Three dots appear within seconds.
Good morning
Relief hits embarrassingly hard as a rush of air leaves my lungs.I lean back against my kitchen counter, coffee warming my hands while snow falls beyond the windows overlooking the lake.
Any interest in helping me Christmas shop today?
A pause.Then bubbles.
That depends.Are you one of the impossible people to shop with?
I have to buy gifts for the guys, their girls, and now Larkin too, and I’m told “cash” is frowned upon.
Her laugh practically echoes through the phone.
Oh no.You’re one of those men.
I don’t know what that means.
Yes you do.
Another pause.
Pick me up at noon.
And just like that, my entire chest feels lighter for the first time in days.
Christmas shopping with Vanessa turns out to be both fun and vaguely humiliating.Mostly because she discovers almost immediately that I have no idea how normal people buy gifts.
“You cannot buy Dean a six-hundred-dollar espresso machine.”
“Why not?”
“Because then everyone else is made to feel their gifts are inadequate.”
“I fail to see the issue.”
Vanessa laughs in disbelief beneath the giant Christmas tree inside the crowded downtown shopping center, cheeks pink from the cold while she reaches for a sweater folded on a display table.The sound still does something catastrophic to my insides.
And Christ.This is what she meant when she said no hidden rooms.She just wants to live a normal life, in crowded stores, our cold hands tangled together as we argue over whether Mikey would wear a beanie with tiny skulls on it.
Normal.The realization sits peacefully in my chest the entire afternoon.Vanessa notices everything.I can tell by the way her expression softens each time I include her in decisions, ask her opinion, and tell her stories about the band.It’s not performative either.It’s easy and open.
By the time I drop her back at her apartment later that evening, something between us feels steadier.It’s still fragile, but I can tell we’re healing.
Monday is quieter.I make an effort to still give her space, but we text throughout the day.She sends me a funny photo of Vinny, and complains about a donor that pulled out at the museum for a piece she was looking forward to restoring.I text her a picture of Dean asleep in the studio captioned, “creative genius at work”, and send her a clip of the song we’re working on.
There’s no pressure, no pushing.We’re just present for each other, and somehow that feels even more intimate than before.
Tuesday almost kills me.I haven’t seen her in forty-eight hours and I miss her.By the time I pull up outside the museum after work, I’ve spent the entire day trying too hard not to overthink if being here is okay.
Then she steps outside, and it’s like nothing else exists.Her hair falls loose around her shoulders tonight, her breaths leaving her in white cloudy puffs from the cold, while she tugs gloves onto her hands before spotting me leaning against my Audi.And smiles.And damn, that smile could resurrect the dead.
I push off the car before she reaches me, unable to wait to close the distance between us.
“Hey you.”Her smile growing brighter.“This is a nice surprise.”
“I missed you.”Why not just tell her why I’m here?I don’t want there to be any doubt from her about how I’m feeling.And this time, it’s less awkward, less uncertain as I lean forward to kiss her.
