Giving It Up by Amber Lin Page B

I must have said something. What if Bailey had been there?
    Shelly opened the door to Colin.
    “They’re gone,” he said.
    “Who could have…?” Shelly trailed off. It was better unfinished.
    “Pack quickly,” Colin said.
    I went cautiously back downstairs, as if I were going to survey the aftermath of a hurricane. But there was no disaster, not outwardly. Nothing had been taken—not that I had anything valuable—and nothing had been destroyed. Just the lock on the door, broken by some faceless person.
    A violation. I should be used to them by now.
    It was probably just a prank. Or a robbery that ended in disappointment when all they found were dolls and toys.
    This place was crappy, but it had been home—mine. It shouldn’t matter because we were going to a place that was so much better—Colin’s. I tried to focus my thoughts on the practical, like throwing clothes into trash bags.
    Colin loaded the crib and high chair and other furniture into his truck. That meant leaving behind my bed, my dishes, my dinette. Colin said he would come back later and take whatever was left to Goodwill. We filled up his truck and my car trunk, and I realized just how few material possessions I had.
    Shelly brought Bailey down when we were finished.
    She paused for another hug as she handed Bailey over. I glanced at Colin. He was strapping down the stuff in his truck.
    “The lock—” I started.
    “Don’t think about it,” she said.
    She was right of course, but… “Am I making a mistake?”
    “Of course not.” Her face was perfectly smooth, gaze clear, completely giving herself away, the faker.
    “You’re a horrible liar.”
    She raised two perfectly groomed eyebrows. “I have a buttload of clients who say otherwise.”
    “Yeah, well, I know you too well.” I lowered my voice. “I’m scared.”
    “What’s the worst that could happen?” she said.
    We both laughed. She always knew how to cheer me up.
    Because, well, the worst was pretty bad, but then we’d both been through bad. What Shelly meant was that bad things happen, but we couldn’t let them rule us. Living was a choice.
    Colin slammed the tailgate shut and turned to me.
    He raised his eyebrow. You still in?
    Yes , I answered silently.
    * * * *
    Bailey dug through my box of clothes while I hung them up in the closet. The room had two closets, so this one had been empty when we got here. Still, it was already stocked with hangers, and that had to count for something.
    Colin stepped in. “I’ve got the last of it downstairs.”
    “Thanks.” I wiped my palms on my jeans.
    Christ, how awkward. Why had no one ever given me lessons on how to handle moving in with a guy I barely knew? Suddenly that seemed like a vital life skill.
    “So.” I took one of my high heels out of Bailey’s hands and replaced it with an innocuous sweater. “It’s official.”
    “Yeah.” He had an almost cautious expression, as if I was freaking out.
    Was I freaking out? Possibly a little. “We’re cool, right?”
    Humor glinted in his eyes, turning them from glacial to just chilly. “We’re good. But listen, I’ve got to head out.”
    Alarm streaked through me. “You’re leaving?”
    He frowned, just a crease of his forehead, but I didn’t think it was directed at me. “It just came up.” He shook his head as if to negate the importance. “I’ll be back by dinner.”
    “Right, okay.”
    He gave me a speculative look. I strove for casual and failed. With a grimace I took as an attempted smile, he left the room. A few minutes later I heard his truck bump out of the driveway.
    “Bye-bye,” Bailey said.
    “That’s right!” I winced as my feigned cheerfulness came out louder than anticipated. “He’s gone bye-bye. But he’ll be back soon, promise!”
    Back by dinner, apparently. Should I make dinner? I made dinner for Bailey and myself every day, of course, but I wouldn’t feel right serving Colin spaghetti from a can. He probably thought I could cook,