Moving pieces.

You text Amber and tell her to call you once she’s done settling her housing situation. It’s not long before she calls back and tells you that her request was approved and she’s welcome to start moving at her convenience. You can tell by her tone that she’s wondering why you called. You tell her that the two of you will be leaving for Vancouver on Saturday and will be gone for two weeks, so you wanted to catch her while she was on campus so she could make arrangements with her professors. She’s taken aback, even though she had left the travel planning. “Why so long? Do you really think I’m going to have that much trouble?” she asks.

“No,” you say calmly, “but as it turns out, I need to make a two-week trip to Vancouver—I just hadn’t found out what was going down yet. Again, it’s confidential right now—highly confidential, actually—but because of your situation, I’m going to be in on this business considerably earlier than anyone expected me to be, and that’s going to help the company.”

“So I’ve done you a favor, then?” Amber asks, with a strange edge to her voice.

“As it happens, yes, you have, and you may be sure I plan to express my gratitude to you—thoroughly,” you say in a low voice. Amber giggles. “The nice thing is,” you continue, “I don’t actually have to spend that long in meetings—they’re just going to have to be spaced out. It’s not really cost-effective to fly back and forth though, so . . .

“Now, I didn’t think you’d mind spending two weeks in Vancouver with me—two weeks which, if all goes well, won’t be taken up too much with business for either of us. If you need to get back sooner, though, I can send you back on the charter. I’ll miss you, but it’s perfectly workable.”

“No, no,” Amber says hastily. “I can do two weeks. I was just—surprised, that’s all.”

“And feeling like your boyfriend was being a little high-handed, perhaps?”

“Well . . . maybe a bit.”

“I understand,” you say in a tone of mild apology. “I’m not really surprised, I admit; I let my love of surprises run away with me, and I shouldn’t have.”

“No, it’s OK,” she responds quietly. “I should trust you more. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll go see which of my profs I can catch to let them know,” Amber says. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”

You hear a noise out front and excuse yourself quickly. You go to the door to discover that April has decided to evict all of Amber’s belongings, which are now being dumped on your front lawn—somewhat metaphorically speaking. Evidently, this is intended as a public repudiation of her daughter; you guess she wants to make it clear that Amber is now your problem (as she might phrase it; you wouldn’t).

You start moving things in as best as you are able. When Amber calls to tell you that she’s talked to every professor she could (and everything’s fine), you tell her what her mother has done. She says, “Well, that saves me trying to figure out how to get it all myself,” and comes straight home. Between the two of you, you manage to get everything lugged in. You have all the time in the world to put it away, and far more than enough space to do it in; the house will still be a mess when you leave for Vancouver, but you’ll live.