by L. M. Reed
~ * * ~
“Allison, what is all this?”
James stopped dead in the doorway glancing around the room in amazement.
“My life,” I replied wearily, “in boxes.”
“I’m sure I’ll be sorry I asked but…” his eyes roamed over the huge containers that had taken over almost every available square inch of our living room.
“Apparently my parents wanted every trace of my existence out of the house,” I said bitterly. “They told Mrs. White to get rid of everything that belonged to me. They didn’t care how she went about it, so she shipped it all here.”
“Mrs. White…?”
“My parents’ housekeeper,” I reminded him. “You met her at the wedding.”
“Right, I remember,” he said thoughtfully. “She was Hannah’s best friend.”
“Yes,” I smiled reminiscently, “She stayed with my parents, even though she would have preferred to work elsewhere, because she wanted to make sure I would be alright. Now that I’m happily married she’s thinking of looking for another job. The problem is if my parents found out she wanted a different position, they might sack her just for looking.”
James just shook his head. We were both past words as far as my parents were concerned.
“So, what do we do with all of this stuff?”
“Some of it we keep,” I indicated a half-empty box with some clothes in it, “and the rest of it we donate to a local charity. So far I’ve managed to find a few items of clothing that I think I can use when I start teaching, which by the way will be in August,” I added triumphantly.
“You got a job?”
“The principal called me an hour ago,” I said gaily. “I’ll be teaching seventh grade home economics.”
“We should go out and celebrate,” James grinned, “After I take a shower. I spent the day using the weed eater and I think I’m wearing most of what I trimmed.”
“Or we could stay in and celebrate,” I suggested innocently.
“Woman, you have a one-track mind,” James teased. “I thought rich people were all about the parties.”
“But I’m a poor school teacher so you couldn’t possibly be talking about me,” I protested. “Besides, I already have supper in the oven and it should be done in about twenty minutes.”
“I’m definitely going to have to watch what I eat, living with you,” James said patting his flat stomach. “I’ll end up being a linebacker instead of the quarterback and then you’ll be sorry. Quarterbacks are protected and linebackers…well, let’s just say you would be a stressed out mess by the end of football season.”
“I’ll be putting you on a strict diet starting tomorrow,” I promised solemnly. “On the other hand,” I added thoughtfully, “we could find a way to burn off all of those extra calories.”
James laughingly repeated “One-track mind.”
“We do have twenty minutes before supper will be ready,” I said mischievously. “Scrub your back?” I offered hopefully.
“If you can make it through your obstacle course,” he replied wryly, dodging boxes as he headed towards the bedroom, “I just might take you up on that.”