I taught the rest of my classes that day and then was hoping I’d get to see Nathan that evening, but he had an event at the children’s hospital and I wasn’t about to be that girl who asked him to skip making tiny children’s dreams come true, so we texted a little （texting inside the grey is super awkward, in case you were wondering）， and then I went to bed early.
Wednesday, my scrapes were scabs and I could remove my bandages. Why am I telling you this piece of unimportant information? Because it was the only interesting thing that happened that day. Oh, and I found the match to my favorite leg warmers that I’d been looking for for months. They were somehow behind a jug of milk in my fridge. Woohoo for buried treasure!
Nathan’s practice ran long that day and then he had another meeting about another thing that I can’t keep up with. Life during the playoffs is incredibly hectic, and it seems like somehow, Nathan’s days are only getting MORE full. I’m not sure how it’s possible when they were already stuffed to the brim to begin with. I’m worried about him. When I ask if he’s tired or if he’s slept at all, he just brushes it off. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Right, sure, I’ll just turn that switch off then. Easy-peasy.
This morning （Thursday）， I finally did a big thing! I submitted my application to The Good Factory. It’s done and out of my hands, and that thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying. I still find myself trying to temper my expectations, but for the most part, I’m forcing myself to hope. To think about how wonderful it will be if my studio is granted the space. I even went by the factory and toured it just so I could be able to more accurately dream of how I would arrange everything—which wall I would have the mirror installed on, which one would get the barre. I took pictures for Nathan of every nook and cranny in the place, and he dreamed with me through text. It has felt unbelievably freeing.
It’s 9:30 PM now, and just as I’m crawling into bed for the night, I see Nathan’s name lighting up my screen. I lunge across my bed to grab it so hard I pull a muscle and accidentally fly over the edge and crumple on the floor.
“HI! HEY! I’ve missed you!” I say, rubbing my sore neck and completely forgetting that I’m supposed to be playing it cool.
His low chuckle races across the line and tickles the little receptors in my ears. “Hi, I’ve missed you too,” he says, not bothering to play it cool either. Chill bumps flood my arms. I wish I were there with him right now more than anything.
I climb back up into my bed and scoot against my headboard, pressing my phone between my ear and shoulder so I can pull my comforter up. It’s worth noting that I have a disgustingly dreamy smile on my face as well. I’ve completely sunk into la-la land where everything is beautiful and sadness is only a mythical idea. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He sighs heavily, and somehow I know he’s also lying in his bed. I hear him take a deep breath and imagine his hand resting above his head. If I were there, I’d run my fingers across his scalp until his eyes shut and he groaned with delight.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” He doesn’t say this in the way most people do—where it’s sort of flippant and really you hear, I’m not actually sorry and I haven’t thought about you once before now. He says it in a pained and guttural way, and I know he means it. He’s spread thinner than butter on toast, and my worry for him ratchets up again.
“No, Nathan, it’s okay! I understand what the playoffs are like.”
“But I don’t want to be too busy for you.”
My fragile little paper airplane heart gets launched into the sky. “I’ll still be here when playoffs are done.”
I hear rustling on his end and imagine he’s turning over onto his side. “I know we need to talk about the other day on the couch…I haven’t meant to leave it this long. I’ve just barely had time to even look at my phone for the last few days. Do you want to talk about it now?”