(For the record that I don't even know who is keeping, Lochlan already pinky-swore to make up New Years Eve to me, as if it was his fault or something that I chose to work both days, and so Friday night we're going to go out for a fancy dinner and a show (this usually morphs into a stack of pizzas brought home in the truck followed by a stack of boys draped all over the place in the theatre room at home, though, so be warned. It's my favorite thing. Well, one of them anyway.)
When I get home with groceries (a quarter of a load. We'll go back out Saturday or Sunday but I needed a whole bunch of things that couldn't wait) this morning in advance of the impending storm, Sam is standing on the second step down. Not underneath the porch roof but just beyond reach of it. Soaking wet. An expression that would be unreadable if I didn't know Sam so well. I load up on bags and head up the walkway. He hasn't even noticed me yet even though I drove the big truck and parked it badly right in front of him.
When did he leave?
Sunday night.
Oh, Sam. Why didn't you say something?
What was I supposed to say, Bridget? You were right? Again? We got caught up in the wedding, I guess, and didn't see that nothing has really changed.
So what have you been doing the past few days? Instead of looking to your friends to support you. I don't want to be right, I want you to be okay.
I'm okay. Mended my ego, shined my pride back up, prayed for a solution to being lonely. You know, the usual. Well, YOU don't know but some of them get it.
I guess the look on my face walked back his attitude just enough to bring my Sam back.
Sorry, Bridget. I'm just trying to deal with it.
Let us help you.
How can you possibly help me?
By giving you perspective. And grace.
Is your grace stronger than God's?
Of course it is. I'm local.
He snorts laughter. Finally, a smile. A soaking-wet smile.
I should have come around days ago.
You can move back.
Good luck convincing Caleb to go home. He's so content to watch your every move.
You can live in my room. But you can never ever bring your overly-complicated wedding dates there.
That's perspective alright. Thanks, Bridget. I get a hug that's half-rain, half-Sam.
You're welcome. Just a note though, I go to bed these days at like eight and I'm usually fairly cranky by then.
When I get home with groceries (a quarter of a load. We'll go back out Saturday or Sunday but I needed a whole bunch of things that couldn't wait) this morning in advance of the impending storm, Sam is standing on the second step down. Not underneath the porch roof but just beyond reach of it. Soaking wet. An expression that would be unreadable if I didn't know Sam so well. I load up on bags and head up the walkway. He hasn't even noticed me yet even though I drove the big truck and parked it badly right in front of him.
When did he leave?
Sunday night.
Oh, Sam. Why didn't you say something?
What was I supposed to say, Bridget? You were right? Again? We got caught up in the wedding, I guess, and didn't see that nothing has really changed.
So what have you been doing the past few days? Instead of looking to your friends to support you. I don't want to be right, I want you to be okay.
I'm okay. Mended my ego, shined my pride back up, prayed for a solution to being lonely. You know, the usual. Well, YOU don't know but some of them get it.
I guess the look on my face walked back his attitude just enough to bring my Sam back.
Sorry, Bridget. I'm just trying to deal with it.
Let us help you.
How can you possibly help me?
By giving you perspective. And grace.
Is your grace stronger than God's?
Of course it is. I'm local.
He snorts laughter. Finally, a smile. A soaking-wet smile.
I should have come around days ago.
You can move back.
Good luck convincing Caleb to go home. He's so content to watch your every move.
You can live in my room. But you can never ever bring your overly-complicated wedding dates there.
That's perspective alright. Thanks, Bridget. I get a hug that's half-rain, half-Sam.
You're welcome. Just a note though, I go to bed these days at like eight and I'm usually fairly cranky by then.