Accepted Everywhere You Wanna Be

(Day 6 of 30 in 30)

“Hey, beautiful girl.”
“Hey.”
“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t get it.”
“Wait- are you serious?!”
“Yep.”
“I can’t believe this shit.”
“Me neither.”
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
“Me too.”
“Damn. I wish I could at least give you a hug or something.”

We both sigh on opposite ends on the country. But for different reasons.

“Are you walking outta work?”
“Yeah. On my way to the gym.”
“Skip the gym.”

This catches my attention. Mostly because he never tells me to skip the gym. For any reason of any kind. Not rain or snow or sleet. I am the goddamn USPS when it comes to making Zumba class because of him. Although I should admit, my waistline thanks him.

“You’re telling me to skip the gym?”
“Yep. We gotta Skype date.”
“I don’t know…” I trail off, mostly because I don’t feel like being charming or funny or, to be quite frank, nice to other people when I am feeling so shitty. There is also a small part of me that is feeling a bit vain; my hair is barely fluffed into a presentable halo of curls. I have been reeling from this disappointing news for days, and I haven’t bothered to put on any makeup. My boobs look cute though, so this gives me some hope.

“Yep. Gonna make a deal with you. Tomorrow we both gotta go spin. But tonight, we eat French fries and Skype. Deal?”

I smile. Bigger than I have in a few days. He is sweet in ways I have been unfamiliar with for a very long time. And he has lured me with the promise of my favorite food to emotionally eat, that I haven’t in many pounds.

“Small fries.” Now I hear him smiling on his end of the phone.
“Deal. I’ll see you in an hour, pretty.”

A little over an hour later, I am curled up on my bed, bouyed by fries and the touch of lipgloss I slipped on right before I logged in. We are chatting and laughing, and against my better judgement, I am smiling at his face on my computer screen.

“I really am sorry, you know.”
“I know you are.”
“I thought it would work out for you. I really did.”
“Me too. Though, I would think you would want things to work out this way.”
“What?! Why?”
“Cuz for every professional setback I endure, I get closer and closer to moving there and just becoming your wife and a stay-at-home mom.”
“Well, I would love you here, of course. But not if it meant you had to be miserable to get you to me.”

I lay back across the bed, his voice in my headphones, appreciative of him being him. And basking in being wanted. Somewhere.

Even if somewhere isn’t where I am.