“You’re moving?” Ben asks when we get back to his apartment.
I’ve been thinking about it since he got back from New York. And the phone call I made at work was to Celeste. Her roommate is moving to North Carolina on December first. He’s leaving behind his old computer, his bed, a few shelves, and most importantly, a room of my own. No van seat perpendicular to Ben’s bed.
“Is that why you’ve been so happy? Because you’re leaving me?”
“Leaving you? Since when are we together?”
He fluffs his hair. “You know what I mean. Good for you, though. You do need to get your own place. But now where will I get my crab cakes and coconut shrimp from?”
And I reassure him that I’m not disappearing out of his life. Celeste’s house is a half-hour walk or ten minute bus ride away.
“Oh, good.” He says. And we don’t discuss it again until December first, when I throw all my stuff into my backpack, and one of his suitcases, and tell him I’ll be back in an hour.
“And the next time you see me, I won’t be your roommate, I’ll be a guest, so you’ll have to start treating me better." Though I know he doesn’t treat his guests any differently than he's treated me for the last three months.
“So, what now? Am I supposed to hug you goodbye or something?”
I wrap my arms around him. There is a split second where I debate kissing him, notbecause I’m still in love with him (I’m not sure I am), but because I know it will infuriate him.
Instead, I smile, pick up my bags, and walk to the elevator. Fucker didn’t even offer to help carry my bags.