Missing

I got an email today from someone I met at the conference last week.

We’d sat next to each other and made nasty little comments and passed notes for practically the whole week, which was able to pass pretty much without notice because we were packed in there so close, there may be a company-wide baby boom in nine months.

It was weird that we were assigned seating and ended up next to each other because he has a long-distance friendship type thing going on with a woman who works with me. Thus, I’ve heard his name on a weekly basis for the past year or so. And vice versa, I guess, because we were able to get past the preliminaries fairly quickly and started making fun of everyone else in the room from day one.

He was also my accomplice in stealing all the cherry-flavored Jolly Ranchers from everyone else’s candy dishes. In return, he got kicked in the shin every time I crossed or uncrossed my legs. We were really packed in there!

When I got his email, I quickly shot him one back that read:

“Awww. You miss me. That’s so cute.”

His response:

“Nah. I just kick myself every ten or fifteen minutes and like the feeling in my leg, it passes.”

Boy called today as I was leaving work. He wanted to come home because he “missed me,” which is code for: I need you to feed me and do my laundry.

So, off I went to pick up Boy and drag him along with me to Whole Foods because I 1) wasn’t cooking and 2) kept forgetting to pick up peppercorns for the peppermill that I’ve been fruitlessly grinding for the past month.

$64 later, we’re walking out to the car.

“You know, when I come home now it’s different,” he tells me. “It’s like I’m visiting.”

“Well, I just like that you’re carrying my bags and coming shopping with me.” Something he’d never do before he moved out without some serious yelling prodding.

“I’m glad I can be of some use,” he says with the measure of sarcasm only an eighteen-year-old can pull off.

“Oh it’s more than that,” I tell him. “I need you to mow the lawn, too.”

 

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