Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(45)
Indira had ceaseless patience and encouragement for Lizzie when it came to issues with her flawed executive functioning, even when Lizzie fell into the trap of anger and frustration at her brain instead of accepting it for how it worked.
“And, um, on the … bright side,” Lizzie said, “this is pretty much all of it.” She waved her hand across the invisible floor of the apartment. “Now it’s just a matter of…”
“Shoving it in garbage bags and loading up the car,” Indira offered, walking over and giving Lizzie’s shoulders a squeeze before popping a biscuit in her mouth.
Embarrassment prickled down Lizzie’s spine, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Rake. Indira had always been more than accommodating of Lizzie’s less-than-ideal habits as a roommate, making her feel safe and valued even when working memory failed or hyper-focus took over and chores were left undone.
But what if Rake couldn’t deal? What if she was leaving her safe place to live with someone who fundamentally could not understand her? What if he saw her as lazy or rude or inconsiderate, when it was a disorder of executive functioning out of her control? He certainly wouldn’t be the first.
Lizzie sucked in a deep breath and looked at Rake.
The horror had left his features, leaving steady determination in his tired eyes and a soft hint of a smile. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “we better get to work.”
He moved toward her room, grabbing a garbage bag from Indira’s proffered hand, and Lizzie followed.
Rake knelt on the floor, starting to fold her clothes with something like gentleness. Watching his large hands take care of her things created a weird tightness in Lizzie’s chest, and she turned away, surveying the room and trying to get her scribble of a brain to pick a task to start with, fighting against the fear and exhaustion that constantly tugged at her since her entire world changed.
Out of nowhere, a hollow whoosh filled the room, punctuated by Rake’s loud curse. Lizzie’s eyes shot to him where he was slowly sinking to the ground.
“Lizzie … Do you … sleep on an air mattress?” Rake said, staring at her with bewilderment from his awkward little squat as her bed casually swallowed him whole.
Lizzie scrubbed at her tired eyes. “I really wish I was in a headspace to come up with something funny or witty to say that makes it less sad, but, yes, I sleep on an air mattress.”
She hadn’t meant to turn the piece of rubber into her permanent bed, but she also didn’t know where to start with buying a new mattress, so she’d avoided it altogether.
She buried her head in her hands for a moment, trying to breathe deeply.
“Are you okay?” Rake asked, the softness of his tone catching her off guard.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just…” She gestured vaguely around the room. Indira had moved to the kitchen to start packing away Lizzie’s extensive baking equipment. Rake continued to look at her with that quiet fascination of his.
“I’m a little emotional about leaving,” Lizzie admitted. “I’m overwhelmed with packing, I feel like a loser for all the shitty stuff I’m bringing, and I’m scared about moving in with someone I barely know. I’m just…” She mimicked an explosion with her hands over her head.
“Fritzy?” Rake asked.
Lizzie smiled, a glowing ball of warmth filling her chest that he’d remembered her word for bad brain moments. “Yes. Fritzy. The fritziest fritz.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Rake said quietly, the words coming out a bit thick and odd. “You can stay here, and we can make the coparenting thing work some other way.”
Lizzie shook her head. “No, I think it’s the best call. I can’t dump a baby on Indira right now, and living with you will … Well, we’ll see what that will do, but I think it’s the right choice.”
Rake nodded slowly, looking around the room like he was turning her words over in his head. “What are those?” he asked, pointing at a few stacked boxes near her closet door, the only things sealed nicely away.
“Oh. That’s just some stuff I never unpacked. Been tucked in the closet forever.” She walked over to them, dragging her finger over the shiny tape that held the boxes together.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Five years,” she said with a sad laugh. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy. “I can’t believe I’ve lived here for five years and never unpacked these boxes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” she said absently, fiddling with a worn corner. “It always seemed like a lot of work. They’re just knick-knacks and mementos and stuff. Memories. Sorting through it seemed like such a monumental task, and Indira already had the place decorated when I moved in, so my flair wasn’t needed.”
Rake gave her a small smile, then went back to gingerly folding her clothes. Lizzie stared. There was something about him. Some weird hidden pieces under his calm facade that tugged at her attention. Made her want to know more.
“So how do you feel about all this?” Lizzie asked, grabbing handfuls of random crap and shoving them into trash bags.
“Fine,” Rake said, keeping his eyes on his task. “Don’t love hearing you’ve been so sick, but if the doctors say it’s normal…”