It got worse.
And how it got worse was, over coffee and Maris’s pancake breakfast, while everyone was chatting about how fabulous it was that Sam and I had moved in together (yes, past tense), Sam’s phone rang and, for once, he didn’t move out of the room to take the call.
No.
Instead, standing by me where I sat on a stool at the kitchen bar, Sam swept my hair off my neck, left his arm around my shoulders and said, “Yeah, Ford, things are still cool. All good. Listen, Kia talked with me last night and she wants you and Essie, Kyle and Gitte to come out for a visit. Can you talk to Kyle and Essie about that? Set somethin’ up?” Pause then, “Right. Whenever you want, we got plenty of room.”
Yes, he said we got plenty of room. We!
Then my lungs froze when he went on to say, “Kia’ll need to arrange to have her shit moved here. We might come out and sort it or we might need you.” Pause then, “Yeah, she’s movin’ out here.” Pause then on a grin down at me which meant my father had somehow communicated his utter joy at Sam’s statement in the three seconds Sam was silent, “Yeah, Ford, it’s all good.”
I was blinking up at him uncertain not only what to do but also what to feel.
It couldn’t be said I was against living in Sam’s fabulous beach house with Sam in North Carolina.
It also couldn’t be said I wanted to move away from my family and friends in Indiana.
What could be said was that I would have liked to discuss both of these prior to Sam announcing it to his family, my family and arranging with my father to have my stuff moved.
Shit.
For peace of mind, I decided not to focus on Sam jumping to an erroneous conclusion and then not wasting any time acting on it. Instead, I decided to focus on the fact that Sam wanted me to live with him and wasted no time acting on it.
This was harder to do when we all climbed into vehicles in order to spend the day futzing around Wilmington.
It was harder because I also spent the day taking calls from Mom, Paula, Teri, Missy, Gitte and Kyle all in throes of ecstasy that Sam and I were moving in together. They all knew about it because Dad had shared. They were bummed us moving in together meant me moving to another state but they definitely felt the upside considering that included a beach house they could visit.
In fact, during Mom’s second phone call, she informed me, “Gitte and I have it sussed, honey. How does three weeks sound for you? We’ll rent a U-Haul and bring your stuff with us.” Then before I could answer she ordered, “Don’t answer. Talk to Sam. Call back. But Kyle, Gitte and I are putting in for vacation time today.”
Shit again!
Since Maris was leaving the next day, we had a fancy night out at a posh eatery in Kingston. By the time we got home, had after dinner drinks and conversation, Luci and Celeste went back to her place, Maris upstairs and Hap prepared to crash on the couch, I was exhausted from spending so much effort hiding the fact that I was freaking out.
And I was still freaking out so much I didn’t know how to broach the subject with Sam.
But even if I did, when I hit a bed with Sam already in it, I found Sam was in a different mood. Sam felt like celebrating our future togetherness, not having a chat about it. And he didn’t talk me into participating, as such, since the way he did talk me into it didn’t have words but actions. So I participated, avidly. And our celebration lasted a long, long time.
So now I was standing in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, dragging.
What had been discussed yesterday were today’s plans. Sam was taking Maris to the airport by himself so they could have some alone time. I was spending the day with Celeste so she and I could have some alone time. And Hap was spending the day with Luci then heading back to Fort Bragg.
Which meant, maybe tomorrow, I could find some time to broach the subject with Sam and today I had the time to discuss the situation with my sage friend Celeste.
I hung onto this because I was thrilled to bits that I loved a Sam who loved me but I was terrified at how fast everything was happening.
I kept brushing as the shower went off and kept brushing but commenced burying the urge to wipe down the fogged mirror in order to watch Sam alight from the shower when I heard the shower door open.
Then I felt Sam’s arm lock around my waist, his lips touch my neck then move to my ear where he muttered, “Move over, baby, need the sink to shave.”
“Okay,” I muttered through foam, stepped aside and kept brushing.
Sam reached into the medicine cabinet and came out with shave cream. While he was rubbing it on, I became mesmerized with watching him because, even with all the time we spent together, I’d never seen him shave. And I’d certainly never seen him shave standing at the basin wearing only a towel around his hips.
Jeez. His jaw was very square.
Since I was mesmerized, I saw his head turn and his lips twitch before he asked, “Jesus, Kia, how long do you brush?”