Page 99 of Britta & the Beach Boy
I hope you’re being serious.
I hold my breath as I push send.
My face is only slightly blue when his text comes in soon after.
Deadset.
There’s no holding back my grin now. Or my relief.
Except Dex is leaving tomorrow, and I haven’t spent much time with him sinceFrothedopened. As busy and crazy as my life has been, I miss him. I thought, when we decided not to have a real relationship, that staying busy would be enough to fill every empty place in my heart. I’m a little afraid of what it means that being busy isn’t enough.
But also, a little excited.
Does that mean I’m ready for love? Maybe. But I’m still not sure I’m ready for the pain and heartache that so often goes hand-in-hand with loving someone. A hand in mine through life’s difficulties, though, would be nice. A shared calendar with regular date nights; waking up next to someone, or—better yet—in his arms; having a person to laugh and cry with; necessary hugs. I think I might be ready for all that, even if with Dex’s schedule, it would mean a lot of days and nights alone, too.
Will I see you before you leave?
I’ve got an event tonight but will try to cut out early.
I debate whether to give his reply a heart or a thumbs up, but what I mostly feel is disappointment we won’t have more time together, even if he leaves his event early. A thumbs down feels too dramatic, so I go with the thumbs up. It’s really my only option.
Then I go back to work, less stressed and a lot lighter than I’ve felt in days. The question that keeps rolling through my head, when I’m not making coffee or doing one of the thousand other things I have to do, is why I thought it would be easier to keepdistance between Dex and me instead of staying close enough we can buoy each other up.
I don’t have an answer until I get home after seven pm, exhausted, hungry, and ready for human interaction that doesn’t involve any kind of work. But the house is dark, and Dex isn’t home. I’m alone again.
I make myself some spaghetti, including extra for Dex, in case he gets home soon. Around eight o’clock, I put it in a Tupperware and stick it in the fridge. When the clock hits nine, I can barely keep my eyes open.
I take a quick shower, then climb into bed. I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow. So dead asleep that when someone says my name, I gasp awake, not sure where I am or who’s standing over me.
“It’s just me, Britt,” Dex whispers.
“What time is it?” I’m still disconcerted.
“Around eleven. Sorry I’m so late.”
I roll onto my back to see him better. “That’s okay. I crashed early. What time’s your flight tomorrow?”
He put it on the calendar, but my head’s still fuzzy.
“Seven am. We’re leaving at five.”
So, we won’t get time together before he goes. I don’t say that aloud, but he must sense it because he brushes a lock of hair from my forehead, a gesture that sends pinpricks of fire down my spine every time he does it.
“Mind if we cuddle tonight?” he asks.
I don’t have to think about it. I’ve already made space for him before I answer. “I’d like that.”
Dex climbs in, and I find the space that’s become so familiar to me in the pocket between his shoulder and chest.
“I like the calendar,” he says, pulling me close.
“I like to know where you are. You don’t feel so far away when I know you’ll be home again.” If I were more awake, I could beless vulnerable. I could just sayI like schedules.It would be the truth, just not the whole of it.
But the work of keeping my heart locked is exhausting. I’ve always been able to bury myself in work. Work kept me from breaking down in tears every day Mom got a little worse. I can’t do it now. Not when I have a chance at more happiness than pain.
“I like being able to schedule time with you,” Dex says in a tone that is both teasing and serious. “I’ve missed you. I’m going to miss you even more these next two weeks.”
I scoot in closer, breathing in his scent, locking it into my memory for the next two weeks or more. The fact I’m holding Dex as close as I can is the only way I can communicate how much I’m going to miss him. I don’t have any words left. I let his warmth and the sound of his breathing lull me back to sleep.
