My bathroom mirror has a crooked heart and the wordsI Volunteerwritten at the bottom corner with some type of marker that I secretly hope never comes off, and a four-pack of energy drinks was left in the fridge with a note that says, “Each can will cost you a kiss.”
Good thing I’m the only one who drinks these.
When I turn to the page he marked in my notebook, I’m temporarily mortified. I forgot it was wide open on my desk.
He might tease me a little about finding his own words, but he gets it. He writes too. If anything, he’ll encourage me to write more the same way he constantly coaxes me to sing.
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight without kissing you so thoroughly you couldn’t wait to come home to me.”
I never wanted to forget those words even if they were only hypothetical.
His slanty handwriting in the margin grips me by the heart.
“I’m ready when you are.”
Nobody wake me.
The next page has a hand-drawn guitar chord diagram reminiscent of the tabs Joey used to draw me when I was a kid. I follow the dots on his perfectly straight tabs, strumming through his instructions on my guitar.
“All I Have To Do Is Dream.”
He either didn’t sleep the night he stayed in my room or was up long before the sun, but one thing is clear: I wasalwaysthe plan.
There haven’t been any more angry messages from Nathan, and I’ve slowly made my way through answering friends who saw the video of Sam’s show. Most were just shocked, asking if it was really me or some doppelgänger. It’s no secret that I like to sing, but that particularly public event was about ten miles outside my comfort zone and everyone knows it.
Alex:What the heck was THAT?
Joey:Was that so hard? All I ever asked you to do was play rhythm, and now you’re willing to sing? Brat.
My Nathan-induced hyper-awareness, expecting the unexpected at all times, has slowly dissipated and been replaced with something almost like contentment. It feels so good to sit around watching movies after work and not hesitate when Sammy mentions writing together or recording backing tracks.
The guys fell asleep in the living room after watching a season ofFull House, and Annie and I tossed some blankets on them and went to bed without a care in the world.
My guard is lowering. Part of me knows better, but even without Jude physically near, this week has been so peaceful.
I can breathe.
By Friday all I can think about is seeing Jude. My wake-up call is live and in real time but brief, since he’s trying to pack up before class.
He strums the last few notes of “Heaven” by Warrant before closing his guitar back in its case. “Are you ready for me to koala the heck out of you all weekend?”
“So ready,” I say, willing myself to climb out of bed and get ready for the day while he watches me through the screen.
He hesitates slightly before asking his next question. “Would you want to go to church and visit with Aunt J Sunday?”
“Of course.” I smile, loving the possibilities of our new normal together. “Might as well get the I-told-you-sos out of the way.”
“You can count on that.” His grin spreads warmth through my belly. I love how happy he looks. “I’m not sure what time I can leave town. You know how Friday traffic is, but I’ll try to let you know when I leave or if I get stuck anywhere. I can’t wait to see you. Have a good day, Punk.”
I echo his sentiment and end the call, but my phone lights up with his face again before I can put it down.
“Hey,” he says when I answer.
“Miss me already?” I tease, expecting a reminder to lock the door, but his reply doesn’t hold the same playful tone.
“I love you,” he says softly with a needy tug at my heart. “If I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“I love you too, Jude Daniel. Hurry up and get yourself home to me.”
