Isa mentioned moving out first.
“I’m looking to buy a house,” she told me. “I’ve got a realtor and everything.”
I was impressed and a little sad for what the near-future would bring, the end of five and half years of living together.
Adja gave her notice next.
“I need to move out. I’ll be returning to Senegal soon to visit my mom.”
“Probably at the end of the year.”
The end of the year came and went, but Adja stuck around and moved out at the end of January, right around the time Isa put in a bid for a house. She left a sweet card thanking me and Isa for more than four years of drama-free leaving.
And I was left wondering what to do.
Should I stay in my rent-controlled Westside apartment? I wasn’t unhappy with my living situation. In fact, I really like Palms, I have cool neighbors (including the manager’s grandson, a chubby toddler who calls me “Pictures”), I like my running routes through posh Cheviot Hills, I like my short commute to work/school, and I love my super affordable rent. After almost ten years here, I was starting to feel like it was home.
But something was missing. My social life was east. So was my family. And I wanted, no needed, change.
I made up my mind. I’m leaving.