The Worst-Case Scenario

Time flies. It had been some weeks since we decided that my lease that would keep me in my apartment until November 2013 was completely ridiculous. Besides, the Mayans would probably get us by then.

Abraham was going to talk to his roommate, but she'd been out of town for work. And the more we talked about it, the more I warmed to the idea of living at his house with his roommate there. As my mother pointed out, all three of our housing costs would be non-existent.

"We could vacation. In Puerto Vallarta," I dreamed aloud.

"We can vacation in Puerto Vallarta now," Abraham pointed out.

"Yes, but I wouldn't have to take it out of savings. We could just, like, go."

So I told Abraham that I was fine with whatever he and his roommate decided. I could always store my extra furniture in the basement of my mom's house. I was worried about Abraham's closet space, however, because it's no match for my shoes. Maybe I'd have to be a bit more seasonal and store that at my mother's too. But Puerto Vallarta...

My new lease date starts at the end of October. Abraham shrugged and told me to just pick a date. All it was was a matter of me sitting down with my leasing agent.

I hemmed and hawed all morning. Talked to my coworkers. Talked to my boss. Pick a date. Pick a date to leave my apartment, the last place I'll ever live alone. The last place that will be mine. Hand the keys over to my safe haven from the world.

I felt anxious. Just pick a date already! I sat quietly in my car instead of driving to the leasing agent. Why was I feeling so anxious? Because the last time I lived with someone, it was pretty much worst-case scenario. And Abraham didn't know that he would be living with someone who had a worst-case scenario past.

No, I couldn't move in with Abraham until I told him about S. He had the right to know with whom he would be living.