Thirty-Eight
Winter
Iwas a little bit disappointed that Saint wanted to eat inside our favorite—and if I’m honest, only—Chinese restaurant instead of grabbing food to go and taking it back to his place.
But we eat as we talk about how mutually crappy both of our weeks have been, and before long, we’re headed to his house.
When he drives down the familiar street, relief fills me.
For a second, I was worried he was changing his mind.
I was afraid that maybe I messed up too badly and I couldn’t fix what I broke, therefore making it a terribly awkward situation, as most of my belongings are now on his back porch.
So the fact that we’re headed to his house means things are looking up, and hopefully things aren’t about to get really weird once he finds out what I did.
When we get there, we start out by sitting in the living room.
I know there are still things needing to be said, but I can’t stand the thought of us being so far apart, so I end up pushing Saint onto the couch where I stretch out next to him.
Lying here in the comfort of his arms gives me the strength to pick up our conversation from earlier.
I tell him about how my agent said my job was on the line if I wasn’t at the meeting with the publishers. Despite showing up, they still fired me, and so did my agent. He asks me tons of questions about the big blowout fight that took place in New York and then asks about what I plan to do.
I can see walls coming up behind his eyes, like he’s getting himself prepared in case I tell him I’m leaving again, but I’m not.
“I’m sorry that I left the way I did. I was scared and I ran.” It was hard to admit, but being vulnerable with Saint doesn’t feel like a weakness. It feels like a puzzle piece fitting into a space that was once empty.
“I did a lot of thinking when I was in New York. Not just about my job but also about us. About everything, really. The whole time I was there, I wished to be here.”
The guarded look retreats a little as I go on.
“When I woke up every morning, one of the first thoughts I had was that I wished I were waking up next to you, even if it meant having your clunky boots, the ones that I’ve tripped over so many times, under my bed. So I’m hoping that’s something you’ll agree to.”
“My boots being under your bed?” he asks with a serious tone, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Or well… I guess really, my boots under your bed. That is if you’ll have me.” I wait silently, barely able to stop myself from breathing like a wounded animal.
Oh God, I basically just asked him if I could move in with him. This was a terrible idea. How freaking embarrassing this will be later, after he turns me down, and maybe even laughs at me for being so bold.
But he doesn’t turn me down.
“Yes,” he whispers, eyes suspiciously misty. “Of course I want you here, Winnie.”
I laugh in relief before he kisses me and asks me when I’ll be moving in.
“Well, about that.” I pull him up from the couch and go to the back door.
When I open it, several of my suitcases are sitting outside on the back porch.
“Right now?”
I’m so relieved it’s an excited ‘right now’ rather than a dread-filled one.
“If that’s okay with you? If not, I can go to my parents’ house,” I tell him, not wanting to impose.
“Right now works,” he says as he throws me over his shoulder, slamming the back door closed, with my belongings still outside. He marches us upstairs, and I laugh as he throws me down on his bed—our bed.
We spend the rest of the night whispering I love yous and making up for all the time we’ve been apart, only bringing my bags in late into the night so I have clean clothes to put on after our shared shower.