It’s storming outside. The first rainfall of November occurring while I’m heading home can’t be a coincidence. It’s too aligned with my cold and dreary mood to be happening by chance.
At least it’s a reminder that the year is coming to a close. This is when people cling to the promises of holidays andfamily get-togethers, because this weather feels like sadness and heartbreak.
I cling to that small light now. I remind myself there’s warmth on the other side of the door, while desperately fumbling with my keys.
Today sucked. Realizing that silence in the face of adversity doesn’t equate to success, hurts. Doing that once with my peers, then another during my interview, makes everything ten times worse. I’m disappointed, annoyed, and—most of all—unsatisfied.
It feels too much to hold at once—until I’m able to swing the front door open and Locke is there. Standing in the kitchen with tongs in hand and a shy grin on his face.
“Welcome home, Princess.”
The weight lightens. It’s still pressing down on my chest, but I can only be so upset with life when coming home to green eyes and a heart of gold.
“Hi, love.”
My shoes are kicked off and coat tossed over my forearm. Ghost starts to patter his way to me until he sees the raindrops and runs back into the hallway. It brings a small smile to my face, at least.
I finally take more than three steps into the apartment when the smell hits me. The distinct scent of soy sauce and vinegar is unmistakable. There’s no food more comforting to me. In my favorite memories growing up, during a random weekday dinner, or at a huge family gathering, it was always there. A more soothing or nostalgic food doesn’t exist for me.
I know chicken adobo almost as well as I know my own name.
“Is that…”
Locke is in front of me before I can finish the sentence. My bag is taken from my grasp, an arm wrapped around my waist, and a soft kiss gets pressed onto my forehead.
His free hand messes with his glasses and the ice around my heart melts. “I just wanted to try. It’s probably not good. Grant has a blog he really likes, and they had an adobo recipe, so I thought…”
He shuffles around awkwardly in his anime pajamas and life doesn’t feel as unfair anymore.
I still have reasons to be angry. I stillamangry, in a section of my heart, where I keep my lifelong hopes and dreams.
In the part of my soul where Locke has manifested, though, warmth spreads again. Defrosting the distress of the day and reminding me that within the four walls of our home, my worries can float a million miles away.
Wrapping my arms tight around him, I mumble into Locke’s chest, “I had a bad day.”
“What happened? Was it Jeremiah?”
There’s a tilt to his tone. The usual, gentle concern for me is still there. It’s just partnered with a directness that only emerged during at the bar.
“It’s just life. It’s a lot to explain.” I will explain. Later. When I’ve let myself fall completely into the comfort of my safe space. “You just need to know that I’m onto the next round.”
“Rosie! That’s great!” His hand finds a spot under my chin, turning my head up to meet his gaze. The excited glint in his eyes is so adorable, it breaks my heart to see it disappear so fast. “Why aren’t we cheering and celebrating?”
“Life.” I huff. “It’ll be okay, though. I’m sure. I just kind of want to stand here with you for a bit, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
Drenched from the rain, and definitely transferring water to his shirt, Locke doesn’t let go of me. He holds me to his body and keeps me warm.
I can hear the rain rattling against our windows. The storm is picking up. The steady drop in temperature in our poorly insulated dorm doesn’t go unnoticed, either.
Yet, in his arms, I never feel cold.
The heartbreak weather that soaked me on the way home is counteracted by the love swirling around us. That’s all I can describe it as. Coming home and wanting to be around Locke, because even with negative things weighing on my mind, he grounds me again.
He holds me without questioning. Doesn’t complain about the silence around us. Even before I arrived, it was like he knew what I needed—preparing a dish that brings me comfort. From my culture. One that feels like nostalgia and home.
It can’t be anything but love.
