Playing House

It was an experiment in grown-up relationships. I ‘moved in’ for the weekend. It probably wouldn’t have worked if he didn’t work Saturday and Sunday during the day. I imagine I’m pretty unbearable to co-habitate with and doing something productive during the day is the key to a healthy relationship. So I’m told.

Thursday, his parents visited for dinner. His mom cooked, of course. And she brought us Easter candy, with both our names iced on which made me feel quite warm’n’fuzzy. I had worried that she didn’t like me much. Admittedly, I look like a porn star and no one likes their son dating someone who could make a living getting fucked on camera.

That and I didn’t eat her roasts.

Friday, after work, we had our usual dinner with our couple friends, and two other people- a sarcastic gay guy and a loud friend-of-a-friend who created an organization to raise awareness for Darfur. (this already would suggest a full foray into yuppie adulthood, but don’t be fooled yet).

Everyone left early, because, ya know, we’re getting old. (be fooled now)

Saturday, he woke up early and went to a meeting. I stayed in bed and thought about laundry and dishes and vacuuming, about perhaps going to see the cherry blossoms in DC or the Empire State Building.

Baby, I won't be coming home until later, but I want to take you out to dinner tonight.

Ok, darling.

Now I won’t go into the details (because some things I keep locked in a treasure chest for myself), but do you ever find yourself in a moment and think ‘yeah, this is it’? It was that.

There was wine and fantastic food, free books, laughing and hand-holding, in weather warm enough for flip flops, but cool enough for my favorite blazer.

It was that. How sweet it is to be loved by him.

Sunday, he’s working again today, late. I’m in my own place, meeting with my own friends, cleaning my own things. And it’s probably a good thing. Besides, I’ll be super excited when he gets home.

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