This weekend, the boy came to visit me for the first time, ever. Yes, first time ever. In the year and a half we've known each other, I think he only came to my apartment to hang once or twice (on each occasion we drove there together), and other than that, it has always been me coming to his house, swinging out of my way to visit him on a whim, or planning a trip to see him. (Heck, I even drove to see him when we had part II of our breakup last fall.) It's all in the past now, I swear. But still, him coming to visit me was a HUGE DEAL. (Such a huge deal it is the one thing some of my friends felt was a make-or-break deal for whether I should give him another chance.)
Anyway, the point is, he came to see me! JUST to see me. On a weekend. With no other plans. To do whatever we wanted. Together.
I messed around with my work schedule at the end of last week so I'd have an easy day on Friday and not worry about being stuck there after 6 like I am some nights, or have work hanging over my head for Monday. (I ran out of that place at 3:00!) The boy broke away from visiting his family an hour away to drive out to see my house and my city and my life. I was beside myself all week. Like the last time he said he was going to visit, which didn't end up working out, I had this faint feeling in the back of my mind that something would come up. Not because he's a bad guy, but because that's just our luck. I didn't mention it as an official happening to anyone until the day of (and this was to my roommate). When 4:00 rolled around and he called to say he was on his way, I hung up the phone and started CRYING. That's how excited I was and how long I have waited for this.
He got in around 5, and we spent good quality time catching up and chatting about life. It was so easy and just fun. I drove him around my neighborhood and gave him a tour of the retirement community where I work. While I prepped dinner, we snuggled with drinks and watched our favorite show and laughed. It was the best date we've ever had. Later that night, we walked uptown to see the nightlife and had a couple drinks out. After sleeping later than anticipated Saturday morning (he originally said he wanted to be up and at 'em at 8 so he could head home and get to studying for Step 2), we made eggs and bacon and he helped me clean up the kitchen from the night before before saying goodbye for another period of who-knows-how-long.
Looking back, I think the last part was my favorite part of the weekend. Not the saying goodbye, but cleaning up the kitchen together. It was an act of service, he was doing something to help me after I had done something for him. We were working together to accomplish something, and we did it well. Neither of us needed to take control of the situation, and we took turns with each task. We didn't step on each others' toes or bump heads or argue about anything. I thought maybe this was a good illustration of compatibility. Of course it's not everything... But it felt really good to do something simple together after all the questioning and confusion and ambiguity and uncertainty we have tried to figure out the last several months.
We really do work well together. There might be some extra large dishes that don't fit in the dishwasher or a sticky crusty pan that needs some extra attention, but if we keep working hard it, eventually we'll get it all right and we'll get to keep cooking and eating and cleaning together for years to come.
:)
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