Now where was I?
Oh yes. We laid our cards on the table, discovered they were the same, and then decided to tell our friends of our good fortune.
No one believed us.
Maybe it’s because it was April Fool’s Day. Or maybe it was the fact that both of us had been so superiorly ninja-esque about keeping our conversations on the down-low that the announcement of us suddenly shipping up came as a complete shock. Which makes me realize just how much we rely on visual moments in our group hanging outages. You know, seeing a crush unfold between two people right before your eyes. Well, Steven and I stole it and I love that and you can’t have it back.
At this point in time, I was also dealing with a lay-off notice that I received whilst being away. I had been promised at least 6 weeks of work until I left for my travelings in Europe, but now I had 8 working days left. Considering that I have always hated the idea of long distance relationships and that Steven and I had not laid eyes on each other for almost a year, the days that followed transformed my life from “No prospects or exciting changes on the horizon” to “Waaaaaay too many to think about at once.”
First step: see each other. Easter weekend was coming up and we both had four days off. Perhaps Steven could drive up for a bit, since I had my
musical prowess ability to be dramatic tied up in an Easter musical at my church for the whole weekend.
He wholeheartedly agreed to come up and we decided to meet at the church. Lord, was I nervous. It would be just my luck, you know, that this would end up being just a magical Facebook thing that would dissolve into gross reality as soon as we actually started speaking to one another.
The day was Friday. Good Friday. Since I didn’t work, I had nothing to do but wait around, pacing back and forth, changing outfits a couple of times, jumping every time my phone vibrated and smiling every time I read what it said. He was coming closer.
Finally, it was time to go. Somehow, by miraculous intervention, I reached the church without causing a wreck. I pulled into the parking lot and realized that he had actually been driving right behind me. We both got out of our cars and started walking towards each other. Stomach stay inside of me, I beg you.
He looked good. Check. We hugged for a long time; it was not a limp fish hug and he smelled good. Check two and three. Being that it was one of the first lovely days in Prince George, we took a walk and he offered me his arm in case I slipped in the melting snow. Check four. Conversation flowed like water; nervously spilling over, trying to take turns and awkwardly stopping/starting. Soon, though, we took a deep breath and fell into an easy rhythm of speaking. I have no idea where we walked, we just walked; I stopped ticking off my mental checklist and began to enjoy myself instead. Until we had to say good night – this is when I started freaking out on the inside. He walked me to my car under the light of a full moon and I thought to myself, “Right now would be the stereotypically perfect moment for him to kiss me…and I don’t want him to.” Not only because it would be stereotypical but also…I hate kissing. It’s just so…slimy and…yuck.
He opened my door, I got in, he leaned down – Oh God, no, God, no, God, no don’t let this beautiful day be wrecked already… – he held up his hand, a grin lighting up his face. “High five?”
Ohhh thank you.
Before I went to bed, I got this text: “How’d you like my high-five move to end the night? It’s a lady killer, I know. But seriously, your kiwi lip gloss is torturous! 😉 ”
That weekend was a whirlwind. I was performing twice, rehearsing double that, introducing Steven to my friends, watching him get grilled by my friends and feeling pride at how well he handled it.
We found a quiet moment on Saturday afternoon. I decided to take him to West Lake where there was a park; although the lake hadn’t melted yet, we were able to sit on the picnic tables underneath the sunshine. He told me about his family and I told him all about mine. Against my expectations, he stayed with me. He more than stayed; he got out his guitar and started playing and singing for me. I joined him, as it was a song we both knew and loved. (I would just like to say that we, in my humble opinion, make quite a duo.) After singing for about 30 minutes, we got up to stretch and eventually make our way back to the car. After sharing my heart, my painful family history, learning more about him and having the pleasant surprise of discovering music together, it felt as natural as breathing to step into his arms. A wind came up from the lake, but I wasn’t the least bit cold. Taking a deep breath, I stepped back slightly and looked at him. His eyes asked an unspoken question and I nodded slightly, believing that even if the experience I was about to encounter totally sucked ass, I might be able to handle it.
The world needs to offer a KISSING SCHOOL because clearly there are many people who need lessons, and they have been ruining my life up until this point. Oh, and the professor running the school? Steven. Just saying. My faith has been restored, and hallelujah, because I honestly thought I’d have to put up with my face being sucked off for the rest of my days.** On that note: women of the world, I am here to tell you that the duck face is not attractive and in no way makes you look like a better kisser. **
By the time he drove away Easter Monday, that was it. We were done. Signed, sealed, delivered, geronimo, i-think-i’ll-tryyyyyy-defying-graaaaaaavity, head over heels, crazy about each other.
Next step: learn how to be with each other all the time.
To be continued…