Five nights in and it’s time for a halftime update. I am in disbelief about the past few days – how perfect they have been. Late November Ike asked me out, December 5th we went on our first date, and now we are already living together. Temporarily for now but who knows? It is all completely crazy but nothing has felt so unequivocally correct in the longest time. Ike is right as rain and my opinion is not corrupted by fancy dinners. If this affaire de couer were to go pear-shaped, I would not have a shred of regret.
The day he moved in, I had thought to myself that if he came empty-handed it would be a huge negative and a sign that he was taking me for granted. At least a bottle of wine was in order. Flowers even. I was even a little mad when he texted to say he hadn’t stepped out to get groceries yet (so I grudgingly picked them up on my walk home). I walked in the door and mock-crooned “honey, I’m home…” and he hugged and kissed me. Then I spied out of the corner of my eye some grey plastic near the television. What was it?
“Oh that’s some shelving to help arrange your pots and pans.”
“Uhh…I don’t think that will fit” (meanwhile there were sirens going off in my brain)
“I took some measurements before I bought it. It will fit.”
He took me to the kitchen and showed me another addition – a metal 3-layer corner rack to separate and arrange my oils and vinegars, salts, and sugars. I stood there in utter disbelief trying to process. And a second later burst into mad laughter. I can’t explain why I was laughing because I still don’t know. I laughed and laughed and laughed while he stood there completely aghast, terrified that he had overstepped a boundary. I stopped, filled up a glass of water, took a swig and then spat it all out on the sink as I burst into laughter again. I really don’t know what happened.
When I finally calmed down, I told him I had not been prepared for what he had done, that I had thought he’d bring a bottle of wine like any other house guest and also that he was actually “adding value to my existence”. He had listened when I absent-mindedly moaned about not being able to find my rolling pin in the mess of utensils and pots under the stove and devised a solution that I didn’t know I needed.
“So, is this better than a bottle of wine?”
“Yes. It really is. Thank you”
A bottle of wine. What was I thinking? Ike is so not that guy. No, Ike is the guy who short-circuits my brain on a regular basis by saying things like “I will build you a table” or “I am playing a long game here”.