“You’re a gem,” she says, taking the cup and helping herself to a long drink. “You’d think I’ve never had water before.” She sets the water on the side table, then pats the couch cushion in between us. “Come on. Let’s do something fun. The girls are asleep, and I really wanna binge the newCount of Monte Cristoseries and eat an entire half gallon of ice cream directly out of the container. Are you going to help me to do it, or what?”
I retrieve my purse from the floor and tuck my phone inside, suddenly certain that a distraction is exactly what I need. “Yes, andabsolutelyyes,” I say. Then I head to the kitchen for the ice cream.
It’safter midnight when I finally get home from Anna’s. I don’t expect to hear from Carter, but after I feed Gordie and get ready for bed, I find a new textwaiting for me.
Carter
Are you still up?
I snuggle under my covers and key out my response.
Sarah
I stayed late at Anna’s bingeing a new series with her, so I just got home.
Gordie says hello.
Carter
He’s with you now?
I take a quick photo of Gordie snuggled into the crook of my arm and send it to Carter.
Carter
I have never been so jealous of a cat.
Sarah
I’m jealous of YOU because now you have two selfies of me…and I have NONE of you…
Seconds later, a photo pops up.
Carter is sitting on the bed in what I’m guessing is his hotel room, a book open on his lap,annnndhe’s shirtless.
It’s not even fair how good he looks. He’s not flexing. Not posing. He’s just…reading.And it’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen all day.
Suddenly, I understand exactly what Anna meant about photos I don’t have to share with the general public. This picture of Carter is infinitely better than anything I’ve seen on social media. It feels intimate, completely private, and meantjust for me.
Over the next week and a half, Carter and I text every single day. Sometimes, there’s only time for a message or two—I’m sure his schedule is grueling—but he always texts before he goes to sleep at night and again when he wakes up in the morning.
Most of what we talk about is completely random, even a little silly. He tells me the story of having an entire interaction with a fan at a pre-game meet-and-greet, not realizing until the very end that she thought he was his brother the entire time. He ended up signing Theo’s name when she asked for his autograph because he thought that would be kinder than embarrassing her by telling the truth.
I send him countless pictures of baby Fiona, who is growing and thriving and getting cuter every single day.
We talk about music and movies and books and crossword puzzles.
But there are three things we don’t talk about.
We don’t talk about my childhood.
We don’t talk about why I can’t watch hockey games.
And we don’t talk about the kiss we shared right before he left.
I know wewilltalk about these things. Of course we will. I don’t think either of us wants to have an officialdefine the relationshiptalk over text, or even over a phone call. It makes sense we’re intentionally avoiding the subject. But it still makes me antsy, more and more anxious the closer we get to him coming home.
I can’t stop thinking about the things I need to tell him that are going to be hard to say out loud.
