Page 1 of Ruthless Savior
1
LEILA
Ido not, under any circumstances, recommend moving during the winter in Boston.
Unfortunately, my circumstances mean I don’t have much choice.
“What did you pack in this, cement blocks?” my best friend, Alicia, grimaces as she tries to pick up a cardboard box near the front of the U-Haul parked—probably illegally—in front of my mom’s apartment in downtown Boston. “I work out like, five days a week, and I do not think I can pick this up.”
“Books.” I run a hand through my hair tiredly and immediately regret it, as half of my ponytail falls out around my face. Grunting with frustration, I yank the tie out and go to fix it. “A lot of these boxes are books.”
“This is when a boyfriend would be helpful, Chip. Like—one with muscles.”
Her use of her nickname for me makes me smile a little, despite how utterly shitty this day is. She’s called me that since junior high. Kids used to make fun of my name, calling me ‘Lay’s Chips,’ and Alicia turned it into her special nickname, telling methat if we made something good out of it, the teasing wouldn’t matter any longer.
Only we can decide if something hurts us, or if we make it something of our own. You can feel however you want about something. They don’t get to decide.
I’ve hung onto that a lot, over the years. Through breakups, through other friendships gone sour, through class assignments in college that I thought were great, and my professors tore apart. But right now, today, I don’t know if I get to decide if this hurts me.
It feels, like a lot of things have lately, as if it’s out of my control.
“It was nice of your boss to give you the Friday off to move.” Alicia sets the box of books down on the curb with a huff. “At least you have the whole weekend.”
“He wasn’t too thrilled about it.” I tug my ponytail into place and reach for another box of books. Alicia is right, theyareway too heavy. I should probably have gotten rid of half of them. Especially since I’m not even sure my mom really has space for all of this. The gorgeous apartment I’d managed to get approved for—right out of college on account of the finance job I’d landed—had plenty of room… but I had to break that lease last week.
And now, at twenty-two, I’m moving back in with my mom, right when my life on my own was supposed to be taking off.
Alicia frowns. “He wasn’tthrilledabout it? Chip, your mom hascancer. You’re moving in with her to help take care of her, and he wasn’tthrilledthat you needed to take PTO that youearned?” She snorts. “What a fucking dick.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “But I’m new, you know? One step above an intern, even if they’re paying me way better.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Alicia blows out another huffing breath. “I just think they should be more worried aboutyou— and how you’re going to balance all of this with still working full-time?—”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know, honestly,” I admit. “But I just have to do my best.”
"Yeah, I guess." Alicia blows out another huffing breath, then pauses, studying my face with that expression she gets when she's trying to read my mind. "But seriously, how are you holding up? Like, actually holding up? Because you look like you haven't slept in weeks."
“Thanks,” I say wryly. I haven’t, but I don’t really want to admit it. I’m well aware of the toll all of this is taking on me—Alicia isn’t the first person to point it out, and some of my coworkers have been less gentle about it. “I’m fine”.
"Bullshit." Alicia crosses her arms. "When's the last time you went out, other than meeting me for a drink last week when you yawned into your martini three times? When's the last time you did anything that wasn't work or dealing with your mom's appointments?"
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and rub my forehead. "Alicia?—"
"I'm serious. You're twenty-two. You should be going to bars and making terrible dating decisions and staying up too late watching Netflix. Instead, you're..." She gestures helplessly at the U-Haul, at the situation. "This isn't fair."
“I know.” I feel my shoulders drop slightly and grab another box. This one's lighter—probably clothes. "But I can’t do anything other than what I’m doing right now to fix it.”
"That doesn't mean it doesn't suck."
She's right, of course. It does suck. Everything about this sucks. But what's the alternative? Let my mom go through this alone? "Come on, let's just get this done. It's supposed to snow later."
Alicia sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be supporting you, not pointing out stuff that you already know andmaking you feel worse. It’s just—it’s hard not to be frustrated for you.”
“It’s no one’s fault. Just how things go sometimes.” I swallow down the lump in my throat, and reach for a bag of clothes.
Five hours later, as the sun starts to go down, we have just about everything moved into the small second bedroom in my mom’s apartment. I’m sweating despite the cold, and my back is screaming at me that I’ve overdone it. All of my stuff is crammed wall-to-wall, boxes overflowing in the living room, and unpacking it all seems like an exhausting endeavor that I don’t know how I’m ever going to find the energy to tackle. But I’ll manage. I have to.
Alicia follows me in her car—she still lives with her parents out in the suburbs, and actually has a vehicle—while I return the U-Haul. She’s waiting for me when I come out, the car still running and mercifully warm when I slide into it.
