My fever broke but I have the energy level of a sloth. I feel like I could close my eyes and sleep for a month. It’s Friday, the moving truck is rented for Saturday, the Quiroga house is rising at eight to load it up, and the Treehouse looks like a bomb went off.
My angel, my Becky, comes over and packs up all my books after work while I nap. Box after box, she’s relentless, playing beat the clock until it’s time to pick up Dylan from his after-care program.
I don’t know if it’s the nap, Becky’s inspiring presence, or the knowledge that tomorrow I will live with the woman I love, but I manage to stay awake for four hours and pack. Most of the food in the cabinets is a loss due to the leaking roof, which makes me angry over the waste yet grateful for one less thing to pack. I sleep as best I can, rise at seven, and get to work. I manage to finish everything just as the Q’s hit the road. While they drive, I have time to scarf a box of raisins.
I feel guilty for not being there to help them, but I’m also feeling a burst of post-illness energy. Before the day ends, Becky and I will share a home, and we’ll have two days to make that home livable for Dylan.
The move is not effortless, but it’s made easy by many hands and decent planning. We get everything inside before the afternoon rains hit. Becky’s mom feeds us sandwiches from the bakery down the street. The sandwich, the new place, wherever the second wind comes from, now the fun begins – Becky and I get to play with furniture and decide what goes where. We had grand designs on that first night; a bottle of wine chilling, christening every room… but I feel too ill to drink and we’re on a deadline, so tipsy naked time will have to wait.
I feel better but the coughing has begun in earnest. I go to the doctor, as I promised the Q Family I would, and she prescribes antibiotics and a cough suppressant to treat my bronchitis. She can’t tell whether it’s related to the mold I’ve been breathing in the last couple weeks, but she said that “probably didn’t help.” I haven’t had bronchitis since I was seven.
The weekend is a blur, but Becky and I manage to make Dylan’s room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room livable.