It’s raining. Again.
It’s become a running joke that I always get caught in the rain, mostly because lately I’ve been waking up 10 minutes before I’m supposed to leave for work and don’t check the weather. I haven’t seen You in two weeks and I’ve already declared I can’t this weekend, either. I’ve passed 60 hours again. My coat is drenched. I’m starving. I’m too tired to eat. My mascara is under my eyes and I don’t care. At least it’s Friday. I only need enough energy to run home from the train station.
You are waiting at the bottom of the station steps. With an umbrella.
I am not relieved.
It is common knowledge within my circle that my life, while together-looking, is mostly held in place by silly string. You are about to walk me home and view the proof, a house with the sort of neglect that shows from weeks of only being used for sleep. I only entertain when I am ready.
“If you don’t hurry up and open this door, woman,” You chuckle.
I rush in attempting some hospitality, moving the clothes aside on my couch and asking if you’d like a drink. Grateful for the walk home but hoping your visit is brief, so I can get back to the business of crashing. “Don’t do that,” You reply.
“Anything. You’re done for today.”
It is only then I noticed the bag on the table. “It’s pho,” You announce. “Figured by now all you could handle was soup.” You wash me a plate, and finish the rest of the dishes while I slurp away at the table. You tell me how your days have gone since we’ve last seen each other, as we both know how my days have been. This is nice. I still hope you go home soon. I have nothing to offer you in gratitude.
“Hey, listen,” I meekly offer. “This is awesome, thank you. But I’m not sure the me you’re looking for is the me you’re gonna get tonight.” Your amused and exasperated sigh brings me the first smile I’ve seen in days.
“Woman can you please just get ready for your bath? The you I’m looking for is you.”
Who nurtures the nurturer, indeed…