That said, I don’t want to start seriously looking until everything is official. That means as soon as I’ve officially resigned from my job, as soon as I’ve filled in my friends and family, well that’s when the work begins.
I just wish, wish, that there wasn’t this tiny, niggling feeling in the back of my chest that’s telling me that things aren’t going to work out the way I want them to. That it won’t be that easy. And that there is a lot of heartache coming my way.
When Monday morning rolls around I get up with the intention that when everyone else in the world rises, when Monday hits on Pacific Time, then I’ll make the phone calls. Maybe that notion makes me already a bit irritable to begin with, I don’t know. But Lachlan wakes up on the wrong side of the bed too. Even Emily is a bit snappish, though Lionel is about as chill as can be, regarding us all warily.
I guess I’m leaving it down to the wire here. Technically there’s only a few days left for me here and if I had been proactive, and already booked my flight, I’d be leaving at the end of the week. Maybe that’s also adding to the prickly stew, the sense of the unknown.
But if I know anything it’s that coffee solves everything. I head into the kitchen to make a whole bunch of it, while grumpy pants Lachlan takes his monosyllabic caveman speak to the washroom.
After one cup I’m feeling better, the cobwebs clearing, and Lachlan strides into the kitchen with the towel around his waist, hair damp from the shower. I always make time to check him out, I mean, a girl can’t help it. Living with him is like living in some girl’s Tumblr account filled with tall, muscular, tattooed, men. And by “some girl,” I totally mean my account from a few years ago.
“I made coffee,” I say to him rather dumbly but coffee doesn’t give me a new brain until the second cup.
He opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs. “Thanks,” he says, but doesn’t look at me.
“Rough night?” I ask him. We’d both gone to bed at a decent hour and I know that it still took me a few hours to fall asleep, my mind going over every big thing I needed to do.
He shrugs and finally looks at me. His eyes are a bit wired looking, bloodshot. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep well either.
“I’m fine,” he says, getting out a frying pan to make some eggs. “So today you’re going to talk to work, yeah?”
Right. So this is weighing on him.
I nod, hoping my smile hides how unsure I am. Again, not about moving here it’s just…well, nothing is for certain it seems and all my fears keep sneaking up on me. “As soon as it rolls around to nine a.m. over there, I’m making the call.”
He studies me sharply. “You’re actually going to quit your job?”
Jesus. Did he have to voice it so plainly? My fear multiplies.
“Like we said.”
“Good,” he says and turns back to busying himself with breakfast.
“Are you all right?” I ask him, coming over and placing my hand on the hard, sinewy muscles of his back.
He pauses, his chin dipping down for a moment. “Yeah. No. Sorry. Sorry, love.” He gives me a tight smile. “One of those mornings when you wake up with a monkey on your back. You know?”
“Of course,” I tell him, reaching for a cup and pouring him some coffee. “But coffee is the cure for everything, we know this.”
“Thanks,” he says softly, taking it from me. “I’m just…holding my breath, I guess.” He takes a sip before putting it down and getting back to eggs. “And the first game is coming up, against Glasgow, and I both want to play and I don’t. I want to prove myself, that I’m back, but I don’t want to risk going out there and fucking it all up. Or fucking myself up.”
“I think you know your body better than anything,” I tell him, hoping I make sense. The last thing I want is for him to stress even more. “And your body knows exactly what to do to win a game. Granted, I haven’t seen you practice much but I would be totally lying if I told you I hadn’t been watch Youtube video after Youtube video of you playing, running people over, scoring tries and just fucking owning it. You’re going to be fine.”