“I know, but a girl can dream,” my girl said, halting any more conversation.
Then we ended up back in bed. For the day.
After a few days of bliss, Bess told me she was going in early the next morning for work, but she would be home around two o’clock. Figuring I could use the time to catch up on e-mails and calls, I begrudgingly told her that would be fine.
When she got home, we spent the afternoon taking a walk in Cooke Forest with Brooks by our side, his tail wagging madly. With every step we took together, holding hands, my fears and anxiety drained further from my bones.
Yes, I still craved my life in Florida. The office, the hours, the job ... they were indeed my coping mechanisms. But I was facing my demons here in the chilly air with the leaves turning all around me, and began to feel a glimmer of hope that everything might turn out okay for us.
Bess had packed lunch and we stopped for a picnic, sitting on rocks next to a stream bubbling beside us. We warmed our bodies with coffee she’d packed in a thermos, and while rubbing all over each other in a mad kiss on the mountain.
When we got back from our adventure, she told me about work before making dinner. That was when the air changed, and I wasn’t sure why. Bess was busy destroying a salad she was making, taking out some unknown tension on the poor lettuce when I asked, “What’s up,” placing my hands over hers, stilling her jerky movements.
“I just feel like a bad person ... girlfriend ... or whatever I am,” she said in a tight voice, jolting my heart.
Bad?
Turning her to face me, I said, “Why would you think that?”
Her eyes wide with emotion, they brimmed with tears until they began to overflow.
“Bess, what the hell?”
“B-because I’m here making dinner after a beautiful day together and I don’t have any beer or wine to offer you.” She sniffed, reaching up a hand to wipe at her nose as she said,“I don’t think it bothered me that you have a cocktail when we’ve been out in the past, but I just don’t think I’m good with keeping any of that around, here in my house.”
At that, her shoulders heaved and she began to wail.
I was at a loss, but did my best to find the right words. “Bess, I don’t need beer or wine. I’m fine. You don’t need to keep any of that stuff for me, and I can clear my house out. This moment is perfect, baby. No substances needed to make it any better.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, sniffing back tears. “I just feel like if this were a real relationship, you’d be having a cocktail while I made dinner.”
“This is a real relationship, Bess.”
“But it—”
I dug deep inside me, thinking fast for a solution. “Bess, I’ve been here for four days, and you haven’t been to a meeting. I don’t know much about all that, but I know you go and it’s important that you do. Maybe you need to do that tonight?”
Averting her eyes, she said, “I didn’t want you to see that part of my life.”
Frustrated, I tipped her chin up so she could see me. “Bess, did you hear me? Thisisa real relationship. I know we’re both avoiding talking about the geographic difference between where we live, but this is real. I told you the truth about all my secrets, and you accepted me. I want all of you, accept all of you, love every bit of you ... meetings and all.”
“Are you sure?” she whispered, her eyes red and her lower lip trembling.
I walked over to the oven and flicked it off. “Is there a meeting? Soon?”
She nodded.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing the car keys.
