At least it's not our wagon-wheel coffee table

The truck finally arrived, days late and in the rain, with the Not Boyfriend's belongings. When I got there, he was furiously unpacking and breaking down boxes, loading up the recycling bin and dealing with the movers. 

There is a lot to do. And because moving is never about the contents of the boxes, there are all those contents of the heart and past and future to find a place for, too.

To ease it all, we've been joking about what will be the wagon-wheel coffee table of this big move. And although I've tried to be sensitive about his stuff and he's been protective about his stuff, we did get honest the other night, laying in bed and discussing where furniture from his mom and that he had made and that he loves will be configured in his new apartment. 

"Can I be blunt?" I asked. I was apprehensive. "Ditch the loveseat. I do not like that loveseat."

He laughed. "I like you blunt," he said. 

I was relieved. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Maybe that was a spot of sanctuary for him. Even though I was not fond of folding myself into the small space, perhaps he was. 

We moved on from there. But today, after Lil E and I helped unpack a few boxes and headed home to do homework and get him ready for his dad's house, after we left the new place filled up with bubble-wrap and blanket-covered furniture, we crossed the courtyard to our car. And there it was, left on the curb, where it will surely be snatched up by someone with a pickup truck in less than an hour. 

The loveseat. 

Already rolled out with no further discussion. 

There will be wagon wheels to contend with, put up with, discard and negotiate, I am quite sure. This just wasn't one of them.