"The movers are here!" Kiara burst into my room, her face alight with joy and excitement. She always got overly enthusiastic, her energy almost contagious.
"Okay, love, I'll be down in a few minutes," I replied, trying to match her excitement, but her level of enthusiasm was a bit too much for me to imitate convincingly.
"Trish, you haven't packed at all! What are you going to do?" she gasped, trying to find a solution to the problem in her tiny head.
"It's okay, I'll be done quicker than you think. There isn't much that needs packing," I assured her, folding some t-shirts and shoving them into a box. Man, packing is such a chore.
"Wait, are you not taking everything?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.
I glanced around the room. There were figurines, clothes, posters, photos, and trophies—little pieces of my teenage life scattered everywhere.
"I don't really need everything. Just the important stuff, like our photos and a few clothes. Maybe my Dark Tower figurines," I said, gathering the essentials into a box. I couldn't find any labels, so I left it for Future Me to deal with.
"Why's your phone buzzing like that?" Kiara asked, picking it up. "Oh, it's Finn!" she exclaimed. Kiara didn't know about Finn yet and all she knew was that we were becoming kind of distant because of school and work, but it cuts deeper than that.
I sighed. Finn had been sending voice messages, calls, and texts non-stop. I'd finally had enough and blocked him. He'd betrayed me, running off with my ex, and now he was trying to worm his way back into my life. Disgusting. There was nothing he could say to change my mind. Besides, nothing he says could change my mind anyways, so he could go f-ck off.
"Are you all ready, Tristan?" Mom's voice floated up the stairs, accompanied by the sound of her hesitant steps. I could recognize her anywhere by the soft, almost cautious way she walked, especially at night.
As she entered the room, it was clear she was a mess. Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffed with a heavy blush. She always looked like this when she'd had too much to drink.
"Seriously? You're drunk while we're moving?" I snapped, unable to hide my disbelief. Kiara looked between us, her face a mix of confusion and concern.
"Oh... maybe just a little," Mom giggled, though it sounded more like a mix of laughter and tears.
"Kiara, how about you eh, go and see if dad's done packing. And uh, grab me some soda while you're on it?" I rushed her out of the room. she nodded silently and left the room. I slammed the door shut, so nobody could interrupt this conversation.
"God, Mom, you're unbelievable. Why would you be drunk when we're moving sixty miles away to the middle of nowhere? You need to talk to the movers, the neighbors, my school... and what if Dad gets too tired to drive?" I asked, my frustration boiling over. She was carefully placing my photos in a box, seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
"Well, we don't need to talk to anyone. Besides, no one has anything good to say about us. About you," she added, her voice dropping to a half-whisper.