And I need to be at peak performance there. Yet another month has passed, and I’m still no closer to the epic idea I’ll need to revolutionize our job fair system, in general, and kick ass with the fall event, specifically. Because somehow that’s become the only acceptable outcome. I went from, “Nooooo! I don’t want to do this at all!” to “This job fair will be talked about for years to come, or I will consider it a total failure.”
Jet might be rubbing off on me—in more ways than one. It’s like I’m starting to care about stuff.
I’m overwhelmed and exhausted and need at least one area of my personal life to quiet down so I can get a handle on what’s going on in the professional sphere. If I can make it one more week… That’s when Jet will be out in California for his yearly spring visit with his family. I’ll have two weeks to focus more fully on everything else.
When I’m around him, it’s hard to concentrate on anything but him—us—period. Normally, that’s a good thing. A great thing. I love that when we’re together, I don’t think about anything stressful or draining. I just enjoy his company. It’s wonderful. We take walks and swim. We talk about movies and football and try to one-up each other with cheesy jokes and riddles. He gets his from the kids at the hospital, and his little brother, Simon, at Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I have to resort to the Internet.
But all of that together time is making it a little too easy for me to continue to ignore the passing weeks and my lack of action on anything else in my life.
Of course, he has no idea he’s enabling my procrastination. Because I haven’t told him anything other than that I’m in charge of the fall fair. That was months ago. He probably thinks I have it all figured out by now. He would.
Today was another fine example of his unintentional, yet highly effective, distraction skills. On this fine spring day, our last Saturday together before he leaves for the west coast, he took me to my first Sporting KC match. I love the charged atmosphere at Chiefs games in Arrowhead, but those soccer fans were a whole other beast with their chants and songs and drum beats. The fresh air, sun, and electric crowd combined for a near-perfect afternoon.
I made him promise we’d take Colin next time. I doubt it’s the same as it is among the English crowds, but I bet he’d still get a kick out of going. He’d be able to tell me what was happening. Jet only knew half the time. Not that it mattered. There was so much more to being there than watching the action on the pitch.
Now, back at his place for the evening, we’ve settled in to watch Fight Club. Well, sort of. It’s sometimes hard to focus on the film with Jet lazily running his hand up and down my thigh like that while I sit sideways in his lap. But we’ve both seen the movie several times, so it’s not like we have to catch every word.
At the iconic part where Brad Pitt explains to Edward Norton the now-famous Fight Club rules, Jet drops, “Oh, hey. I keep forgetting to tell you, I canceled my trip home.”
When I’m incapable of replying to this bombshell, he grins, misinterpreting my speechlessness for delight.
And let me clarify: the slacker in me is delighted. Oh, darn! I guess we won’t have time to think about that awful job fair mess. But it’s not our fault that Jet’s so amazing and cute and funny and entertaining.
Even the most delusional part of me, however, can’t deny I’m drowning. Nooooooooo! Those two weeks were going to be the life preserver that allowed us to stop treading water and make some progress toward shore, or at least shallower waters where we can regain our footing.
“But I thought—” I stop and take a deep, calming breath.
He tilts his head at me, like Torz does when we say one of his favorite words. Or when I mutter curse words at him.
I try again. “I thought you said you always go out there this time of year. Everyone always gathers at your parents’ house. Because that’s what you always do,” I repeat, hoping I don’t sound too panicked.
He picks up my hand, kisses my palm (which is suddenly clammy), and murmurs against it, “But you can’t go with me.”
“No, I can’t.”
“So I want to stay here. With you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. You should spend time with your family. You need that time.”
“That’s why they’re all coming here for a late Spring Break, of sorts. This way, I won’t have to schedule everything around preseason training, like I do when they visit in the summer.” His eyes twinkle. “In fact, we’re going to start a new tradition and do it like this every year. Kansas City is in the middle of the country, after all, and I have a bigger house. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner.”
I may pass out.
Still oblivious, he continues, “Plus, aren’t your parents going to be back in town? We can get everyone together. It’ll be so much fun.”
Staring at his chin, I say carefully, “I think the first time I meet your parents should be a quieter thing. With the four of us. Don’t you?” I brave a look into his confused eyes.
He pauses. “Does it matter?”
“Maybe.” When he doesn’t say anything to that, I edge farther onto the rickety bridge that is this conversation. “I’d prefer to meet them without an audience.”
Or not at all. Ever. Would that be weird?
“Audience?” He laughs. “My brothers and sisters aren’t an audience; they’re family.”
“Right. But they’re still strangers to
