“I’m not most people. Come on.” He grabbed one of the boxes. “Let’s find places for everything.”
I groaned but got up to help. “You’re very particular, you know that?”
“And you’re very messy. It’s a good thing I like you.”
We spent the next few hours finding homes for everything. Clothes in the closet—Marco insisted I take half the space, reorganizing his own things to make room. Trophies on the bookshelf in the living room, next to his. The photo of my mother on the dresser in the bedroom, where I’d see it every morning.
My favorite chipped coffee mug in the cabinet next to his NYC one. Boxer briefs in the dresser drawer with his. My first pair of hockey skates in the closet.
“Where do you want this?” Marco held up a hockey stick signed by one of my early hockey heroes.
“I don’t know. Closet?”
“We should hang it somewhere.”
I looked at him. “You want to hang my childhood idol’s stick in your house?”
“Our house,” he corrected. “And yeah. Why not? It’s part of who you are.”
My chest went warm. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s hang it.”
By the time we finished, the living room was clear, the boxes were broken down and stacked by the recycling bin, and every suitcase was empty and stored in the hall closet.
Marco surveyed the living room with satisfaction. “Much better.”
I pulled him down onto the couch beside me. “Happy now?”
“Very.” He leaned into me. “Your stuff looks good here.”
“Yeah?” I looked around. My trophies mixed with his on the shelves. My newer PlayStation sat below the TV. The puck from my first NHL goal rested on the coffee table. “It does, doesn’t it?” I tilted my head to kiss him. “Now can we please order dinner? I’m exhausted.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Let’s order dinner.”
Monday morning came too early.
I had to be at the airport by noon for the flight. Ten-day roadie: Buffalo, Carolina, Detroit, New Jersey, and Pittsburgh. Five games in ten grueling days.
The longest I’d been away from Marco since we’d gotten together.
I packed my bag slowly, Marco watching from the bed.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“You’ll be busy. Games, practices, travel. It’ll go fast.”
“For me maybe. What about you?”
“I’ll start skating in a week. Getting ready to come back.” He smiled. “And I’ll be here when you get back. In our house.”
Our house. I still wasn’t used to saying it.
“Text me,” I said. “Every day. Tell me how skating goes. Tell me everything.”
“I will. You focus on playing.”
I finished packing and checked I had everything. Came back to the bed where Marco was still sitting.
He stood, and I pulled him close, kissed him thoroughly, tried to memorize the feeling of him in my arms.
