Solace (completed)

Chapter Fourty-Nine

Alex Solace

   The movers are here.

I blow out a sharp breath and swipe my hands down my pants, feeling bad that they have to work in the cold. But I heard that you're allowed to feed them and offer them drinks on the job so I made some hot chocolate and cookies. The ones that you just stick in the oven.

Is that bad? What if they look at it and think I'm pathetic? They're all guys too, which makes my anxiety worse.

What if they laugh at me?

Now would be a good time to mention I also made sub sandwiches. God, I'm fucking pathetic. They're gonna laugh at me and throw it away.

There's 14 of them, which in hindsight seems excessive for this average class house. But in this weather? The more people, the quicker they go home.

I mean the weather isn't bad. It's not snowing anymore, and it's probably around forty to fifty degrees, but it isn't exactly sunny. It's chilly and damp, and not the kind of weather you want to work in.

Fuck, I just want them to like me.

I shake off my hands, knowing that they're pulling up any second now.

This house. Full of them. Moving men. Touching my things.

God fucking help me.

I look around my empty room in awe. The walls are bare white, boxes litter the floor, and my closet sits empty. I've lived in this torturous house my whole life, and I'm finally leaving. How am I gonna feel? What's it gonna be like actually living in a new house?

I've already changed the address with both of our schools, so I have that covered. I have the keys to the new house in my back pocket, and I have a copy that I have to give the movers so they can- you know, move shit.

I'm good. I'm on track. I'm set.

I shriek when I hear a harsh knock on the door, covering my mouth with my fist because I can't believe I actually made that sound.

Fucking relax.

"Okay," I breathe, shivering with anxiety. I walk into Mateo's room and see him sitting on one of his boxes with my phone in his hand.

I really need to get him a tablet. Coming soon.

"You ready to move, bubs?" He picks his head up and swings his feet, nodding his curly head. "Mama, how big is my.. my room?"

I smile. God, he's so fucking cute. Any sentence he says I just melt. Unless he has an attitude. Then, fuck him.

"It'll be bigger than this, kid. That's for sure," I nod my head at his current room. Its technically perfect for his age, but I want to give him a big room. A room he can grow into.

"People are gonna come in here and they're gonna take the boxes. You want to stay with me while they take your stuff or do you want them to do it last?"

"I'll stay with you," he jumps off the box.

"Okay, well stay in here for a bit and I'll come get you, okay?" Is it bad that I don't want him around the movers? God, I suck at this parenting shit.

"Alright." His tongue pokes out as he taps the screen.

My hands feel sweaty as I rub them together, walking towards the from door.

I open the door and see a large, muscled man with a beanie on his head and a clipboard under his arm, a yellow and gray worker jacket on.

Dude is buffed. Has to be around 39 years old with a large ginger beard covering his chin and upper lip. Either all the moving has him big as hell, or he lifts on his off time.