Saturday, February 13, 2010
I DREAMT OF STRONG arms holding me. And while I slept, I felt protected and cherished, because he was there with me.
When I awoke the next morning, sprawled out with my head at the foot of my bed, I listened to Casey sing in the shower. He had some pretty good moments where he nailed it. But my favorite parts were when he ad-libbed the words through the parts he didn’t. I learned a lot of peculiar things about Beyoncé from his lyrics. Listening, I smiled and laughed into my sheets. He was ridiculous.
Entering the steamy bathroom, it felt surreal stepping into a shower—in my home—that hosted a singing Casey Moore. It was my new favorite way to wake up. I wrapped my arms around his wet body from behind, as he rinsed his hair under the hot stream of water.
“Good morning,” he said, as the turned around in my arms, slipping easily through my loose hug.
“Great morning,” I corrected.
With both hands, he pulled his hair back away from his face so he could see me. He placed a sweet kiss on my forehead, after ridding the stream of water coming from his nose with a shake.
“I didn’t know you were such a Beyoncé fan,” I said sarcastically, swapping spots to wet my hair.
“I didn’t know I had an audience.” He squeezed his soap into a washcloth.
I loved watching him shower. Naked. Wet. Soapy. Stretching. Rubbing.
In the times we’d showered together, I’d often lost track of what I was supposed to be doing. He’d remind me, by handing me shampoo or body wash. It was a good thing he did that for me or I would stand there and watch him like a pervert the whole time.
I also liked when he knew I was totally useless and washed my hair for me. He did a great job, his big hands reaching everywhere on my head all at once.
“I’m hungry,” I admitted.
He washed his underarms with something that smelled fresh and a little exotic. Casey’s hand reached the ceiling, he was tall and seemed so big like that.
“Me too. Hey, I saw the for sale sign out front when I got here last night. Will you have to move if they sell it?”
“I’m not sure. Dave—the guy who owns the place with his parents—said occupied places, like this, sell faster. So I don’t think so. That reminds me, he left a message saying that someone was looking at it on Monday around five. I need to write that down.”
“Oh,” he said. “That’s a shame.”
“What? You don’t like it? It’s pretty bare in here, huh?”
“No, that’s not it. I just think it would be awful if you needed a place to live.”
Wink.
Oh. I saw where he was going with that. It was the second time he’d alluded to me moving in with him. The water in the shower was hot, but a different kind of warmth spread through and around my heart.
I couldn’t wait until my divorce was final. Until all of this was just some stuff we went through in the beginning. Until I could actually think about possibly moving.
I balanced myself on the tips of my toes and kissed him for his cute way of thinking.
“I don’t think I’d ever have to worry about that. I’ll always have a place to go.”
“That’s right,” he said with his head high. “I think the circus takes just about anyone these days.” He laughed. “Hurry up. My girlfriend’s hungry.” He stepped out and started drying off. And, more importantly, letting all of the warm air out of the shower stall in the process.
Girlfriend. Was I his girlfriend?
“What did you call me?” I asked, as I followed him out and took the towel he offered me.
“I called you my girlfriend,” he answered, but he kept moving like the whole world hadn’t just shifted.
Was that where we were? Was it even possible?
After all this time, after everything, I was overwhelmed by that one tiny word. I felt myself getting choked up and tried not to get silly emotional over it. But it really hit me at that moment.
We’d been given another shot. No. We’d earned our shot.
Where other couples were lucky to have met and effortlessly moved from strangers into such trivial roles as boyfriend and girlfriend, we had to fight like hell—just for the titles. It wasn’t a huge thing, and I was sure I was overreacting, but I didn’t stand a chance at quelling the happiness that surged through me.
I wrapped an extra towel around my hair. When I stood up, eyes beginning to sting from the first happy tears I’d cried, in I didn’t know how long, he caught me. My chin quivered, but I smiled brightly.
“Now, what’s this? Are you crying?” He ran a thumb under my eye, which only intensified the moment. He was so…so…exactly what I wanted.
“No,” I disputed, but nodded my head yes. I’d never cried from pride, but that was how I felt. Proud. I was proud to be claimed like that by him.
Then the thought hit me, I couldn’t be all-the-way his.
Regardless of not wearing the ring, or parking in the same driveway after work, the truth was, I was still married to Grant. Accepting the precious title of Casey’s girlfriend didn’t seem right yet.
My happy tears mixed with my frustrated tears. It was a lucky thing both kinds were clear. He couldn’t tell them apart.
“Why are you not crying then?” he asked, humoring me.
“I’m not crying because you called me your girlfriend.” I sat down on top of the toilet lid. “And I’m not crying because you’re so sweet and just wiped a tear—that wasn’t really there, by the way—off my cheek. But mostly, I’m not crying because I’m sick of waiting to actually deserve being called that.” I tucked my chin onto my chest and sat there feeling foolish and hyper-emotional, maybe a little hormonal—as it was about that time of the month.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not crying.” He squatted in front of me.
“Don’t look at me. I’m being stupid.”
“Hey, come on,” he cajoled.
“I’m sorry,” I said and took a big breath through my nose and blew a raspberry out my mouth. “I just want it so bad. You know?”
Then my chin shook again. Damn chin.
“Tell me something, do I deserve to be your boyfriend?”
I raised my head to look at him, finding compassion and humor in his expression.
I answered, “Yes, you deserve more than that.”
“Why?”
“Because you make me feel so cared for and you never let me down.”
“Those are good reasons—a little off—but I’ll take them. And when you look into the future, what do you see?”
My knee bounced and I fought the urge to say so many things. I’d never really allowed myself to picture specifics. I mostly wished for him. “I see you.”
“And?” He steadied my leg and then took my hands in his. “What else?”
“I don’t know? What do you see?”
“Oh, I see lots of things,” he confirmed. “Maybe it’s weird, but I’ve always imagined a future with you.”
“Like what?”
“It changes,” he said. “Where we live. What you’ll look like when you’re old. The places we’ll travel to. Sometimes I wonder what kind of mother you’ll be, like when I see pictures of you and Foster.” He kissed my knuckles.
“Really?”
“Yep. When I was with Micah on the way to the hospital, I thought about what you’d be like in labor, too. I’ve pictured what you’d look like in a wedding gown. And I’ve pictured you naked almost everywhere.”
“You’ve already seen me in a wedding gown,” I reminded him. The truth hurt, but it was our truth and we were learning to deal with the pain.
He shrugged. “Depends on what you call a wedding.”
Damn, if that wasn’t a good point. I nodded in agreement.
“In my mind, you don’t wear white when we get married. God, I sound like a woman.”
“Kind of,” I teased and bumped my knee into him in jest. “But I like it. White’s a little predictable. And I’m not really eligible for white anyway. It would be my second wedding.”
“Not to me.”
Even though I’d love to be Casey’s wife, I didn’t know if I could ever go through another wedding. Not that any of my first wedding felt like mine; my mom planned almost all of it and I didn’t pay attention to any of the details. I was too distracted.
Thinking back about the planning of my wedding, I could see my lack of participation in the planning of it matched my lack of participation in my relationship with Grant. Distracted? I wasn’t even involved. I hadn’t been invested in a future with Grant. Yet a future with Casey was more appealing than I ever thought possible.
“I like the way your future looks,” I said anyway.
“Good. Then I’ll share it with you. But for now, you’re my girlfriend. Now give me a kiss and get up.” His lips brushed against mine and once again, he’d eased my mind.
We dressed and he made us grilled cheese sandwiches for an early lunch. It rained all day, and since he was taking me out that night, we hung out and watched the Discovery Channel and napped.
It was an excellent way to spend a rainy Saturday in Seattle.
My mom called just as I was putting in my earrings, and was almost ready leave for our night out.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. How’s your day?” Her greeting was becoming the normal way we started our phones calls. She was worried.
I gave my commonplace answer. “I’m good.” Then I gave it a little more thought. I didn’t have to hide that I was with Casey anymore. “No, actually, I’m really good. Casey’s here for Valentine’s Day.” Again it was strange, but wonderful telling the truth—or maybe it was the affirmation of saying it to somebody out loud.
“He is? Okay, well then I won’t keep you. I was just calling to see what you were doing for Valentine’s Day anyhow and invite you to dinner with us.”
“Oh, thank you.” I laughed. “I appreciate the invitation, Mom. But you and Dad go have some fun.”
“You too, Blake.” She paused for a second like she wanted to say something more. Then she simply said, “Happy Valentine’s day, sweetheart.”
What a difference a year truly made. At the same time the year before, I thought I was saying goodbye to Casey forever. Thank goodness things don’t always turn out like you predict they will.
Life’s crazy like that, and even more so with a man like Casey. He let me spend all that time getting dolled up, and then ended up taking me to a skating rink.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked as we stood in line at the skate counter to rent pairs for both of us.
“I am absolutely not kidding. Can you skate?”
“As a kid I could, but as an adult? Hell, I have no idea,” I admitted. I didn’t feel that confident.
I glanced around and saw young, teenage couples, who’d no doubt met there for a sweethearts rendezvous. It was pretty charming. So many young couples holding hands and awkwardly fumbling around on eight wheels.
It was actually kind of perfect.
“What made you think of this?” I asked, as we sat on a bench near the side of the rink.
“When I was younger we used to go almost every Saturday night. My friends always had girlfriends, but I never really got into them at that age. So I thought, it’s never too late. You’re my new girlfriend and we’re both kinda fumbling our way through this thing. Just like these little fuckers.”
He tied his laces and when he was finished, I propped my skate up on his knee for him to tie mine.
He said, “This morning got me thinking. We’re both so unsure. So are all of them.” He nodded to the junior high aged kids doing laps, hand in hand to awful pop music. “We don’t know much more than they do, as I see it. Rolling around trying not to fall down and look dumb. Boyfriends and girlfriends. Young love. Making out in dark corners at the end of the night. Which we won’t do here. They don’t need to see that—we’ve got that part down to an art form.”
I switched legs, crossing my left one over my right and onto his jean-clad lap. As he worked on my other skate, he added, “We’re going to fall down most likely. It might hurt. That’s nothing new for us. But we’ll help each other up from here out.”
I full-on swooned, and I, just like the tween girls going round-and-round with their boyfriends, felt the nervous excitement only a beginning can give you.
“I like you,” I confessed and batted my eyes at him.
“Blake, officially, will you go out with me?” he requested and bobbed his head around like a shy, squeaky voice boy. “I think you’re hot and funny and I was just kinda hoping you’d want to be my girlfriend. Officially.” It was hilarious and I loved him even more.
“Gee, Casey, I think you’re hot and funny, too.” I brought my mouth to his, and before I kissed him I said, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend. I love you.” I sealed the promise with our first official kiss as a couple. And in true junior high fashion there was gratuitous tongue.
We skated and laughed at ourselves. I did better than he did, which was very surprising. Maybe he was doing it on purpose to make all the young dudes look cool, as they sped by the hot older guy, flat on his ass. Maybe he just liked looking up my skirt, which he did every single time. It didn’t matter though, because when he fell I helped him up.
And wasn’t that what relationships were all about? Helping the other be their best, and seeing them through when they weren’t? Well, and letting your boyfriend look up your skirt.
Although it wasn’t what I’d expected for our Valentine’s date, we had a great time. We acted like we were thirteen, eating pizza and drinking soda. We shut the place down. I loved how it was unexpected and quirky, because it was memorable and totally all us.
Casey left as planned on Sunday and flew to Houston.
I hated watching the cab pull away with him, but he insisted I didn’t take him to the airport. After he left, I was pleased to find his scent on my couch and I lay there thinking of him and watched sappy romantic comedies all evening.
Before I went to bed, I emailed Grant about the situation with Dr. Rex. And I made a note to remind myself I needed to be out of the apartment by five the next day for the showing.
I lay in my bed, thinking about the weekend and how comfortable it was having Casey in my space. I couldn’t wait until he came back.
He text when he got settled at his hotel.
Casey: I’m here. I sat next to a guy who smelled like a Bob Marley concert. Now, I just want to go to a Bob Marley concert. LOL
I could still hear him laugh.
Me: Ha Puff. Puff. Pass.
Casey: Thanks for having me over. I like sleepovers at your place.
Me: I liked having you here. I’m already in bed. You wore me out.
Casey: Good. Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow. Miss me.
Me: Miss me too. Goodnight.
Casey: Always.
I fell asleep and dreamed of Casey with dreadlocks. They didn’t look that bad, but I think he could probably pull off any look. I reveled in the notion that I might be around for all of the rest of them.