Brighter Places [🗸]

27. finally moving out

the fact that we're almost done this book is,, insane 👁👄👁

***

Angie's fingers fly across the screen of her phone.

Her legs are crossed as she leans against the headboard of my bed, a yawn escaping her lips as she continues typing. From where I'm seated, I dangle my foot over the ground from the opposite end, trilling my lips as I inhale our room.

Half-packed bags litter the room. 

It's weird to see them there, but somehow, a strange sense of familiarity washes over me. I'm so fucking used to seeing my packed-up bags, to being tossed from place to place. 

Seeing my bags all packed up always used to tug at my insides in the most painful way. After all, it was just another fervent reminder that I'd never have a home, that everything in my life was temporary.

But now, something like relief curls at my chest. For the first time since I've been in this position, I feel some sort of comfort once my eyes land on the bags that Angie and I have spent the past couple of days packing.

Angie raises her phone to her ear, nodding at me as she speaks into the phone. To one Richard Whitehawk. She nods, once twice. She taps her feet on the mattress, tilts her head to the side, smiles. Then, she's nodding, a grateful smile rising to her lips, a small "thank you" escaping them.

She ends the call, glancing over at me. "Richard'll be meeting us at Grandma's place."

I blink, shake my head profusely. "So, this is it," I murmur to myself, eyes finding hers, "we're actually leaving."

"And now we have a place to go," Angie replies, a grin curving onto her lips as she glances over at me. She blinks rapidly, repeating softly, "now we have a place to go."

Before I can think of saying anything else, a figure at the doorway drags my attention away from the conversation.

Willis.

She's holding a margarita, her eyes blank as she uses the doorframe to support her weight. There's a blink, a purse of her lips as she takes a sip of the drink. "So, everything's prepared," she says slowly. Her eyebrows narrow. "And it was arranged that you're going to—?"

"Our grandma's place," Angie says after we exchange brief glances.

"You know," Ms. Willis drawls, head tilted to the side. "I didn't even know that lady was still alive. How the hell did you find out?"

"Found an address," I mutter, lips pursed as my eyes flick over to hers. In a shoebox, I think, in your room. Scanning her features, I try to decipher whether or not she genuinely didn't know. But as usual, I can't read anything.

"So, you two were scheduled to leave today. That's what you're doing now?" She asks, voice as blank as her stare.

We nod, Angie pursing her lips as she does so.