Chapter 13: Ever hear of a guardian angel?
"But, Noona!" That was exactly what I had been trying to avoid. For one, I didn't want to inconvenience either of them.
Sarah had her start up company to deal with, or so I believed until I heard she came here on business matters which meant the start up from back then mustn't be as small as I thought now. But even then, I'm sure she's got her own share of workload to deal with.
'i haven't even seen Ophelia in years, who knows how she'd react to this.'
The last thing they needed was a broke, evicted college student adding to their domestic load.
Secondly, and more selfishly, it felt like a massive step backward. Moving in with family, especially a mother-hen like Sarah, felt like folding, i would basically be admitting that my grand experiment in independence had failed before it even really began.
And thirdly… well, it was just unnatural, wasn't it? A guy past eighteen living with two women, even if one was practically family? The potential for awkwardness felt infinite.
"No buts!" Her voice was sharp, like a scalpel cutting through my weak protests. "I've already made up my mind, I'll text you the new address immediately. I better see your face at my door by tomorrow morning, not a second later! And pack properly, Julian. I won't have you living out of a suitcase." She said her piece, and before I could muster another syllable of objection, the call ended.
I sat in the sudden silence of my dingy apartment, the phone still pressed to my ear. The abruptness was definitely like Sarah. She did always have a nack for being headstrong. One of the reasons I'm sure her company had survived this long.
But as I replayed the final moments of the call, I couldn't help but sense a strange, undeniable hint of joy hiding beneath her commanding tone.
A subtle lilt of triumph. Like the sound of someone who had been waiting for a reason to reel her stray chick back into the nest, and fate had just handed her the perfect excuse.
"Crap… I really have done a number on myself this time." The groan that escaped me was one of pure, undiluted resignation to my fate.
I slumped back-first onto the couch, the springs complaining loudly. The sitcom on the TV was now showing a car commercial with aggressively happy people. I grabbed a fistful of cheesy nachos and stuffed them into my mouth.
Since what was done was done, and arguing with my Noona once her mind was set was like arguing with the tide, I figured I could at least finish my sad, crunchy dinner before facing the monumental task of packing up my life. As for Noona and her plans… I'd just have to deal with her tomorrow. The thought was exhausting but I knew i couldn't avoid it.
******
The next day came sooner than I expected, dawn seeping through my single grimy window like a pale, reluctant intruder. After forcing myself out of bed.
A process that involved several snoozed alarms and a profound sense of dread, I tended to my personal hygiene in the tiny, mildewed bathroom. I got dressed in the cleanest jeans and shirt I could find, the fabric feeling like a costume for a role I didn't want to play. I sat on the bare couch, now stripped of its blanket, and looked around at the hollowed-out shell of my independence.
Since it wouldn't be right to just abandon my few possessions, and because Sarah would inevitably ask about them, I bit the bullet and called a moving company I found online.
The cheerful voice on the other end quoted me a price for "a small studio apartment's worth" of belongings. It was a number that made my stomach clench. An hour later, two burly men in matching polo shirts arrived, efficiently wrapping my sad collection of furniture, the couch, the wobbly table, the cheap bookshelf, in moving blankets and hauling them down three flights of stairs. They loaded my few boxes of books, kitchenware, and clothes into their truck, destined for a monthly storage unit on the outskirts of the city.
Watching them drive away with almost everything I owned was surreal. It felt less like a move and more like an amputation. The final transaction, completed with a tap of my debit card on a handheld reader, caused my bank account to hemorrhage a devastating $500.
The digital receipt felt like a punch in the gut. I stared at the confirmation on my phone screen, watching the already anemic balance drop to a truly frightening low. I knew, with absolute certainty, that if I called Sarah Noona and explained, she would immediately send me the money, probably with an extra hundred "for snacks." But I couldn't.
I just couldn't.
She was already offering me a roof over my head, rent-free. Asking for moving costs on top of that felt like crossing a line from "down on his luck" to "pathetic charity case."
I waited until the movers were truly gone, the street quiet again. The emptiness of the apartment was louder than any noise. I did one final walk-through, my footsteps echoing in the barren space, checking closets and under the sink. All that remained was a single, luggage at my feet, packed with a week's worth of clothes, my laptop, my textbooks, and my toothbrush. It was a humbling summation of my life.
I called an Uber, the modern chariot of the defeated. When it arrived as a silver sedan, I slid into the back seat, the Uber driver helped me place my luggage in the boot before getting into the driver's seat again
Then I gave the driver the address Sarah had "graciously" texted me last night, the only words I actually payed attention to was "Pendleton", along with it were a string of numbers and a street name in a part of the city I'd only ever heard of in articles about rising property values.
The drive was a silent, anxious blur. We left behind the familiar, slightly shabby neighborhoods and my old apartment, crossing invisible borders into districts where the trees were taller, the sidewalks were
cleaner, and the cars parked on the street were newer and shinier.