Set it Down if You Need to Rest

French surprised Hector by showing up before noon. He was dehydrated, hungover, and probably unaware of the red wine stain on the yellowed collar of his once white shirt, but present nonetheless.  Since Hector and Andrea had been moving boxes from the house to the u-haul truck since eight that morning, their clothes had already accumulated rich patterns of sweat and grime.  So French’s outfit and theirs had that in common, at least.

Hector could follow the look in Andrea’s eyes, and see his wife’s grim assessment of French’s ability to move heavy furniture the way he’d cheerfully promised the night before. It had been the last thing their friend had said to them as they were leaving, spoken in the form of a peppy toast before he downed another shot.

They never expected him to show, and now, here he was. Andrea squeezed her husband’s shoulder in a gentle threat, and went out the back door to say goodbye to her garden.  Hector indicated the second floor with a raised finger, and led French upstairs to the master bedroom and the mattress that had taken four haulers an hour to transport and position when they first acquired it from the specialty company two years ago. Now he and French would have to hope that gravity would make up the difference.

Tipping it up on its end turned out to be easy, and they made some progress carrying it through the doorframe. Then Hector, who was in the lead, felt the back end begin to sag and twist into a sad rhombus shape.

“French?”

“Oof.” French’s plastic sunglasses clattered on the floor. “I’m ar-right. Just need a better-” The mattress raised again. “Grip!”

The weight shifted unexpectedly, and Hector pitched backward, grappling for the banister, gripping it hard and spinning until he jogged his free elbow against the back wall.

“Hec? You want me to set it down?”

Hector tried to silence the fireworks in his head. “Yeah.”

It was two hours later when Hector and French and gravity had finished lowering the mattress, and squeezed it into the nearly full truck. Their new home had a pool, and Hector would not have minded throwing himself into it fully clothed, since his shirt now stuck to him like a second skin.

The house was completely empty now, but Andrea had kept out the cooler that would ride up front with them throughout the 600 odd mile journey. It was mostly full of bottled water, but she’d saved two longneck bottles of beer, one of which he cracked open and gave to French. They sat on the porch and half listened to Andrea’s phone conversation with her sister, which ebbed and flowed depending on which of the vacant rooms Hector’s wife walked, talked, and tidied through.

“Wow,” French offered, and Hector swiveled toward him. “Guess this is really it for you guys, isn’t it?”

Hector supposed it was, but it wasn’t until now, with the packing all finished and nothing more to do until his wife finished her phone call, that he had been able to stop and think about it. And now that French was sober and without his sunglasses, Hector could read his friend’s expression and think on how it might affect him, too.

For his part French carefully tightened his jaw, and then reeled up the corners of his lips. “Cheers,” he said, and raised the longneck for a final toast.

“Cheers,” Hector murmured, and pushed his bottle back against it with a resounding clink.