We've been looking at houses for the past month.Nothing serious yet.Just getting a feel for what's out there.But this one on Maple Street has three bedrooms, a big backyard, and it's in a good school district.
It's also way more house than I thought I'd ever be able to afford.
But Timothy keeps saying "we."Like it's a given that we're buying it together.Like it's a given that we're building a life together.
Which I guess we are.
"What time's your last class tonight?"he asks.
"Seven thirty.I should be home by eight fifteen."
"I'll have dinner ready."
He's been doing that a lot lately.Cooking dinner.Making sure I eat.Making sure I take care of myself.It used to annoy me, the hovering.But now I just accept it.It's how he shows love.
And I love him for it.
"Vincent and his wife are coming over Sunday," Timothy says."Jonah too.We're grilling out."
"Sounds good."
"Yvette's bringing her famous potato salad."
"I've never had it."
"You're in for a treat."
I finish my sandwich and crumple up the wrapper."I should get back."
"You've still got ten minutes."
"I want to prep for the afternoon."
He nods and leans over, kissing me again.Longer this time.Deeper.His hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, and I'm melting into him.
When we break apart, I'm breathing hard.
"You're trouble," I say.
"You love it."
"I do."
I get out of the car and head back to the building.When I glance over my shoulder, Timothy is watching me.He always watches until I'm inside.
Old habits die hard.
***
THAT NIGHT, I'M EXHAUSTED.The class covered fractions in the afternoon, and trying to explain them to twenty-three seven-year-olds is like herding cats.By the time I get to my night class, my brain is fried.
But I push through.Take notes.Participate in the discussion.Do what I need to do.
When I get home, Timothy is in the kitchen.The apartment smells like garlic and tomatoes, and my stomach growls.
"Pasta?"I guess.
"Spaghetti and meatballs.Your favorite."
