Out of the Ordinary

Chapter 6

The voice sliced through my slumber with a ringing clarity, yanking me from my dream with little care for the content. It had been a good dream, too, I thought bitterly, prying one eye open to glare at the bearer of such a cold-hearted voice.

"Are you going to actually move in at some point in the foreseeable future?" Emily was now casting a searing glance at my possessions - the unpacked boxes haphazardly placed around the room, the heap of clothes draped across my chair to be hung up, and the growing, dirty pile of laundry in the corner that prevented my bedroom door from opening more than halfway. I imagined Emily having to slide into the room sideways, thoroughly annoyed and muttering to herself, and smiled.

"I'm not sure what you mean." I mumbled, stretching luxuriously under the covers for effect.

Emily crossed her arms, giving me a cold, pointed stare, "Look, we're doing this today. I can't stand it anymore."

She proved herself by ripping open a box with her bare hands - the layers of duct tape didn't stand a chance - grabbing a hanger, and thrusting a shirt onto it.

"And I know you had a late night last night," she paused to smirk, "but we're starting now. Your parents will be here in less than three hours."

I sighed, bringing my hands up to my eyes, "Ugh, that's today?"

"Yes, Maddie," Emily unceremoniously dumped out the contents of the box, "You moved in two days ago, if you recall, and we told your parents that Sunday would be the perfect day for them to come see the apartment."

I sat up slowly, squinting against the slant of light that streamed in through the window directly beside my bed, "Right, well, they know I'm a mess. We don't have to do it today."

Emily didn't look up from her work, adding hanger after hanger to the closet with incredible focus, "That's true. Your mother definitely won't mind."

"On second thought, I'll just get dressed." I said, moving from under the covers, "Be back in a minute."

Emily was right when she'd said it had been a late one last night - it had been a late night every night since I'd last seen Harry, two days ago in my dorm room. Looking in the bathroom mirror, I smiled at the thought, still amazed that my life had so quickly become this - waiting for the next phone call from a boy I'd never entertained the thought of seeing romantically, platonically, or at all, a week ago.

With thoughts of Harry swimming in and out of my mind, I lumbered back to my room to begin the unpacking process. Emily was sitting cross-legged on the floor at that point, folding my clothes and tucking them into the drawers of my dresser.

"Wow, you move quickly," I noted, lifting the box that read 'desk crap' and searching for something to open it with.

"Give it here," Em said, grabbing the box from me and ripping it open with the same fervor she had employed before.

"That's not frightening at all," I muttered, staring at the now-open box and wondering again from where she drew that kind of strength.

"So," Em said, continuing her work with the folding, "How are things?"

"Things?" I asked innocently, pulling the pencil organizer I'd ended up using for scrap bits of paper and other odds and ends instead of pencils and pens, from the box.

"With Harry." Emily said, not looking up from her work, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tidbits of our more than two hour-long conversation from the night before came rushing back to me - a discussion about how we spent our day, arguing over stupid things like whether or not chocolate is better than vanilla (chocolate is the obvious winner), and discussing real deal stuff, like what I planned to do for the rest of my life (which was still up in the air). There was never an uncomfortable lull, never a moment where I felt like I didn't know what to say, because Harry was just so cool, so comfortable, even in the quiet moments, and so accepting and humored by the stupid things that did come out of my mouth that our conversations hadn't yet lead to me overthinking anything. I could just sit and listen to the quiet sounds of his breathing, or interrupt the static silence with an enlightening thought about peanut butter, and feel equally as comfortable in both situations.