He slid that stack of post-it notes across that big brown desk and just asked me– right out asked me for my number. No games, no made up reason why– just that he might need it “sometime.”
I scratched it down with a blue paper mate and tried to slowly slide it back, hoping not to come right out of my skin with the anticipation that he might actually use it and call me.
Nine years ago tomorrow, he used it. My phone rang with a number I did not yet know and it was him. Now that we’ve had the same last name for eight-tenths of a decade, I can definitely say– it was his nervous voice.
Facing each other at a wobbly table, we talked for an hour about music and our parents and the wonderfully wacky man we both worked for. The Romaine from my Greek salad fell into a stomach of butterflies and I stabbed at pieces of Feta with a plastic fork while stealing glances of the blue eyes that now look at me each morning.
And if I could back to a few months before that day, if I could have an hour with that girl? I would tell her one thing.
Hold on. Don’t give up. Keep dreaming.
That guy you think you might never meet? He might be just around the next corner. And imperfect though you both are– you might just find yourself happy to see him every day for the next nine years.
And whether snuggling his babies, or snort-laughing at his antics in Target on a Friday night– this life?
It’s better than the dream and well worth the long wait.
Ye Olde Dating Years
I’m back linking up with my Five Minute Friday crew tonight!
