For All You Have Left

Chapter Seventeen Moving

“Lada, have you ever thought about moving? You know, just picking up and starting over?”

I stare right at Hannah. She’s kidding. Right? How does she not know that I’ll never be in the mood to have this conversation with her?

“Well, have you?” she asks again.

I continue to glare at her, willing her to drop it. Of course, I’ve thought about picking up and starting over. I thought about it once right before college, four years ago, but it hurt so much that I pushed it away and never thought about it again.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” she asks.

I look at her with a straight face, daring her to say it.

“I don’t know,” she says instead. “There’s so much here. Don’t you ever get tired of seeing it — reliving it?”

I stuff a towel into my bag.

“I’m fine, Hannah.”

“Okay, okay. I was just asking.”

I roll my eyes and fling open the door.

Jorgen is at his door fiddling with his keys. He’s wearing his navy pants, white collared shirt and work boots. He stops for a second and looks up at me.

I smile because that’s what I do around him now.

“Work?” I ask.

He nods his head.

“Pool?” he asks.

I nod my head.

“Food Network tomorrow night?” he asks.

I nod my head again.

“Have fun at the pool,” he calls back at me as he makes his way down the stairs.

“Have fun at work,” I call down to him.

When he’s gone, I find Hannah lurking in my personal space behind me. Her eyes are big and staring straight through me.

I crinkle my eyebrows at her.

“You’re in my bubble,” I say, frowning and chalking off an imaginary circle around me.

“You like him, don’t you?” Hannah scolds, crossing her arms at her chest.

Despite her demeanor, I can tell she’s excited. I don’t say anything. I just walk out the door.

“Do you guys hang out?”

“We’re just friends, Hannah.”

“Mm hmm,” she says.

I know she doesn’t believe me.

We walk the rest of the way in silence. And when we get past the gates, we find two lounge chairs side by side. Hannah lays down her towel and takes a seat in one. I do the same and take a seat in the one next to it. She pulls a magazine out of her bag. I find a book in mine, pull it out and start reading. But no sooner do I get past the first page, Hannah fumbles her magazine and sighs.

“Lada, he’s gorgeous, you know. I mean his arm muscles are as big as my…”

She stops and looks at her bikini-clad body.

“As my thighs,” she finishes.

I look at her thighs.

Hannah was never really good with comparisons or proportions, for that matter.

“Gosh, now I can see why you don’t even want to think about moving,” she adds.

I glare at her again. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s facing straight into the sun now — eyes closed, her big sunglasses threatening to swallow her face. I helped her pick them out. They didn’t look so big in the store.

Then, all of a sudden, she makes a rash movement in my direction, and just like that, she’s on her side and staring at me.

“Has he kissed you?”

She dramatically lifts her big shades from her eyes.

“What?” I ask, starting to laugh.

“Has he kissed you?” she asks again.

“No, Hannah.”

“Well, are you dating?”

“I don’t know…No,” I say.

“Has he come over?”

She continues her rapid-fire questioning.

“Yes,” I say.

Her eyes grow wide.

“Lada,” she squeals, shoving my arm.

She grabs my thick, dark hair next and gently runs it through her fingers.

“You guys would make the prettiest babies,” she says, before she sets her sunglasses back onto her nose and positions her back flat against the chair again.

“Hannah,” I scold.

It doesn’t faze her, so I give up and return my attention to my book. But I get exactly two lines read, and I hear her voice again.

“Then when it seems we will never smile again, life comes back.”

I close the book and face her.

“Did you just make that up?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Mark M. Baldwin did.”

I set my face toward the sun again, and I think about my old life — the one I feel as though I’ve abandoned somehow. It hurts to think of it that way. And even though I know it wasn’t perfect, I look back now, and all I see is perfection. Every soft whisper, every spoken word, every gentle touch — it’s all perfect. Time won’t let me see it otherwise. They’re all just perfect memories — perfect, untouchable moments that came and went so softly that they almost feel as if they were always just a dream.

“Hannah.”

My voice is soft and thoughtful now as I wait for her attention to shift back to me.

“I’m scared it’ll never be the same with anyone else,” I confess.

She slowly shakes her head. “No,” she admits, “it won’t.”

A breath lifts my chest and then a sigh lowers it again, even though I expected her response. I expected it because I already know it won’t be. I already know that no matter what, it will never be the same.

“It’ll be different,” she goes on. “But different isn’t always bad.”

I meet her eyes behind her big shades. Then, I return to the sun and let its heated rays wash over me.

“Lada,” I hear her say a second later.

My face turns toward hers again.

“I’m happy for you.”

I smile at her because I know she means it.

“We’re just friends,” I say.

“I know. But I’m still happy.”

She says her last words and then goes back to getting her suntan. And suddenly, I feel my smile edging a little higher up my face and a soft tingle coming to life in my chest — and all I can think is that it’s because I’m starting to feel happy too.