D. update

D. called a few nights ago to catch up. He says he misses me. I asked him to define what, exactly, he misses.

"Aren't I the lawyer?" he aked.

"But I'm the girl," I responded.

He says he misses arguing with me about culinary issues. He misses my laugh. He misses the comfort of sitting on my couch, just talking. He misses going places with me and showing me off as his date. He misses being around me. He misses being my friend.

"You know, most of those things are more than just aspects of our friendship."

"I realize that."

"This isn't going to work. You can't call me anymore."

"I understand your point of view and validate your opinion, but I disagree. This can work."

"No, it can't. You are incapable of being just friends. Each time you laugh at my jokes, I won't know if it was as a friend or as a lover. Each time you look at me, I won't be able to tell the motivation behind the tenderness in your eyes. And when you're nice to me, or even when you're being an ass and arguing, I'm not sure if you're trying to flirt or just being yourself."

A long, pregnant pause occurred.

"I guess you're somewhat right."

We decided to give it a few months and then reconnect. Then he hung up.

feeling better!

Tuesdays are usually my favorite day; for some reason, Tuesdays are lighter on appointments and deadlines than any other day of the week.

I'm feeling much better today.

R.'s lease is out at the end of the month. This afternoon, I went with him as he signed a new lease at a place very close to my own. It's darling: lots of original 1930s detailing, an open floor plan, tons of square feet.I'm very happy with this development!

Hmm... it looks like it's been a while since I posted about a dating story... will get on that shortly...

I feel like crap

Thursday was the culmination event of months of hard sweat and labor, after which I fell ill. Very ill.

Of course.

And it was R.'s birthday this weekend.

Poor guy was super sweet and kept a constant supply of tea, Mucinex D, and chicken soup on my bed side table, and spoiled Gus with lots of walks and play time at the park.

A gal at work has viral meningitis. If I'm not better tomorrow, I'm going to the doctor's.

Last night at dinner with two of my closest girlfriends, A. turned to me quite suddenly and proclaimed that I must not like R. that much, seeing as I don't gush about him the way I did the Dentist.

I guess I don't gush that much about him... I don't want to jinx things!!!

And I guess part of me is worried that if it doesn't work, I don't want to be the girl who cried "<3 Forever!!"

But all I want to do is talk about how great he is. I've been with enough men to know what it's like to be treated poorly and treated well, and R. is the absolute best.

Update on the Status of Things with R.

Things are going so well, I couldn't be happier. He's everything I've been looking for, and I'm excited to see where things are going!

But a funny thing keeps happening... each time we take a small step, a dude I've dated resurfaces.

The day we shared our deepest insecurities, a dude I asked out who said no called and asked me out.

The first night he stayed over, two men I dated sent me emails asking me how I was doing.

The day I missed work and he took care of me, a guy from down the street I went out with once sent me a text.

And here's what I have to say to that: okay God, I get it. These are tests. But I'm not going to fall for them. I'm with R. now, and that's that!

Roy

My best friend owns a bar, and I own the seat around the corner from the taps. It's my seat, and she's been more than happy to remind someone of that fact should it be occupied when I arrive.

One afternoon I was grumpy after a craptastic day at work. The usual.

She poured me a double and we talked shop while she cut the limes for that evening's margaritas. Before I could finish my drink, she had another in front of me.

"On the house," she said.

"Funny, I thought they always were."

"Point."

She walked away to deal with a minor infraction involving a glass window pane and a gentleman's fist and I found myself with a new neighbor at the bar.

"I'm Roy, and I'm going to buy you that drink," he said.

"It's okay. I'm a big girl. I can afford my own drinks."

"Then let me buy you dinner. The burgers are fantastic."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, my buddy owns this place. We go way back."

My best friend came back and I mouthed "play along." She nodded.

"Barkeep," Roy said. "Sweet cheeks, can we get some menus?"

"Here, hot stuff," she said to him while giving me a wink.

"And sweet thing, before you leave, can you tell Karl that I'm here?"

"Karl?" she asked, cocking her head just slightly and narrowing her eyes. "Who's that?"

"The one that signs your paychecks, doll." He looked at me like he was really in the know.

"Huh. That's funny. Last I checked, I owned this place." She looked around. "Yep, this is my bar. I sign the checks. But do you still want that burger?"

"No," I answered for him. "But he is buying my last drink."

Dr. Hot Stuff

A med-school resident friend set me up with a man he deemed perfect for me.

We met at Starbucks. He got there first and was waiting outside. As I walked up, I could feel his eyes scanning my person from behind his sunglasses.

He stood up to give me a hug and smelled my hair.

No one had smelled my hair in ages. Not since Nick. It gave me the creeps.

"You are much more gorgeous than I expected," he said. "And your vehicle- how Texan of you, for a non-native."

I muttered some pleasantry and then he pointed to his car, a beautiful new Porsche. His car was definitely more gorgeous than he was. Not that he was bad looking- rippled body, tall, dark, olive skin. A hot, rich doctor should most certainly was my type. But I had this gut feeling telling me to go home.

We ended up going to dinner. Conversation mostly centered on him: his travels, his interests, his work.

We went out a second time. He was more attentive. I assumed that perhaps on our first meeting, he was nervous or felt like he needed to put on a show. I was starting to think there could be something.

We went out a third time. I could start to see that this had the possibility of going somewhere.

We went out a fourth time. And a fifth. And then two to three times a week for a a month and a half.

One night after dinner and a show downtown, we went back to his place for drinks.

"I'm a true man," he said.

"I'm not going to sleep with you, if that's what you're getting at."

He pulled me on his lap and started massaging my feet.

"I mean, I want to take care of you. All this could be yours." He made a sweeping gesture to highlight his 6,000 square foot, architecturally stunning home on 50 acres.

I pulled back. "I have a feeling this comes with a catch."

"Well, in my line of work..."

"Plastics. I know. Plastic surgery. I'm not having any."

"I know, my flower, I know. You don't need any surgery. You are most exquisite."

"Then what are you saying?"

"Well, the men of my family, and the women... it's just that... we're the... we don't necessarily..."

"Spit it out."

"I can't stop loving women."

"So you're telling me that I would have to put up with you sleeping around?"

"But I'd always come back to you. You would have my heart."

I put up my hand to signal 'wait' and turned around. Deep breath in to the count of 4, hold for a count of 7, release to a count of 8. I turned back to him.

"Maybe I haven't made it clear," I said. "I'm a monogamous person. And I expect the same."

"But you'd have me, all of me, and my entire heart."

"How many other girls are you seeing right now? How many lovers do you have? Am I the only one not sleeping with you?"

He looked taken aback.

"There are others, aren't there. And how many have you given this same spiel to?"

He just looked at me. No answer.

So I gathered my belongings and left, shoes in hand, the 6,000 square foot prison that could have been all mine.

in which I decided to not have sex for a very, very long time

I take the day off and pick up E this morning at 9 am. She looks like she hadn't slept all night. We drive in relative silence compared to how we usually communicate: like two ADHD kids trying to speak in iambic pentameter pig latin, full of profound statements that no one else would understand as we shift topics with every other sentence.

We get to the clinic and the TV's blaring crappy Richard Scary cartoons. I turn it down, and the receptionist gives me a glare.

E goes back, has blood taken, and we head down the street for breakfast tacos. Because in Texas, there are breakfast taco places everywhere, including conveniently located next to this particular Planned Parenthood.

I try to joke around, she makes light of certain conversational topics, but there's this scared, gray look in her eyes. I want to shake her. You are the dumb ass here. You didn't use protection. You are 30 years old. Worse things have happened. This isn't a bad thing; you like the guy, he likes you, maybe give him a chance to prove that he'll be there for you.

We go back to the clinic and she says I should wait in the car while she goes in for the results. I'm nervous and slightly nauseated from the tacos. I get out of the car just in time and barf behind the dumpster.

She is pregnant.

I barf again.

I drop her off at her ex's house, where she has to have the most difficult discussion of her 30 years.

opps

The past week, my friend E has been waiting patiently for her monthly. Today, while joking around at Target about how long she's been waiting, she admitted that she and her ex weren't good at using birth control.

"You used condoms, right?"

"Not really... maybe twice."

"But you're on the pill, right?"

She shook her head.

"VCF? Spermacide? Anything?"

The whole time, she kept shaking her head.

"What?!?" I nearly lost it, hands flying everywhere.

"Well, it felt so good. And I never thought anything would happen. But then, this one time, he, um..."

"You know the pull-out method is crap, right?"

"I know."

"You know you're a dumb ass, right?"

"I know."

Two hours later, I got a scared phone call.

"There's two lines. There's a faint pink line; the box says a faint line counts."

"I'll be right there."

I stopped at the grocery store to pick up essentials: soda, peanut butter cups, chips and pico. When I got to her place, I let myself in. She was sitting on her favorite chair , arms wrapped around herself, crying.

"It'll be okay," I said.

This blog has no time line, really. Everything concerning an ex or a date could have happened 5 years ago or last November. So my "sudden" falling for R. while still talking about other dudes really isn't a big deal, because 99% of them have been out of my life for a long time and are now just stories.

So there :-P

Anything not related to past dudes is happening in real time.

R. is gone for the week...

and I miss him!

I miss his laugh, the way his brow furrows when he's thinking, the way he grabs my hand as soon as we're walking, the way he kisses my eyelids, the little dimples (especially the one on the right- it's my favorite), the way his face lights up when I open the door to let him in, the gentle manner he has with Gus, the foot massages (!!)

I'm going to marry this one, folks. For reals. I know it.

The Crazy

"I don't like fucking you," he said as he shook me awake.

"What?"

"And I hate your took in that dog."

Gus was found in a drainage ditch covered in fleas and ringworm. He was now on meds and sleeping in my living room.

"What?"

"I was going to buy you a dog, a designer dog, a $1200 dog."

"But I love Gus."

"I don't care. I don't."

"So?"

"I took 5 Ambien."

"Why?"

"Because you don't love me."

"What?!?" At this point I was wide awake. Crazy had served 9 years over-seas in the army, survived a childhood of abuse, and was dealing with PTSD.

"And I took six Benadryl." He started to cry and walked into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?!?" I screamed.

"I'm going to slit my wrists!!"

"What?!"

"I've also had a few shots of whiskey: half a bottle of whiskey. YOU DON'T LOVE ME. YOU HATE ME. EVERYONE HATES ME. I'M BETTER OFF DEAD!"

At that point I ran downstairs and knocked on my neighbors' apartment. It was 11 PM, but they were still up and said I had to call 911. When I went upstairs, Crazy was hiding. Hiding in my 900 SF apartment. I found him under my bed.

"You hate me," he said. "Mom hates me. Everyone hates me. I should die!" He held a carving knife in one hand and the empty bottle of Ambien in the other.

I left him there and from the hallway, texted Clark, my best guy friend from high school. 3 months prior he had moved 30 minutes away from me. "Come ASAP. I need you." That's all I said.

I went back into the apartment. Crazy was in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. "I took 8 Benadryl! And finished this Nyquil!," He said, as he held up empty containers. Tears ran down his face and he licked them up with his tongue.

The cops arrived. My neighbor came upstairs. I sat there, not sure what was happening. They told me to step out, then come back in, then step out again. They had so many questions.

"I'm sorry," the cops said. "It's your word against his. We can't take him in unless he's a threat to you or himself."

"But here's the empty Ambien bottle! And here's the the empty Benadryl!" I held up the bottles.

"But it's your word against his." Crazy was standing there, snot and tears running down his face. His eyes were red. "Maybe let us talk to him in private," the cop said. "Maybe his story will change."

I went and sat on the step. Two minutes later, Clark pulled up. He and I had been best friends for the past 10 years; he was a brother and a best friend. And never before in all our friendship was I so happy to see him. As soon as he was out out of his car, I was in his arms, sobbing, explaining what was happening.

"Let's go up," he said, "and see what the status is."

I held his hand so tight. Clark: my best friend, the person who cared about me most in the giant state of Texas.

Crazy was in handcuffs. Snott was running down his face and when he caught my eye, he looked at me with intense anger.

"Well, he's admitted to wanting to kill himself," the cop said. "We're going to take him to the ER."

Clark squeezed my hand.

"You never loved me," Crazy said.

"I only want you to be safe," I said to Crazy.

Crazy was taken away. Clark stayed up with me all night. We baked 6 loaves of bread and watched the sun come up with cups of hazelnut coffee.

2 months later, Clark was laid off and moved back to our hometown.

Air Force Captain

He was an air force captain, and we met for drinks after exchanging 12 emails and a few phone calls over the course of two weeks.

He was cute enough, and certainly buff. His eyes were almost lavender and he smelled of bergmont.

He had a drink in front of him already, so I ordered my usual: scotch and soda.

The conversation was fine until I had had 3, maybe 4, sips of my drink.

"So," he asked, swirling his rum and coke. "What kind of birth control are you on?"

I nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

"Well, that's the point, right?"

As calmly as I could manage, I place my drink back on the cardboard coaster, folded my napkin, put it on the table, placed a $5 bill next to it, and stood up.

"A gentleman never assumes," I said before turning around and walking out the door.

28 days

I've been dating R. for 28 days. He's amazing, just what I've been looking for, which makes the whole thing kinda... no really... scary.

And here's the kicker: I haven't slept with him yet. My assistants are taking a pool as to when it'll happen, and if I hold out until it's been a full 2 months, they promise to buy me something pretty b/c I'll have won the pool.

Too bad they can read me like a book, otherwise I'd just lie ;)

The Amature UFC Fighter

We met for coffee, which turned into dinner.

Dude was cut, and obviously not wearing underwear under his linen pants, a fact he would admit to later.

Dinner, make-out. Dinner, movie, coffee, wandering around a bookstore, make-out. Dinner at his place, movie on tv, make-out. Dinner at his place, haunted house with his roommate + roommate's girlfriend, make-out.

I liked him. He was hot. Smart enough, but still in the "figuring things out phase," which made me feel like the protecting, doting lover.

Then he had to cancel on Saturday night. He was sick, and no, he did not need me to bring chicken soup.

Sunday he called but I was at the gym and missed it, so I called him. He didn't answer. He called back while I was at the dog park. I returned his call, no answer.

Finally an email. "You are too good for me. I'm an alcoholic. I wasn't sick, I was horribly hung over. You deserve better."

That was the end of my three weeks with the Amateur UFC Fighter.

sickening

One of Nick's exs posted a few paragraphs on his facebook memorial page about how much he meant to her, how lucky she was to have loved him, etc and so on and BARF.

She dumped him when the cancer came back. She told him that she was moving to South America to "escape the sadness" because she couldn't take his illness anymore.

Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend has cancer. He's in remission. The cancer comes back. And just when he needs you the most, when he needs consistency and love and reassurance, you decide to be a selfish c*nt and move to a remote country to work on a coffee bean plantation to gain inspiration for a novel you hope to write?

What the f*ck.

What.The.F*ck.

Eventually he saw you for what you were. He saw that you were selfish and that the entire relationship was him giving, giving, giving, and you never satisfied with what you got, never mind any reciprocity.

So don't go on lamenting on facebook that he was the greatest man you ever knew. Don't bother saying how much you loved him. Wasn't your fit of hysterics at the funeral enough? Wasn't it dramatic enough for you to throw yourself on the floor have have to be removed from your equally hysterical sisters?

Leave his sister, his parents, his family, and his true friends alone.

Because he deserved someone who would be there for him. And we were. You weren't.

LTExB

Long Term Ex Boyfriend and I did everything we were supposed to do.

I was at Prestigious Woman's College, and had done his masters at Ivy League. We spent weekends traveling up and down the coast, staying at cute bed and breakfasts, spending way too much money on fancy dinners, and visiting antique stores. We taught high school religious education, were involved in church activities, and volunteered our time.

Then I moved for grad school, so he moved, too.

Then things got sour, turned bad and before long, were abusive.

The plan was that I would move to where he was when I finished grad school. We bought a house there. I picked it, he bought it.

We set a date for when we'd get engaged and when we'd get married. I picked out my Tiffany ring, he bought it.

He started to get mad when I'd stay up later on the weekends with my girlfriends. Then it turned into, "don't wear your hair like that."

"That shirt makes you look like a whore."

"I don't like this friend, I don't want you seeing her/him anymore."

"You shouldn't paint your nails red, you aren't a hooker."

"You had two drinks? I thought we decided that one drink would be plenty when you went out with your friends."

"You don't need friends, you have me."

"Your job isn't a real job. I expect you to homeschool, keep the house, and keep me happy. That's what your real job will be."
"What about the $160,000 undergrad I have? And the grad school degree? Are those nothing?"
"They show me that you're going to be a good person."
"What about the career I've worked so hard for?"
"Your career isn't a serious career, sweetie."
"What about my parents' expectations of me?"
"They'll be happy you'll be off their 'payroll' and on mine."
"What about what I want?"
"You want me to be happy, and this is what I want. And it's what the Catholic Church wants, too."
"How can you say it's what the Catholic Church wants? Do you realize how delusional you are?"
"The Church says we should be a strong family. You should raise our children in a strong environment. We should be a model of the perfect traditional family."

My best friend said she never liked him, from the very beginning.

And as Nick's illness became worse, LTExB's behavior became increasingly worse as well. He didn't like I was taking care of someone else.

On Easter, Nick came over for dinner. Just the two of us. LTExB and I had had a huge fight the night before, and my eyes had been red all through Easter mass. He called again as Nick and I were finishing dessert. Nick asked if he should leave, I said no, I need you here. And he stayed, and after the call, he picked the shattered pieces of my body off the floor, put me on the couch, and sat there with me until I could breathe again.

Breaking up with LTExB was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. It should have happened years earlier, when my best friend said she didn't like him. He could have happened numerous occasions before. But he had be pulled it and held so tight. I didn't know how to leave.

Architect #1

We met for margaritas at my favorite place in the neighborhood. He lived across the street and walked over, getting there before me. He stood to greet me when I arrived and I noticed he was tall.

Architect+tall+handsome=good in my book

Within a few minutes, I noticed he had a facial twitch. Not too bad, just enough to be distracting.

We hit it off, I guess. We spent a few nights a week hanging out. Usually we'd grab a bite to eat and watch a few episodes of Arrested Development on DVD. We started sleeping together. I think we maybe had sex 3 times. But each time, the condom would break. We'd laugh it off, finish, and then take a shower.

He was cute, witty, smart, and a gentleman.

He came over to my place only once. We had dinner, a few beers, and then I fell asleep. He woke me up and we started talking about the weekend. He wanted to take a trip to the Hill Country for the weekend. I made a joke about how many condoms we could break.

I guess he was looking to get serious. And I guess I could have, but my joke made him think I was only in it to get laid.

That's the last night we hung out. We didn't talk for a few days, so I sent him a text message asking him to return my Arrested Development DVDs. And he did, while I was at work.

fears

R. treats me incredibly well.

So did Major Dentist. So did E. So did LTExB. (That's the three of my longest boyfriends.)

So did Nick. He was the only one I didn't sleep with.

I'm holding out. I want this to go well. I want him to like me and not just the sex. Is that what happened with the other three? Well, I know for certain it did with one of them. (One was crazy, the third abusive.)

And then there's the part of me that says, hey, why bother with this guy, it won't work. He'll be abusive. He'll treat you like crap. He'll have an addiction to something. He'll die.

Just when I think I'm in an okay place, I take a step back. Or two steps.

I don't want to screw this up, but I don't know how to do it right.

Nick

Nick and LTExB hated each other, and for good reason. Nick hated that LTExB treated me so poorly; LTExB hated that Nick treated me so well. He loved me, and I loved him, but by the time we realized it, we were out of time. He was dying.

I think about Nick daily. The holidays aren't any harder than any other day. As time goes on, it hurts less, and the good times are those I recall more frequently. But as I start this new relationship with R., I find myself comparing him to Nick. I know there will never be another Nick. He was the sort of guy who I couldn't introduce to my friends because they would instantly have a crush on him. The kind of guy who could be the life of the party not because he was full of himself, but because he made everyone else feel good about themselves. The kink of guy who could look reach through the fog of bullshit that surrounded me because of LTExB, grab my hand, and pull me out.

We didn't have a very long friendship; we met only in April of one year and he passed away in August of the following. But over those 16 months, we became more than friends; we were each other's lifelines. We had our friends, we had school and work and family. But at the end of the day, we came back to each other. We were support; it was a deep friendship filled with conversation and many, many special memories. And as silly as it may sound, all of my favorite moments center around mundane, every day occurrences, when we were just two people living our everyday lives in parallel. Maybe it’s because Nick and I met in the laundry room; we both arrived at the same time and unfortunately, we each had two loads. (Ever the problem solver, Nick suggested we combine our whites.) He made some small talk, but I had had a long day that day, so I wasn't too talkative. He did enough talking for both of us until I was drawn out of my mood, and then we talked until all three loads were dry and folded. After that day, we'd always end up stopping by each other's places on the way to the laundry room. "Bam, I'm doing laundry," he'd say. "Come talk with me?" And of course I always would, because he would always do the same for me.

I loved working the occasional Saturday nights, because I knew that around 10:30, Nick would text me and ask what kind of sandwich I wanted. I'd go to his always-freezing place after work to a Jimmy John's sub and Nick’s laughter. It would be cold in Nick’s apartment, so after I sat on the couch, he’d throw the grey fleece blanket on me. We’d sit on the couch, and he’d be restless for a while, trying to get comfortable, the whole time asking me what I want to watch. We’d decide on a movie, or an SNL episode (the one with Feist and Brian Williams being a favorite), or an animated television show. I’d sit somewhat sideways, with my toes tucked into the crack of the sofa cushions, the tops of my feet against his hip and the side of his thigh. If I make a comment during the show, he’d stop the program, and have me repeat what I said before responding. Sometimes I have to repeat myself again. Then he’d rewind the show to where we were before I started talking. Sometimes he’d look over at me. Sometimes I’d steal a glance at him. I loved his loud laugh. He’d look at me when I giggled. His arm would drape across the back of the couch, and he’d lean slightly toward me. Sometimes I would start to fall asleep, but when he laughed, I’d wake up and feel happy. I was always happy when we were together.

Both of us had many, many difficult phone conversations winter/spring 2008, and we'd rely on each other before, during, and after, to help get through them. He helped me out of a dangerous, unhealthy situation, and I wouldn't have been able to do it without his unwavering support and confidence in me. My family and other friends were too close to the situation; he was close to only me, and could offer me support in a way that others couldn't. I could do the same for him, too, and he needed me just as much. But he was too proud to ask for help, so he came up with a goofy phrase that meant, "I need you now. Hurry." He'd use it over phone, in text messages, and when he'd show up at my door at all hours of the night. But when I said it, he'd laugh, because I had no problem asking for help!

I have a few memories that I haven't written down yet. One is like a dream, you know the kind, where you think if you close your eyes, you may be able to change the ending, but really all you want is to see the details again. But the more you think about it, the further it gets, so you think about it as a global concept without the details. So I'm going to write it down now, so I don't forget.

It was April, and Nick and his mom were coming to town. I asked if he wanted me to pick them up from the airport and he said yes please, that my name "was called upon very highly in [their] home." I did what I usually did, and asked if they needed anything in the fridge for when the got there. He said not to worry, his mom would go shopping. But when I picked them up, he asked if he could borrow some milk, so I brought up a pink thermos with skim (even though he hated skim; it was either that or soy, which to him was even worse.) Fast forward a few days, and it was time to take them back to the airport. Mrs. M was still packing, and there was a knock on my door. It was Nick, returning my thermos. He thanked me for the milk, and then went rambling on about timing. The timing is so bad, I don't want to go back, but I don't want to stay here either, and wouldn't it have been great if we had met earlier, like right when you moved to here, wouldn't that have been great? But the timing could get better, you know, and things could always change, and the doctors are coming up with some awesome treatments, and you don't have to move to Texas, I could stay in here, or you could go somewhere else, too, like somewhere back east, but really the way things had worked out, they sucked, but isn't it awesome we had each other, and we got to be so close, but I wish things had been different, I wish I could change things, I wish I could do the things I wanted to, and be the person I want to be right now, right here.

I was working on my thesis when he had knocked. I was deep into my research, and I didn't understand what he was saying. It didn't make sense. I wanted him to blurt out what he was trying to say.

He went back upstairs. I went up a few minutes later. Mrs. M and I talked in the hallway about Nick, about how much we both loved him. He came up with his suitcases, and asked us what we were up to just as pieces of paper with or phone numbers changed hands. We said nothing, we were just talking.

At the airport, his mom took her luggage to the sidewalk while Nick and I said our goodbyes.

“Call me, okay? Let me know you got in safe.”

“Okay.” He hugged me.

I pulled away and smiled. “No you won’t,” I said. “You suck at using the phone.”

“But I will.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because when I hugged you, I smelled your hair. And I wouldn’t smell your hair if I didn’t mean what I said, that I’ll call you.” He was holding my shoulders, looking straight into my eyes. He was wearing that shirt I bought, the brown one that he had worn for four days in a row once.

“You smelled my hair?” I smiled and raised my eyebrows.

“Yeah, like this.” We hug again, and this time, I felt him inhale, and my hair move away from my neck. We kissed cheeks, and I felt so safe.

Mom and Grandma

Apparently they are saying a novena this year that I may find a husband.

In (un?)related news, R. and I spent roughly 2.4 hours per day for each of the 10 days I was home talking on the phone. He and I are now a "we," as we decided this afternoon after a day of yummy food, movies, and snuggling in bed.