Two
“You want to go to campus?” I blink at Molly, my spoonful of Apple Jacks halfway to my mouth. “Why? We have two more weeks before classes even start.”
She returns the orange juice carton to the fridge. “I want to check out the buildings where my classes are—time the walk, get a lay of the land. I have to be prepared. I don’t want to get lost on my first day, or God forbid be late.” She shudders at the thought, plating her scrambled eggs. “I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” She sticks her nose up at my Apple Jacks.
“I love sugar,” I reply around a mouthful.
“Real mature.” She laughs, amused.
“I didn’t feel like cooking.” I shrug, finishing the last bite. “Cereal is easy.”
“So, will you go to campus with me or not?” She eyes me while she butters her toast.
“I’ll go,” I agree, emptying the milk from my bowl and rinsing it. “But I still don’t see the point in going this early. You don’t want to be overprepared.”
She snorts, sliding onto the barstool beside the one I vacated. “There’s no such thing as being overprepared. You’re either prepared or underprepared. That’s it.”
Sticking the bowl in the dishwasher I turn toward the coffee maker, feeling the telltale pinch between my brows of an oncoming headache. I hope the caffeine can stop it in its tracks.
“You have your schedule already, right? What’s the harm?”
“I said I’ll go.” The coffee maker comes to life and the heavenly scent of my favorite blend fills the air with notes of brown sugar and cinnamon. Yum.