Page 93 of Hypothetical Heart
I’m not sure anything will ever feel as odd as moving into your college apartment, knowing that for the next nine months, you are going to be living hours away from everything you’ve ever known.
“Is this everything?” Dad asks as he sets the last box down on my kitchen counter.
I look around, taking in the new scene. “I think so,” I sigh.
We’ve spent all day unloading his truck and the U-Haul attached to it, and I can sense in the air that something is about to shift. My dad is going to leave, and I’m going to be here all by myself.
I try not to pay attention to the dull ache in my foot and ankle after being on my feet all day. After I was in a cast for six weeks, I was in a boot for another four, making it so my foot has only been free of confinement for a few weeks.
My doctors are sure I’m close to making a full recovery, and after a few weeks of physical therapy, I’ll be able to go back to ballet. NYU ballet company has also been very understanding. They didn’t kick me out when finding out Igot injured, instead, they’re giving me the time to heal before joining practice.
“Well, you know Logan is right down the hall if you ever need anything,” he says, picking up stray cardboard boxes and beginning to break them down. “And I’m just a call away.”
Logan has already moved in downstairs. He got here earlier because I had more stuff to pack, and he finished unpacking sooner because… well, I had more stuff to unpack. He came up earlier, asking if we needed help at all, but this is something I wanted to do on my own—just me and Dad.
“Thanks, Dad.” I smile into his embrace as he wraps his arms around my shoulders.
“I love you, honey,” he tells me, sounding choked up. “I hope you know how proud your mom would be of you.”
And now I’m crying.
Tears fall down my cheeks, and for once, I’m not crying because of how cruel the world is for taking my mom away—I’m crying because I know I’ve finally made it through the trenches. I persevered and made it through high school without my mom, which I never thought possible before the day of graduation.
“I love you, Dad.” There is nothing like the bond between a father and his daughter, and I’m grateful to understand the feeling. The one that screams,I would do anything for you. Just say the word.
“Call me tomorrow?” he asks.
“I’ll probably call you tonight,” I try to joke. We both laugh because we know it’s true.
I’ve never been good at being away from home, and while I know this is something I have to do for myself, I know it’s going to be hard.
“I’ll always answer.” I know he will.
The elevator ride back up to my apartment after I ride down and say goodbye to my dad one last time is harder than I expected. The doors slide together, shutting me off from the lobby and up to my new home, and it feels like the doors of my childhood shutting. I’m on my way up to adulthood.
I’m choking on tears by the time I reach my door and am too focused on pulling my key out to notice the person standing there waiting. “Logan?” It’s half a question and half a sigh of relief.
“Your dad texted me saying he was leaving,” he explains. “I figured you’d want some company.” He takes my key from my hand, sliding it into the lock and opening my door for me.
He motions me in first. “Are you already unpacked?” I ask as he shuts the door behind him.
“Win, I’ve been unpacked for hours.” He laughs.
“Of course you have. You probably brought five shirts, five pairs of pants, deodorant, and a toothbrush,” I scoff.
He walks through the living area of my apartment and into my bedroom, knowing exactly where it is because our apartments have the same layout. “Seriously, Winnie?” He sounds like he’s near tears, trying to hold back his laughter. “You have seven suitcases worth of clothes? Did you bring your entire closet?”
“Hey!” I smack him in the arm, and he fake winces. “That’s not funny. I want to have options.”
He holds his hands up, feigning surrender. “I understand, I understand.”
“Good.”
“Do you need help putting it all away?” He looks aroundthe room as if the laundry fairy is going to appear in the corner and offer to do it for me.
“I just have to hang most of it up. I’m not worrying about the drawers yet. Speaking of…” I glance back and forth between Logan and my unbuilt dresser. “I told my dad you would build that for me.”
Logan’s shoulders slump like this is the worst news he’s heard all day. I know he’s messing around when he says, “Let me go grab my tool belt from downstairs.”
